The morning after the Talent Showcase was drenched in gold sunlight—but for Ryan, it might as well have been storming.
Ella was still asleep beside him, curled under his hoodie, her hair splayed across the pillow like a dream he didn't want to wake from.
But he had already been awake for an hour.
Just staring.
Just… thinking.
Because the message had come in at 5:03 AM. An unknown number. A video file.
And the words that chilled his blood:
"She'll never love you after this. Tell her… or I will."
He didn't need to open it.
He already knew what it was.
The video.
From two years ago.
Back when he was someone else entirely.
Before Ella.
Before love had started to matter.
Before he ever thought of being good.
*****
Ella stirred. "You're thinking too loud," she mumbled, smiling into the pillow.
He looked at her—her face so soft, so open. The one person who didn't treat him like a rich prize or a dangerous mistake.
Just… Ryan.
"Do you regret last night?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked, still half-asleep. "What?"
"Being with me. Trusting me."
"Why would I regret the best thing that's happened to me in months?"
He kissed her shoulder.
But he didn't say "I love you."
Because love required truth.
And he wasn't sure he'd survive hers.
****
Later that day
Ryan stared at the locker in the east hall—the old one from his freshman year, long abandoned.
It was the place where everything had gone wrong.
He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until a voice whispered:
"You didn't tell her."
He turned.
Clarissa.
No longer polished. Her eyes wild. Hair messy. Nails bitten down to the quick.
"You did this," she hissed, shoving him. "You helped her ruin my family!"
Ryan didn't flinch. "Your family ruined themselves."
"You think she'll still love you when she finds out?" Her smile was venom. "You think her precious little heart won't break when she sees you in that hotel room?"
His jaw clenched. "Leave her out of this."
"Oh, honey…" Clarissa purred, leaning in. "You were seventeen. She was twenty-five. A journalist, remember? You let her use you. You enjoyed it. And your daddy paid her off to disappear."
"Shut up."
"She was married, Ryan. And you let it happen."
"Shut up."
"You broke her marriage and then broke the story. You leaked her name to the tabloids like a coward."
He shoved Clarissa back.
Hard.
She hit the locker and laughed.
"You think you're so different now," she whispered. "But you're still just a spoiled little boy who uses people and burns them alive when they get too close."
Ryan turned and walked away before he lost control.
But her final words echoed down the hall.
"Tick-tock, lover boy. The past always wakes up."
****
Meanwhile
Ella was in the music lab when she got a strange message.
A folder labeled: "Do You Know Who You're Sleeping With?"
Her stomach dropped.
She clicked.
And the video began.
A grainy hotel room.
Ryan.
Shirtless.
Sitting on a bed.
Laughing with a much older woman.
Then kissing her.
Then—
She slammed her laptop shut, her chest heaving.
No. No. No.
Her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
"Don't worry. There's more where that came from. :)
—C"
*****
Her hands shook as she tried to breathe.
It didn't make sense.
None of it made sense.
But her heart screamed: Ask him. Now. Before it gets worse.
****
That evening, she stormed into Ryan's room, slamming the door behind her.
He was shirtless again—this time painting at the easel. A distraction he always turned to when things got dark.
He froze when he saw her face.
"You saw it," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't know how."
"Try now."
Ryan sat down, hard, on the edge of the bed. "It was before you. Way before. I was messed up. My mom had just died. My dad was halfway across the world, paying me to shut up and smile in press photos. I didn't even think I was worth loving back then."
Ella stared at him, eyes glossy. "So you let a married woman sleep with you?"
"She seduced me, El. I was seventeen. Stupid. I didn't know how to say no to someone who made me feel wanted."
"And leaking her name?"
"She tried to blackmail my father. I panicked. I leaked the name to make her look unstable so she'd back off. I hated myself for it."
Ella stepped back like he'd struck her.
"Do you still hate yourself?"
He looked at her, broken. "Only when I think about losing you."
Silence.
Then she whispered: "I need time."
And walked out.
****
Ryan didn't follow her.
Didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Outside the window, the sky began to bleed orange as the sun disappeared.
*****
In another part of the city, the woman from the surveillance room watched again.
But this time, she had company.
A man.
Taller. Colder. Scarred.
"Phase Two complete," she said. "She saw the video."
"And Phase Three?" he asked, sipping wine.
She smiled cruelly.
"Let's see how she handles his mother's real death."