She’s kept a high profile since the controversy surrounding her latest boyfriend, baller Kieran Edwards, suddenly coming out of the closet two months ago. Now, Hallie Thorne is letting it all hang loose on a night out on the town. That’s right, my little Vaulters! You’re seeing correctly. Here is Hallie Thorne showing off her nipple. And with none other than cable TV’s most beloved hunk on her arm.
Next station? Has-been Celeb Rehab, if you ask me.
She may be a hit with Hollywood’s men, but whispers on the street are saying Daddy Dearest cannot stand her.
Okay. Wait a minute. Pause. Don’t make a judgment.
I know it looks really bad. Not my nipple—my boobs are awesome, they’re probably my best feature—but I swear I can explain all the other stuff.
So, this is the story of my downfall.
Of how every household in America got to see my nipple.
Go back to a year ago when my nip-slip picture was plastered all over internet websites, magazines, tabloids, and social media accounts. At some point, I wondered if I should get it an agent and a tiny pair of dark film-noir sunglasses. That’s how crazy things got.
Not that I had anything to hide. I was, as the media pointed out,curvylicious. With wide hips, D-cup breasts, and a butt worthy of every one of Lil Wayne’s heart-wrenching poems.
The problem was…my nipple wasn’t just a nipple.
It was the nipple of the first White House baby. I was the First Daughter on a few levels.
America was obsessed with the fact that I, Hallie Margaret Thorne, the first child to be born to a sitting president, was also a royal fuck-up.
The tattoos, cherry-red hair, thick eyeliner, and community college I’d dropped out of one semester into my studies provided a certain easy-to-hate optic…
Everyone thought Ihadit easy. All I had to do was literally not screw up. But I did. Constantly.
And this last time? I’d taken it one step too far.
Yellow Vaultwasn’t lying. My parentshadhad enough of me. Desperate times called for desperate measures for their pretty, loose cannon in need of protection, a mental slap in the face, and a wake-up call.
Enter Ransom Lockwood.
Formidable, forbidding, frightening, and…excuse me, butfuckableto a fault. My new bodyguard.
Sorry,close protection officer.
The devil who blew up my life and annihilated whatever was left of my self-esteem.
The ornery protector who stole my heart, smashed it into pieces, then handed me back the broken shards with a lopsided smirk.
They called himThe Robot, but I didn’t think that’s what he was.
He had a heart, somewhere under all those layers. Dusty and scarred, but still beating.
So all you need to know is that in some ways, that nip slipdiddestroy my life. But it also saved me. Or at least, one part of me.
The part that was worth saving.
The part that survived.
When Princesses Fall
My corseted little black dress was a mistake.
I knew as soon as I slipped into the back seat of my driver’s Cadillac, my upper face covered by a sequined, red masquerade mask.
My best friend Keller was already perched on the opposite side of the seat, rearranging a stray hair in his perfect blond mane, his phone’s camera serving as a mirror. He had a beautiful, golden Roman mask on.