Dirty Little Secrets

CHAPTER 22.

SUMMER'S POV

I didn’t go home.

After Kingsley stormed out of the club, leaving me shaking in that dim hallway, I couldn’t face George’s questions or Clyde’s worried eyes. I texted Amanda instead. She didn’t ask me for details, she just opened her tiny apartment door, handed me a blanket, and let me crash on her couch. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kingsley’s hurt face, heard his harsh words echoing in my head; You’re gullible, Summer. Dangerously gullible. Or maybe you just enjoy destroying yourself. Which is it?”

Morning came too soon, earlier than I expected, which I didn't want. I borrowed one of Amanda’s hoodies and dragged myself to school, hoping the chaos from yesterday had died down.

But it hadn't. Instead, it increased.

Whispers followed me across campus like shadows. Phones beeped constantly, making me uncomfortable. Heads turned, wherever I went to, like I was some live comic. A group of girls near the fountain didn’t even bother lowering their voices. They mocked me, openly.

“…that’s her. The one in the video.”

“Ghetto w***e energy for real.”

I kept my head down, shoulders tight, clutching my bag like a shield."Just get to class. Ignore them." I whispered to myself. But the weight of it pressed harder with every step.

By the time I reached the music department building, something was off. Students were spilling out of lecture halls, rushing in one direction with excited murmurs. A crowd was forming, moving fast toward the main conference hall.

I grabbed the arm of a guy hurrying past. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He shrugged me off roughly, barely glancing back. “Move.”

I tried again with a girl. It was the same thing, even more brutal than the guy. I was pushed aside like I was invisible. My stomach twisted. I knew something was definitely wrong.

I pulled out my phone to text George.

'Where are you? Everyone’s rushing to the conference hall. What’s—'

A new message popped up before I could finish typing. It was from Dira.

"Dira: I’m sorry about everything. I would like to apologize. Please, meet me at the conference hall. Come through the back door of hall. I want to apologize properly. Please. I’ll explain."

My thumb hovered. Every instinct screamed don’t go. After the edited video, the probation, the blackmail—this smelled like a trap. But if she was genuinely sorry… if this could fix even a fraction of the damage to my scholarship, why won't I go?

I deleted the unsent text to George and headed for the back entrance.

The door creaked as I slipped inside. The conference hall was pitch black. No lights were put on. I could not hear any ssound except my own breathing. Everywhere was quiet as a grave.

“Dira?” I called softly, voice echoing.

A faint glow appeared near the stage—someone’s phone flashlight. Then the main lights snapped on, blinding me for a second.

Dira was on her knees in the center of the stage, mascara already running down her cheeks. Her hands were clasped together like she was praying for their preservation of her life.

“Summer… please,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “Spare me. I’m begging you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Just… don’t ruin me too.”

I froze. “What are you talking about? Stand up.”

She shook her head violently, refusing to rise. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for calling you names, for the fight, for everything!” Her voice rose, theatrical and desperate. Suddenly she slapped herself hard across the face. The sound cracked through the hall. “See? I’m punishing myself! Please forgive me!”

My skin crawled. “Dira, stop. Get up. This is insane”

She slapped herself again, harder, her cheek blooming red. “I was wrong! You’re not a w***e! I’m the one who’s pathetic. Please, Summer, spare my life. Don’t destroy everything I have!”

I walked toward the stage, heart hammering. “I said stand up! I’m not doing anything to you. What the hell is this?”

That’s when I noticed the red light on her phone, propped up on the stage edge. s**t, she has been live streaming, all along. The viewer count was climbing rapidly, gaining thousands of views already. More and more students began pouring into the hall from the main doors, drawn by the noise and notifications.

Murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Is she really begging?”

“Summer made her do this?”

Dira kept going, tears streaming, slapping her own face again. “Forgive me! I’ll do anything! Just stop this!”

I reached her, grabbing her wrists to stop another slap. “Dira, enough! I’m not behind any of this. Stand up right now—”

My phone chimed loudly in my pocket.

I let go of her with one hand and pulled it out, dread pooling in my gut.

It was yet another message from the unknown number.

“This is just the beginning!”

I stared at the blank screen, blood turning to ice. Dira was still on her knees, sobbing theatrically for the growing audience. Phones were out everywhere now, recording. The whispers turned into a roar.

My head spun. This wasn’t Dira’s idea. Someone had set her up—set us up—to make me look even worse. Like I was some bully forcing a public breakdown.

I looked down at Dira’s tear-streaked, terrified face and realized with cold clarity: the real monster wasn’t done playing.

And I was standing right in the middle of his next move.