LOCATION. New York City - Marquee Skydeck010. After The Final Rose
INTERACTIONS . N/A
Scarlett was halfway through a story she’d told nearly a thousand times before.
“...so we’re at 1OAK and somehow, I end up at a table,” She explained, tilting her glass as if it were part of the narrative. “I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I’m waiting in line for the bathroom, the next, girls are coming around with sparklers and a bottle of 1942.”
“That’s when you know you’re in trouble.” The man standing beside her laughed, shaking his head, “Who’s table was it anyway?” He asked, and the dark haired girl hesitated just long enough to make it seem casual.
“It was Ethan Cole.”
The group she was chatting with reacted all at once.
“No,” One woman stated in disbelief while another let out a low whistle.
“Okay, but that’s kind of iconic.”
“Next thing I know, we’re swapping stories about what it was like working with the production team at ABC, and before I even realize it, I’m leaving with him.” She shrugged like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“And Deux Moi?” A woman across the circle probed, and Scarlett couldn’t help but grin as she watched the familiar rhythm of the conversation unfold around her.
“Someone submitted a blurry photo of us getting into the cab. It was posted on their feed by sunrise.” A woman leaned in closer, clearly not done mining for details.
“What was he like?”
Scarlett rolled the question around in her head as she took a slow sip, eyes drifting somewhere over the rim of her glass, back to the version of the night everyone always wanted to hear about.
“Honestly?” She commented at last. “Disarmingly normal.”
A couple of them groaned at that.
“No, come on,” Someone protested. “You don’t just casually leave with Ethan Cole and call him normal.”
“I’m serious,” Scarlett replied, unbothered. “He was funny. Self-aware. A little too good at reading people.” She tipped her head, considering. “And tired. Like someone who’d been famous long enough that it stopped feeling shiny.”
“That almost makes it worse,” Another voice chimed in. The dark haired girl simply smiled and lifted her shoulders in a small, easy shrug.
“Maybe. But he wasn’t trying to impress me, and I wasn’t pretending I didn’t know exactly who he was. We were just two people who didn’t want to be in that club anymore.”
That earned her a few skeptical looks, a soft laugh or two. Someone opened their mouth to follow up - probably fishing for information they already knew they wouldn’t get - but the moment slipped away before they could land it.
“Scar.”
Lily Caldwell threaded her way through the crowd, champagne flute raised in greeting, a grin spreading across her face as she closed the distance between them and intercepted the conversation. She looked flushed and happy, curls slightly loose, as if she’d already surrendered to the night in a way the dark haired girl hadn’t.
“Please tell me you’re not still telling the Ethan Cole story,” Lily sighed, and Scarlett could only grin. “It was months ago, babe,”
“Well… they asked.”
“They always ask,” Lily replied dryly, then glanced around at the group.
“Can you blame us?” Someone in the circle laughed, “We’re talking about Ethan Cole here.”
“Yes. But I get it.” Lily hummed, a smirk gracing her features, “It’s Scarlett’s world, and we’re just living in it.” The blonde’s words drew another ripple of laughter, and Scarlett tipped her glass in mock salute.
“I never said it wasn’t a public service,”
“Mm. A cautionary tale, maybe,” Lily teased, bumping her shoulder into her friend’s as she settled in beside her. Her gaze flicked briefly over the skyline, then back to the group. “You should’ve heard it the first time. Very mysterious. Very ‘no comment.’” Scarlett snorted.
“I have never been mysterious in my life.”
“Selective,” Lily agreed without missing a beat. “You weren’t so forthcoming the morning after,” Lily nudged her again, softer this time. “Tremayne’s making his rounds,” she whispered under her breath so the others couldn’t hear. “If you don’t want to get cornered into a ten-minute conversation about donating, now’s our chance to disappear.” Scarlett smiled, already turning with her.
“Lead the way.” She acknowledged the group around them with a raise of her eyebrow, “Excuse us,”
And just like that, they were alone, or as alone as anyone ever was in a room like this. They slipped out of the circle and back into the crowd, the story dissolving behind them as easily as it always did - another anecdote absorbed into the noise of the night, hanging in the air as the party carried on. The pair of women drifted toward the bar together, bodies brushing past them in tight quarters. Lily leaned in, lowering her voice.
“Okay, important question. Are you having fun, or are you just pretending to have fun?” Scarlett exhaled, the first real one she’d taken in a while. Lily was one of her best friends, and she had the innate ability to read between the lines that most people could not.
“I’m somewhere in between,” The brunette revealed with little theatrics, “You?”
“Same. Hopefully things pick up around here, right now this party is not doing it for me to be honest,” Lily stepped back, giving her friend a once-over. “You look annoyingly perfect.”
The dress Scarlett had chosen skimmed her body without clinging, silver fabric catching the light each time she moved. It was the kind of outfit that photographed beautifully without looking like it had been chosen for that purpose, which was precisely the point. She wore it the way she wore most things now - as if it had simply happened to her, as if no decision had been made at all.
“High praise, coming from you,” Scarlett replied, genuinely smiling now. Lily laughed and discarded her nearly empty glass on the bar as they approached.
“Please. I look like I got dressed in a moving car.”
“Not true,” Scarlett insisted, “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” Lily’s attention drifted past her, eyes tracking the movement of the bar - hands waving down bartenders, bottles lifted, the DJ cresting into another bass-heavy remix. “This place is… a lot, though. Very Tremayne.”
Scarlett vocalized in agreement. From here, the Skydeck felt even more unreal - glass walls stretching out over Manhattan, lights blinking and flickering far below, the whole city suspended in a way that made time feel optional. She rested an elbow lightly against the bar, letting the chill of the marble seep through the fabric of her dress.
“Even the guest list is insane,” Scarlett followed Lily’s line of sight, the blonde’s eyes sweeping the room with open fascination. “I mean, I just saw someone who won three Grammys waiting in line for a vodka soda,”
“How about Bobby Rifo’s surprise set? I didn’t know he was playing tonight.” The dark haired girl added as the bartender approached and she motioned to their empty flutes, “Two glasses of Dom Perignon please.”
“I also saw that guy who used to be the bass player in Caliburn leaving the bathroom, apparently he’s having a moment right now,” Lily revealed.
“More like a midlife crisis,” Scarlett scoffed, “He’s washed up and dating a girl half his age - her frontal lobe’s not even fully developed yet.”
They waited as the bartender slid two fresh drinks toward them, the exchange practiced. Scarlett wrapped her fingers around the flute, condensation slick against her skin, and took a measured sip. The noise, the chatter, the music - it all blurred into something almost comforting, a familiar backdrop she knew how to exist inside. Her gaze drifted again, scanning the room out of habit more than interest. Faces she recognized, faces she didn’t. A few lingering looks she pretended not to notice.
“Uh oh,” Lily murmured, eyes flicking past Scarlett’s shoulder. “Incoming,”
Scarlett didn’t turn right away. She didn’t have to.
“Scarlett Wren,” A bright, practiced voice interjected, cutting cleanly through the music. “Happy New Year - almost.”
Scarlett turned then, expression already in place. Warm, open, unreadable. She recognized the posture before the face - the purposeful ease, the way some people moved through a room like it already belonged to them. Clearly a reporter.
“Hi,” she greeted. “Sorry - have we met?”
“Not officially. Josie Tatl. Tatl-Tales.” The woman smiled like she’d been waiting for that exact line. Of course. Lily’s grip tightened slightly on her glass. Josie was younger than Scarlett expected, sleek and sharp in black, holding a recorder in her hand.
“Ah,” The dark haired girl stated, pleasantly. “You’re everywhere.”
“That’s the job.” Josie’s eyes flicked between them, cataloguing, then back to Scarlett. “I was hoping I might steal you for just a second. You’ve had an interesting year, Ms. Wren. A lot of visibility. A lot of speculation.”
“Have I?” Scarlett asked, genuinely curious, and smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Lily let out a quiet laugh.
“I guess what I’m asking is - are you here as yourself tonight, or as the version of you people think they know?”
“Excuse me?” The dark haired girl raised an eyebrow, the motion small but deliberate. The question hovered between them, light enough to pass as clever, sharp enough to cut if she let it.
“Just curious,” Josie added smoothly, leaning in a fraction closer, “How much of Scarlett Wren is really…you, and how much is, well, the person people want to see?” The dark haired girl took a slow sip, unhurried, letting the question settle.
“I don’t think those are as different as people like to believe,” She replied, a quiet bite beneath the calm. “I’m just here to ring in the new year.” Josie’s smile sharpened, pleased.
“That’s not exactly a no.”
“It’s not exactly a yes, either,” Scarlett countered. Her tone stayed pleasant, unbothered, the kind that made it difficult to push without looking rude. Lily shifted closer, shoulder brushing Scarlett’s arm in a subtle show of solidarity.
“We were actually just about to grab some air,” The blonde indicated, all charm and finality. “It’s loud in here.”
Josie glanced past them, as if weighing whether to press or retreat. Around them, the party surged - laughter spiking, glasses clinking, a cheer rising near the windows as someone spotted fireworks testing in the distance.
“Of course,” Josie said at last. “Last thing - I promise. Any New Year’s resolutions you’re willing to share?” Scarlett smiled again, this time softer, almost amused.
“Probably answering fewer questions.”
Josie laughed, genuine enough to give credit.
“Fair. Enjoy the night, Scarlett.” She stepped back, already turning, the recorder lowering as she disappeared into the crowd with the ease of someone who knew she’d gotten enough. Scarlett exhaled once she was gone, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“Wow,” Lily stated. “She wasted no time.”
Scarlett knocked back the rest of her champagne in one clean swallow, setting the empty flute on the bar and signaling for another.
“They never do.”
The bartender slid a fresh glass toward her, already chilled, already waiting. Scarlett wrapped her fingers around the stem but didn’t drink right away. Instead, her gaze drifted past the bar, toward the open doors leading out to the skydeck.
“Shall we?” Lily asked, noticing where her friend was looking.
“Please.”
They slipped through the crowd together, the music dulling as the glass doors closed behind them. The night hit immediately -cold and sharp, the kind that cut through the lingering warmth of champagne and bodies pressed too close. The city stretched out below them in glittering fragments, traffic lights blinking, buildings lit up like they were competing for attention. Scarlett moved instinctively toward the railing, resting her forearms against the cool metal. Lily lingered beside her for a moment, then excused herself with a murmured promise to be back, disappearing toward a cluster of familiar faces near the heaters.
That was when Scarlett noticed him.
He stood a little apart from the others, close enough to see the skyline but far enough to avoid conversation, his posture relaxed but deliberate. There was a man a few steps away from - too still, too watchful to be anyone’s friend.
Scarlett didn’t stare, she never did. She simply took another sip of her drink, then shifted closer, as if it were coincidence rather than choice.
“So… what are we toasting to tonight, the old or the new?”
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