Dirty Little Secrets

19.

GEORGE'S POV

The heavy rain was hitting the courtyard’s brick archway in a steady, relentless beat. I stared down at Dira, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my leather jacket, my jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The artificial elegance she usually strutted around campus with was completely gone, replaced by a defensive, anxious twitch as she leaned back against the wet ivy wall.

I had been looking for her the second that viral video blew up the university forum. I knew Summer. I knew the hell she was enduring to keep Clyde safe, and I knew she would never start a public brawl that risked her music scholarship unless she was pushed completely over the edge.

"Did you post it?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a cold, lethal register that cut right through the sound of the rain.

Dira flinched slightly, but she quickly recovered, crossing her arms and tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about, George."

"Don't play dumb with me, Dira," I stepped closer, blocking her path out of the courtyard. "The video on the forum. The one conveniently edited to make sure Summer look like a psycho while you play the innocent victim. Why did you do that?"

Dira scoffed, a bitter, defensive laugh escaping her lips. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing as she shifted her stance. "Why do you even care, George? Why do you keep supporting Summer, even when you know exactly who and what she r0ally is?"

The question hung heavily in the damp air between us. My heart did a slow, dangerous thud against my ribs, but I kept my face entirely stone-cold.

"Who is the hell is she exactly?" I asked her, my voice deadpan, challenging her to say the words out loud. "Huh, tell me!"

Dira opened her mouth to snap back, but as she met my unyielding, protective glare, the words died in her throat. She shifted her weight uneasily, looking away toward the empty path. She could not reply. She didn't actually know about Summer's double life at the club; she was just repeating the toxic rumors that people liked to whisper.

"That's what I thought," I hissed, leaning in. "You don't know a damn thing about her. You are going to take that video down from the forum right now, and you are going to write a formal apology to Summer for starting that fight in the lecture hall."

"And if I don't?" Dira challenged, trying to find her backbone, standing hands akimbo. "You can't make me do anything."

"If you don't," I replied smoothly, pulling my hands out of my pockets, placing it directly on her shoulders. "I am going straight to Dean Finerty's office. I'll pull the security footage from the lecture hall hallway. I'll show him exactly who cornered who, and I'll make sure the administration hits you with a harassment charge that will get you suspended before the Showcase next week. Try me."

Hearing the threat of the Dean and a semester suspension, Dira’s tough exterior completely cracked. The color drained from her face, and her arms dropped to her sides.

"I can't!" she burst out, her voice suddenly sounding small and desperate over the rain. "George, I'm telling you, I really can't take the video down!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I didn't even want to post it in the first place!" she explained, her hands trembling as she frantically reached into her designer bag and pulled out her phone. "An anonymous number texted me this morning. They paid me a massive lump sum through an untraceable digital transfer, and they sent me the pre-edited video file. I only did exactly as I was instructed. They told me if I didn't upload it, they'd target me next!"

To prove her story, she unlocked her device and held the screen up to my face. She showed me the message as proof.

I snatched the phone from her hand, my eyes scanning the text thread with a cold, growing dread. The messages were sent from a masked, encrypted burner number. The caption, the video attachment, and the exact timestamp instructions were all laid out. But it was the signature sign-off at the bottom of the transaction that made my blood run entirely to ice: Enjoy the show, princess.

It was the exact same blackmailer who was stalking Clyde and targeting Summer at the club and the hospital. This wasn't a petty school rivalry; someone was systematically destroying Summer's life from the shadows, and they were using the university infrastructure to do it. And if they were using encrypted servers, there was only one place on campus with the bandwidth and digital decryption tools to trace the routing IP address.

The computer science lab.

"Hey! Give me my phone back!" Dira complained, reaching for it.

I didn't hand it back. Instead, I shoved her phone into my own pocket, grabbed her firmly by the upper arm, and began marching her out of the courtyard.

"What are you doing?! Let go of me!" she shrieked, stumbling over the wet pavement.

"You're coming with me," I growled, ignoring her struggles as I dragged Dira along through the rain, heading straight toward the tech building.

As we walked, I pulled out my own phone with my free hand. My thumb flew across the screen, pulling up our group chat—the one that consisted of Felix, Kingsley, Summer, and me. We hadn't used it since Clyde was in the hospital, but right now, everyone needed to see the truth before they tore each other apart.

"Everyone meet in the Computer Room on the third floor of the tech building right now. No excuses. I have proof of who leaked the video. Bring Summer if she’s with you."

I locked my phone and shoved it away, tightening my grip on Dira’s arm as we burst through the glass doors of the building. The game was over. We were finding out exactly who was behind this anonymous monster today.