Breaking the Silence

Chapter Two

Her hand brushed against the edge of her sweater pocket, where the threatening note still sat folded. She hadn’t forgotten it. And now, she was starting to wonder if she should be more than just cautious.

She should be careful.

“Alex!”

A manicured hand latched onto her arm, stopping her mid-step. The nails were painted a soft blush pink that matched the glossy tint on the girl’s lips.

“I’ve been trying to catch you all week.”

Alex turned to find herself face-to-face with Juliette Stanton. “Hey, Jules. You look amazing. As always.”

Juliette beamed. Compliments never missed their mark with her.

With her sleek shoulder-length blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and an eternally flawless complexion, Juliette looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine rather than in senior seminar. Today, she was dressed in a cashmere baby-blue sweater with a delicate lace-trimmed collar and designer jeans that probably cost more than Alex’s entire outfit. A fine Cartier diamond pendant glittered faintly at her throat—understated, but unmistakably real.

"Listen, I just wanted to compliment you on your article about the sororities at Westbridge," Juliette Stanton said, her polished voice matching the gloss of her perfectly manicured nails. "All the girls in Entre Nous have been talking about it nonstop since it dropped last week."

"One yea, and one hard nay," Aspen whispered to Alex with a sly smirk.

"I'm glad you liked it," Alex said warmly. "It’s actually been fun digging into Westbridge’s history and campus traditions."

She had spent weeks interviewing current and former sorority members, flipping through decades of archived student publications, and even scanning old digital files in the library’s media vault. It gave her a chance to better understand her college and connect with people she normally wouldn’t cross paths with.

“Tradition means everything in a Westbridge sorority,” Juliette said solemnly, her tone almost reverent.

Alex smiled politely. “Entre Nous definitely seems to have that covered.”

“My great-grandmother helped found the Westbridge chapter,” Juliette said proudly. “Then my grandmother and my mom both joined. I’m just trying not to let them down.”

“Pretty sure you’ve already exceeded expectations,” Aspen chimed in. “You’re the first in your family to make president, right?”

Juliette nodded, then glanced down at the slim gold Apple Watch on her wrist. “I’d better run. Madame Gautier loses her mind if I’m even thirty seconds late for French.”

“It was good talking to you,” Alex said with a smile.

Juliette hesitated, then added, “Oh, one other thing.” She tapped her manicured nail against her lip thoughtfully. “I saw the banner—it's a three-part series? Just wondering… is there really that much to say? I mean, won’t people get bored?”

“I don’t think so,” Alex replied evenly. “Part two is told from the perspective of a current pledge. I think a lot of freshmen and sophomores will be curious about that.”

“Not the girls I know,” a sharper voice cut in.

They turned to find Sloane Mercer standing a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression hard. Sloane, president of Delta Psi, looked every bit the power player, with her long auburn hair catching the sunlight and her jewelry flashing as she adjusted the waistband of her sleek black faux leather mini. Three gold hoops glinted from one ear, and her stacked bangles gave a soft metallic clink when she moved.

“Well, if it isn’t Sloane,” Aspen drawled from just behind Alex’s shoulder. “What a completely unplanned delight. Something on your mind?”

The air crackled. The two girls had known each other since grade school—and hadn’t liked each other since day one.

"Our clubs are service organizations that do a lot for this school," Sloane Mercer declared, her voice sharp and echoing across The Quad.

"I never said they didn’t," Alex replied calmly.

Sloane narrowed her dark eyes, crossing her arms tighter. "No, but you implied it—by focusing so much on parties and social life in your piece."

Alex met her gaze evenly. "If that emphasis came through, it's only because the people I interviewed thought it was important. That’s what they talked about."

"Who do you think you are, 60 Minutes?" Sloane said with a sneer. "Trying to dig up some scandal at Westbridge? Newsflash—there isn’t one."

"Whoa, slow down," Alex said, holding up a hand.

"Take a breath, Sloane."

"I am calm," Sloane snapped.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me. What exactly are you so upset about?"

"Upset? Please. I’m not upset—I just don’t like being misrepresented."

"I see," Alex said evenly. "But the article covered all the sororities, not just Delta Psi."

"Yeah, but you hit the Delts the hardest."

"How?"

"By calling us the party sorority, that’s how."

Alex gave a small smile. "Aren’t you?"

Every Friday and Saturday night, there was a party somewhere—usually hosted by one of the Delts—and the louder, flashier, and more outrageous, the better.

"That’s not the point," Sloane huffed. "I think this is really about the fact that we didn’t invite you to join Delta Psi when you transferred to Westbridge last year. So now you’re trying to drag us down."

"That’s not true," Alex snapped.

She’d never been big on clubs or cliques, no matter where she lived. It just wasn’t her thing. But one look at Sloane’s face told her there was no chance she’d ever believe that.

Around them, a few of the students still lingering in The Quad had begun to glance over. Alex felt her cheeks flush with heat.

Sloane took full advantage of Alex’s silence to deliver one final blow.

“You can’t just show up and start changing everything. We’ll make sure you’re stopped.”

Before Alex could reply, the loud chime rang through the campus speakers. Sloane spun on her heel and stormed off toward her next class.

“Saved by the bell,” Alex muttered, still staring at the doors Sloane had disappeared through. She shook her head. “I feel like I just got hit by a tornado.”

“You did,” Aspen said, looping her arm through Alex’s and steering her toward the west wing where Journalism met. “And Sloane doesn’t mess around, especially if she thinks you’re after her guy.”

Alex blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Blake Ellison. Football golden boy. The guy who couldn’t stop flirting with you in Mr. Dartford’s class.”

“That was last June,” Alex said, confused. “We talked maybe twice. We swapped homework notes.”

Aspen grinned. “Yeah, well, Sloane’s like an elephant. She never forgets.”

Alex’s head was spinning as they made their way up the shaded path toward the Journalism classroom. First, there had been the blow-up with Jonah—tense and dramatic. Then Juliette had thankfully been sweet and supportive, but Sloane more than made up for it with her theatrics. And through it all, the weight of that threatening note still pressed against her from inside her pocket, impossible to ignore.

"Aspen," Alex said, tugging her friend aside to the shadowed corner of the Journalism building. "There’s one more thing." She pulled the blue envelope from her pocket. "I found this taped to my locker."

"Oh?" Aspen raised a brow. "What is it—some secret admirer finally confessing their undying love?"

"Hardly," Alex muttered, her voice flat. Her thoughts flashed to the other four notes she'd received.

"Well, go on, open it," Aspen urged, snatching for it. "Before I do."

Alex tore open the envelope and unfolded the single piece of pale stationery. The moment her eyes scanned the message, her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned back against the wall for support.

"This is worse than I thought."

Aspen grabbed the paper from her trembling fingers.

Her face paled as she read the bold, block letters:

Bury the story — or we’ll bury you.