The lights of the studio were dazzling, reflecting off the polished stage and illuminating the panelists seated in a row. Cat sat second from the left, between a comedian who had the audience in stitches with every quip, and a critically acclaimed actress who exuded effortless grace. The fourth panelist, a retired soccer player turned TV host, rounded out the eclectic group.
Cat had done a million talk shows before, but a few panel shows was a whole different type of energy. She had to pull all of her improv training to keep up with it all, but she felt very at home with it all. The banter sharp but playful, and she felt oddly at ease. Maybe it was the way the comedian kept laughing with her whenever someone said something particularly ridiculous, or how the actress leaned in to compliment her shoes during a break.
The host, a charismatic man with a flair for the dramatic, grinned as he addressed the room. "Alright, let's get into it. Cat, you've had a huge year. A hit single, a movie appearance on the horizon, your third album nearly done, and you've been on, what, every red carpet this season?"
Cat laughed, brushing her silver hair back. "I wouldn't say every red carpet," she said, her voice lilting.
"Don't be modest!" the host teased. "And on top of all that, you've got a new boyfriend. How long has it been now?"
Cat hesitated for a moment, not out of uncertainty, but because the attention on her personal life always made her heart skip a beat. She smiled brightly, deciding to lean into it. "Six months," she said, and the audience let out an audible "aww."
"Six months!" the host exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "In this industry, that's like celebrating a golden anniversary!"
The panelists laughed, and the soccer player chimed in. "So, what's the secret? Does he cook? Clean? Worship the ground you walk on?"
Cat giggled. "I don't know. I guess we just balance each other out. He's really supportive."
The comedian cut in with a mock-serious tone. "Let me tell you, as a happily single man, the secret to any relationship is to keep your Netflix passwords separate."
The room erupted into laughter, and Cat joined in, shaking her head.
"Alright, but seriously," the host continued, leaning forward. "What's the cutest thing he's done for you?"
Cat blushed, trying to think of something that wasn't too revealing but would satisfy the audience's curiosity. "Okay, this is cheesy, but remember a little while ago- one of his games, after he scored, he did this little cat ears gesture with his fingers, like—" she demonstrated with a quick motion, "—because, you know, my name is Cat. It was so dumb, but it made me laugh."
The crowd loved it, and the host milked the moment. "Ladies and gentlemen, if your significant other isn't making a fool of themselves for you on national television, are they even your significant other?"
The panel moved on to other topics—questions about Cat's upcoming album, the actress's latest film, and the soccer player's new documentary—but the warm, bubbly atmosphere stayed intact. Cat answered every question with ease, playing into the charm of the show while revealing just enough to keep the audience engaged.
Later that evening, Cat pulled up to Austin's house, her sleek car humming quietly as she parked in his driveway. His home was as polished as his public image—modern architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a carefully maintained lawn.
He opened the door before she could knock, grinning broadly. "Hey, superstar," he teased, pulling her into a hug.
"Hey yourself," she replied, tilting her head up to kiss him. His cologne was warm and familiar, a mix of cedar and something faintly spicy.
Inside, the living room was bathed in the soft glow of a few lamps. The TV was on, muted, displaying highlights from his most recent game.
"You were great on the show today," he said, guiding her to the couch.
"You watched?" she asked, surprised.
"Of course," he said, sitting down beside her. "You're a natural."
They settled into their usual rhythm—Austin draped an arm around her while she curled up against him. It was easy, comfortable. But as the evening unfolded, a small crack in that comfort began to show.
Cat was scrolling through her phone when the same photo popped up on her feed a few times: a paparazzi photo of her leaving the studio earlier in the day. It was her and a rapper she'd collaborated with recently, exchanging a goodbye hug after they walked out of the building. The headline didn't waste any time stirring up drama: 'Catarina and LX Spark: Musical Partners or Something More?'
Austin caught a glimpse of the image before she could close it. His eyebrows knitted together. "What's that?"
"Nothing," she said lightly, brushing it off. "Just paparazzi stuff."
"Let me see," he said, holding his hand out.
She hesitated for a moment before handing him her phone. He studied the photo and headline, his jaw tightening.
"This guy?" he asked, pointing at the rapper in the picture.
"Yeah, LX Spark," Cat said. "We were doing a final listen through of our song."
Austin's frown deepened. "And the paparazzi are making it look like something it's not."
"It's what they do," she said with a shrug. "I'm used to it."
"Doesn't mean it's okay," he muttered, handing her phone back. "You shouldn't have to deal with this kind of crap."
Cat sighed, leaning into him. "It's just noise," she said, trying to brush it off.
"Noise or not, it's disrespectful," he said firmly. "People shouldn't get to just make stuff up about you."
She forced a smile, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's sweet that you care," she said, and she meant it—mostly.
Austin leaned back against the couch, his hand resting protectively on Cat's knee. The muted highlights from his latest game flickered on the TV screen, but neither of them was paying attention.
"You know," he said after a long pause, "maybe... you shouldn't give people so much to take photos of."
Cat tilted her head up to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
He gestured vaguely at her phone, which was now sitting face down on the coffee table. "Like today, for example. Leaving the studio with that guy. I get it—it's work—but you know how people are. They're going to twist it into something it's not."
She blinked, momentarily stunned by the suggestion. "Austin, it's my job. I can't control when or where people take pictures."
"I know," he said quickly, his tone softening. "I'm not blaming you. I just think... maybe being more aware could help. Like, if you know the paparazzi are going to be there, maybe leave separately or use a back entrance or something."
Cat pulled away slightly, sitting up straighter. "You think I should hide?"
"No, not hide," he said, his hands raised defensively. "I'm just saying, you're in a tough spot. People want a story, and they'll make one if you give them anything to work with. I'm just trying to look out for you."
She frowned, staring down at her hands in her lap. It wasn't that she didn't understand where he was coming from—she did. The industry was ruthless, and Austin's protectiveness came from a place of care. But something about the way he framed it felt off, like a subtle push for her to change herself to fit the chaos instead of standing tall in it.
"I appreciate that," she said carefully, meeting his eyes. "But I can't live my life worried about every little thing that might get photographed. I already walk on eggshells half the time trying to keep people happy."
Austin sighed, reaching for her hand. "I get that, babe. I do. I'm just saying... maybe it's worth thinking about. That's all."
She nodded, though the unease in her chest didn't fade.
Later, as they sat in the quiet of his living room, the TV still casting shadows across the walls, Cat couldn't help but replay the conversation in her mind. Austin had always been supportive, always confident in a way that bolstered her own. But this was new—this edge of control, however gentle, was not something she'd felt from him before.
For now, she brushed it aside, telling herself it was just a passing moment of concern. After all, he was right about one thing: the world was always watching her, waiting for her to slip. But as she rested her head against his shoulder, she couldn't shake the thoughts.
The lights were blinding, the voices a relentless hum. Cameras flashed, hands reached, questions came rapid-fire, and Cat smiled through it all. The world demanded her smile, her presence, her energy. Her third album was supposed to be her greatest yet—everyone said so. The hype, the pressure, the constant eyes on her—it was a swirling, unending cycle.
She used to thrive in it. Now, she was suffocating.
The days once again blurred together in a dizzying haze of rehearsals, interviews, and studio sessions that stretched into the early hours. She barely knew what city she was in half the time. Her calendar was a wall of colour-coded chaos. There was always another performance, another meeting, another fan-interaction. She pushed through it, a smile permanently plastered on her face, even as the exhaustion settled deep into her bones.
Austin had started as a steadying hand through this—someone who made her laugh, someone who grounded her when everything felt too big. But lately, his concern felt tighter, more constricting. He checked in constantly, asking where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. At first, it felt like care. Now, it felt like control.
"You should really skip that dinner with your friends," Austin had said the other night. "You need rest. I'm just looking out for you."
And she listened, because maybe he was right. Maybe she did need rest. But the quiet nights that followed felt lonely, the phone calls from her friends went unanswered, and the space between them grew wider.
Her world was shrinking, and she couldn't seem to stop it.
She woke up one morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains, and couldn't remember what day it was. The phone buzzed with reminders—a photoshoot, a meeting, a studio session. The same as always. She stared at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest.
She wanted to call someone. To reach out, to break the silence she'd built around herself. But the thought of explaining everything felt impossible. Instead, she took a deep breath, got up, and prepared to face the day.
The smile was ready. The show had to go on.