Chapter 2
1335 Words
BELLA
“What do you have to say about the video of you and Lila Grant?”
The question slices through the press room so sharply that the entire space seems to freeze around it.
All pairs of eyes turn on me as a few keyboards stop clacking.
Someone near the back lowers their coffee cup halfway to their mouth. Beside me, Nora, my best friend and campus photographer, slowly lifts her camera higher, her expression somewhere between impressed and horrified.
Good.
Let them be uncomfortable.
The post-game press conference smells like melted ice, sweat, and burnt coffee from the café downstairs. The hockey team had won twenty minutes ago, but no one seems to be interested in discussing the game anymore.
Not after I mentioned the video.
At the front table, Chase stills completely.
Only his hand gives him away.
His fingers tighten once around the microphone stand before relaxing again.
Interesting.
Until now, every reporter had asked safe questions. Easy questions.
Questions about teamwork. Playoffs. His assist during the second period. As if nobody had watched the same viral clip currently consuming the internet.
As if a crying girl wasn’t the reason half this room showed up tonight.
Chase finally leans back into his chair.
Even fresh off the ice, he looks infuriatingly composed. Damp black hair curls slightly near his forehead, and there’s a bruise darkening along the edge of his jawline.
Campus girls practically worship him.
I can see why, and I hate that I can.
The tension in the room is palpable as he adjusts the sleeves of his black team hoodie before answering carefully.
“I think people online turned something private into entertainment.”
Murmurs ripple quietly across the room, but I'm not satisfied. That’s not an answer.
I tighten my grip on my notebook.
“With all due respect,” I say evenly, “that still doesn’t explain what happened.”
His eyes meet mine fully for the first time.
Gray. Sharp. Exhausted.
The exhaustion catches me off guard.
I expected defensive. Arrogant. Maybe angry.
Not tired.
“You already think you know what happened,” he says.
The calmness in his voice irritates me more than shouting would have.
Because it sounds genuine.
I force myself to remember the voice note from three in the morning. Lila sounding terrified before deleting the message entirely.
People don’t react like that for no reason.
“I’m asking because students deserve transparency,” I reply.
A humorless laugh leaves him.
“Transparency?” he repeats softly.
The media officer standing near the stage shifts nervously. Chase ignores him completely.
“You don’t know the full story.”
“Then tell it.” The words leave my mouth before I can soften them.
The room goes silent, and I'm sure that to everyone present, I was probably crossing the line. However, I didn't get my name Bella the equalizer for nothing.
I didn't care that he was influential enough to end my career on the spot, or that I could face censorship from the university. All I cared for was accountability.
I can feel Nora glance at me beside the press row.
Chase studies me for a long moment.
There’s frustration in his expression now. But something else too.
Recognition. Like he’s realizing I’m not asking questions for attention or clicks.
I actually believe he hurt someone.
His jaw tightens.
His gaze sharpens instantly.
“You’ve already decided who I am,” he says.
The words land harder than they should.
For half a second, guilt flickers through me before I bury it instantly.
No. Not guilt. Focus.
I square my shoulders and speak again.
“I’m not deciding anything,” I say evenly. “I’m reporting.”
“And do you think half a story counts as facts?”
“You’re one of the most influential athletes on this campus,” I continue. “Don’t you think students deserve transparency?”
That one hits the room hard.
A few students glance at each other. Someone’s phone camera shifts higher.
The media officer finally rushes forward.
“Alright, that’s enough for tonight…”
“Convenient,” I mutter under my breath.
Unfortunately, Chase hears it.
His gaze snaps back to mine instantly.
Darker this time. Sharper.
The room suddenly feels too warm, but there it is…The first c***k in his perfect composure.
For a second, neither of us looks away.
There’s anger there.
Frustration too.
But underneath it, something else flickers briefly across his face.
Recognition.
Like he finally realizes I’m not asking questions for attention.
I actually believe he’s hiding something.
“Next time,” he says carefully, “try talking to me before writing your headline.”
I stand before I can think better of it.
“Next time,” I shoot back, “give me a better story.”
A few people inhale sharply.
Nora whispers, “Bella…”
But Chase is already rising from his chair.
His PR team immediately moves toward him, trying to guide him away from the stage, but he shrugs them off without looking away from me.
“Do you only care about the story, or do you actually want the truth?”
The words hit me square in the chest.
For one horrible second, I don’t answer.
Because suddenly I’m remembering Rose again.
Remembering how convinced I’d been that exposing the truth would save her.
And how wrong I turned out to be.
Nora elbows me lightly before the silence becomes suspicious.
By then, Chase has already turned away.
Camera flashes explode across the room while reporters begin whispering excitedly to each other.
I barely notice.
Because somehow, despite everything, the only thing stuck in my head is the way he looked at me when he asked that question.
Not angry.
Hurt.
CHASE
“That journalist hates you.”
Ethan tosses a polo shirt at my head the second I walk into the locker room.
I catch it automatically.
Around us, the team is loud from the win, but I can already feel the atmosphere shifting. Half the guys are pretending not to stare at me while checking their phones every few seconds.
The internet moves fast. Too fast.
Ethan drops onto the bench beside me and turns his screen around.
Sure enough, clips from the press conference are everywhere already.
Every platform. Every account.
The freeze-frame thumbnail looks ridiculous.
Bella Moreno glaring at me like she wants to burn me alive.
I should probably be annoyed.
Instead, I replay the video again.
And again.
“She’s insane,” Ethan mutters. “Who even talks to people like that?”
I don’t answer immediately.
Because honestly?
She didn’t look insane.
She looked convinced.
Like she genuinely believed I was capable of hurting someone.
That part bothers me more than the accusations themselves.
Ethan keeps talking.
“All these journalist people are the same,” he says. “They twist everything for attention.”
Normally, I’d agree without thinking.
But Bella didn’t look hungry for attention tonight.
She looked angry.
Personal.
Like this mattered to her beyond the headline.
I lean back against the locker and stare at the paused image of her on Ethan’s phone.
Red hair. Green eyes. Shoulders squared like she was ready for a fight.
Dangerous.
“What?” Ethan asks suspiciously.
I blink once and hand the phone back.
“I want information on her.”
His eyebrows lift immediately.
“For what?”
I pull my hoodie over my head slowly.
“Because people don’t come after someone like that unless they think they’re right.”
Ethan snorts.
“Or unless they want followers.”
Maybe.
But something about Bella Moreno feels different.
And I’ve learned to trust my instincts.
Especially when they tell me trouble isn’t over yet.
As I leave the locker room, my phone buzzes again.
Another message from my PR manager.
URGENT. CALL ME NOW.
A strange feeling settles heavily in my stomach.
The kind that warns you something worse is coming.
- Writer
