Oh, shit...

By the time Emma Stone comes back from the bathroom, eyes still bright and tipsy, the two of you are still sitting frozen in the booth, shellshocked.

She can tell something’s wrong immediately. ‘What?’ Emma demands, sliding into the vacated seat without ceremony. ‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’

In response, Emma Watson just slides her phone silently across the table.

It takes a few moments for Emma Stone to scan it – but then…

‘Oh, shit…’ she breathes, looking up at the two of you. ‘Motherfucker. He did not.’

Emma Watson shrugs, looking like the movement physically hurts her. ‘I don’t know. It looks like he did.’

MORE CELEBRITY NUDES LEAK! thunders the headline, with an equally massive sub-heading underneath it. EMMA WATSON AMONG THOSE EXPOSED!

When the call came through from Sarah, you watched the blood drain from Emma’s face.

The conversation didn’t last long. You caught Sarah asking repeatedly what she should do. Whether they were fake. Whether they were real, but she should claim they were fake. Whether she should say nothing at all.

But one look at Emma’s ashen expression told you everything you needed to know. And the truth came out in a few humiliated whispers.

The pictures were real. No, she hadn’t taken them herself. But she’d allowed him to take them.

She’d posed for him. She’d trusted him. Against her better judgement, she’d said yes. There might have been **** involved.

And it had been a birthday present. He’d been asking for months. And she’d finally given in…

‘Motherfucker,’ you echo quietly, and Emma Stone nods in emphatic agreement.

‘Of course, Justin’s claiming he was hacked,’ you tell her in an undertone. ‘And he’s not stupid enough to have leaked them himself, so the pictures online have Russian metadata. And they were uploaded from somewhere in Croatia, apparently. Which just means he paid for an expensive VPN.’

Emma Watson still hasn’t looked up; she’s just staring at the table, shoulders rising and falling as she tries to hold back more tears. ‘You don’t know that,’ she whispers suddenly, still not meeting your eyes. ‘He could have been hacked. Lots of people are. It happens.’

You bite your tongue, moments from disagreeing violently. Emma Stone catches your eye; not now, she’s saying. Just wait.

‘It’s possible,’ you grind out, even though it isn’t. Because you just know – somehow, you just know who’s responsible for this.

And the timing is too perfect. It’s uncanny. The day you’re on the front page with Emma Stone is the day Emma Watson’s nudes leak? It’s **** for stealing his new girlfriend.

Careful, clever, calculated ****. Expressly designed to attack Emma at her lowest point. To make her distrust everyone, make her push you away, possibly even break you up for good.

You find yourself shaking your head. God, he’s a clever bastard.

Cold, though. You’d have to be to do something like this.