My Publicist Mother Called My 8-Year-Old Daughter Useless At My Sister's $400,000 Malibu Wedding — Until Lily Stole The DJ Mic And Broadcasted The Studio Audio
The fallout from the Malibu wedding spread like wildfire through the media, but I stayed out of it. The news cycles were filled with speculation, scandal, and thinly veiled contempt for Eleanor and Chloe. Paparazzi camped outside the Malibu estate, but I was long gone.
Three days after the wedding, my phone, which had been silent for so long, finally rang with an unfamiliar number. I almost didn’t answer it.
“Maya Delaney?” a brisk female voice asked. “This is Rebecca Hayes from Global News. We’re covering the… incident at the Wright-Delaney wedding.”
I braced myself.
“We understand you were a key figure,” she continued, her voice full of practiced enthusiasm. “We’d like to offer you an exclusive tell-all interview. Your perspective. Your story.”
My stomach tightened. I knew what this meant. A national platform. A chance to explain myself, to justify what Lily had done, to finally publicly expose Eleanor and Chloe’s fraud.
“We’re prepared to offer you a hundred thousand dollars for the interview,” Rebecca said, adding the sweetener. “A live studio appearance, fully produced segment. You’d be a hero to so many.”
A hundred thousand dollars. It was a staggering amount. It would solve every financial worry I had. It would allow me to rebuild, not just my life, but a new life for Lily, without the constant stress of scraping by.
I thought of Lily. Her small, earnest face as she tapped on the tablet. Her quiet strength. She had done what she did to protect me from the noise, the insults, the public humiliation. She didn’t need to see her mother dragged through another media circus, dissected and analyzed on national television.
“Thank you for the offer, Ms. Hayes,” I said, my voice steady. “But I’m not interested.”
“A hundred thousand dollars, Ms. Delaney,” she pressed, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I replied. “My daughter’s peace is not for sale.”
I ended the call. Then, with a firm thumb, I deleted her contact information. The spotlight, however tempting, was a hungry beast. I had walked away from the industry, and I would walk away from its manufactured celebrity, too.
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