Kylie Cantrall's Arc

Chapter 72 of 78

Kylie put the phone on speaker so Arianna could hear. Her mother's voice filled the quiet room. "They know about the wedding. They'll write their own version by morning. You have to say it first." Kylie's stomach dropped. The statement was written, but it sat on paper. She needed to reach her fans directly, in her own words, before the label turned three true lines into a headline. "I'll post it now," she said. She opened the app on her phone. The bar spun and died. One weak line of signal, nothing more. "The manor's connection is fine," Arianna said. "Why isn't it loading?" Then Kylie remembered. They weren't at the manor. They had driven back to the island that afternoon to move the marriage license somewhere safer. She was standing in the seaside house at Palmcrest Retreat, four hours from any port, on the one patch of ground where reporters had never found her. And the signal here had always been terrible. "Mom, we're on the island," Kylie said. "I can't post. I can barely hold this call." "Then I'll post it for you," her mother said. "Read me the words." Kylie almost said yes. Then she stopped. If her mother posted it, the label could claim they'd managed the message. It had to come straight from her. "No," she said. "It has to be my account, my hands. Give me ten minutes." She hung up and walked outside. The pool fountain hissed. Beyond it, palm trees leaned over the pale sand. She held her phone up toward the water. One bar. She stepped onto the dock at the edge of the shore. Two bars. Arianna followed with the cat cradled in her arms. "Anything?" "Two bars." Kylie's heart pounded. She typed the three lines from the piano into a post. On a Saturday, on my family's island, I stood on the sand and chose her. She chose me back. The dog knew her coat before he knew her face. Her thumb hovered over the button. "If this fails, it posts half. Half looks like a leak." "Then don't hit it until you know," Arianna said. "Walk to the end." Kylie walked to the last plank. The water lapped below. Three bars, steady. She read the post one more time. No word the label could sell. No brand. Just a Saturday. She pressed send. The bar spun. She held her breath. Then the screen changed. Posted. Comments began to load, slow but real. Fans, not reporters. Hearts. Her own words, live, before anyone could twist them. Arianna leaned against her. The cat purred between them. Kylie's phone buzzed. Her mother again. "It's up," her mother said. "The label just called back. They're furious. You beat them by four minutes." Kylie looked at the dark water. She had reached her fans first. But now the whole world knew, and the label had lost control of the story it thought it owned.