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bu3ck3r · 30 days ago

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tied together – part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: hi guys so i finally started writing this series i told all of you about. i’m so grateful that you like my writing so much and i hope this will be good too. pls flood my asks with y’all’s thoughts on how was it, ily.

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

it was just another game. that’s what paige told herself as she laced up her sneakers in the locker room, pulling them tight enough to bite into the tops of her feet. she needed that pressure. needed the ache. something to focus on.

but it wasn’t just another game.

the lights were brighter for this one. the noise louder. the silence in her chest heavier.

uconn vs. south carolina. a packed house, cameras in every direction, and people’s eyes glued to her every move.

and across the court?

azzi.

azzi in garnet and black, wearing a jersey paige used to joke would never look right on her. azzi with that same calm, unreadable face she always wore before a big game. azzi acting like paige didn’t exist, like they hadn’t spent years building something just to let it crack and fall apart in complete silence.

paige sat back on the bench and took a breath that didn’t reach her lungs. the locker room buzzed around her—shoes squeaking, teammates laughing, coaches giving their last-minute notes—but none of it really landed. her focus kept drifting. her body was here. her heart? somewhere tangled up in a version of the past she tried not to think about.

she hadn’t spoken to azzi in… what? five months? six?

not since that night.

not since the decision.

not since paige had stood in her dorm, phone in hand, staring at the espn notification that azzi fudd—her azzi—had committed to south carolina. not uconn. not the plan. not the promise they’d made when they were sixteen and high on dreams and late-night gym sessions and whispered what-ifs under gym lights.

she didn’t text after that. didn’t call. azzi didn’t either.

fine.

cool.

whatever.

“bueckers,” coach geno called, dragging her back into the room. “focus up. you good?”

“locked in,” paige lied, standing and giving him a nod. she cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and grabbed her warm-up shirt, pulling it over her head. her reflection in the mirror looked tight. tense. like a rubber band stretched too far.

she didn’t recognize that girl. not all the way.

the tunnel was buzzing when they walked out. fans leaned over the railings screaming names, cameras followed every step. paige kept her eyes forward—until they hit the edge of the court, and then, like clockwork, she looked.

there she was.

azzi stood on the opposite sideline, bouncing a ball against the hardwood with one hand, her other hand curled around her hip. her braids were tight. her uniform perfect. and her gaze?

already on paige.

their eyes locked for a second too long—long enough that it had weight. long enough that it stirred something low in paige’s stomach that she didn’t have time for.

she looked away first.

that pissed her off.

warm-ups passed in a blur of layup lines and loose drills. paige hit every shot she took, even though she wasn’t really thinking about form. her body did the work.

her mind?

her mind was stuck on the girl across the court who moved like she didn’t have a care in the world. who moved like paige had never mattered. who smiled at her teammates like she hadn’t once looked at paige with that same softness, like she hadn’t once grabbed paige’s hand after a win and said, “this is what forever looks like.”

and now she was the enemy.

typical.

tipoff was chaos, like always. the crowd roared. the announcers screamed something paige couldn’t hear over the blood in her ears. she lined up at the top of the key, staring down her matchup, but her eyes drifted again.

azzi was on the wing, hands on her knees, eyes sharp.

their paths crossed for one second during a play stoppage. they ended up shoulder to shoulder near the scorer’s table, waiting for a substitution.

paige didn’t plan to say anything.

but her mouth moved anyway.

“you ready to lose in front of your new little fanbase?” she murmured, eyes still forward.

azzi didn’t miss a beat. “you ready to stop pretending like you don’t miss me?”

it landed like a punch—quiet, direct, and low enough that no one else could hear.

paige’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t respond.

didn’t have to.

azzi turned first, jogging back toward her side of the court with a smirk tugging at her mouth—barely there, but paige saw it.

she always saw it.

the first quarter was brutal. fast, physical, mean. south carolina played like they had something to prove. azzi played like she had nothing to lose. she moved with the kind of confidence that made paige want to punch a wall—or kiss her, maybe. whatever. it didn’t matter.

midway through the second, azzi hit a three right in paige’s face and didn’t even blink. just backpedaled with her fingers still in the follow-through and didn’t look away once.

paige smirked, even as the heat climbed her neck.

“cute,” she muttered, wiping sweat from her face. “didn’t know sc let shooters have that much space.”

azzi, walking past her, didn’t even break stride. “didn’t know uconn still relied on ghosts to win games.”

the insult was sharper than it needed to be. and it cut deeper than paige expected.

because she had been a ghost for a while—injury sidelining her, questions swirling. she was finally back, but still chasing her shadow. and azzi knew that.

of course she did.

halftime hit with uconn down by two. the team huddled, but paige’s mind was elsewhere. locked on the flash of azzi’s eyes, the curve of that smirk, the fact that this—whatever this was—wasn’t over.

not even close.

and deep down?

she didn’t want it to be.

azzi’s pov:

azzi told herself it didn’t matter.

the cameras, the crowd, the way her pulse picked up when she saw uconn jerseys pouring out of the tunnel across from hers. none of it was supposed to get under her skin. not even the blonde with the impossible shot selection.

especially not her.

azzi rolled her shoulders back and took a breath that didn’t reach all the way down. she bounced the ball lazily in one hand, listening to the squeak of sneakers, the murmur of strategy, the way her coaches huddled nearby with furrowed brows and clipped instructions.

she should’ve been focused on the play.

instead?

her eyes kept drifting.

paige looked good. too good.

confident. sharp. that cocky little half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth like she was daring someone—anyone—to try her. like she was unbothered.

which was bullshit, obviously.

azzi had spent too much time with her not to know the difference between actually chill and hiding something behind your mouthguard. and paige? she was definitely hiding something. the question was just whether it still had anything to do with her.

maybe it did. maybe it didn’t.

either way, azzi wasn’t about to be the one to blink first.

she hadn’t blinked when she made the decision. when she called coach staley instead of coach geno. when she’d sent paige that final text—just six words:

“i hope you understand one day.”

paige never answered.

she hadn’t expected her to. still hurt, though.

azzi ran a hand down her jersey, fingers brushing the stitched lettering. south carolina. the weight of it still felt strange sometimes—like it wasn’t fully hers yet. like part of her was still looking back over her shoulder, waiting to see someone in navy and white catching up.

the part she never said out loud?

she thought she’d feel lighter once she chose.

she didn’t.

paige had been in her dreams more times than she’d admit. not just in the obvious ways—the glances, the touches, the almosts that never quite crossed the line—but in the real ways. the early morning texts. the mid-practice smiles. the shared playlists. the idea that no matter how hard things got, they’d get there together.

but “together” had a price tag azzi wasn’t willing to pay.

so she left.

and now here they were. full circle. game night.

she heard her name over the speakers. stepped into the spotlight like it was nothing.

but when she looked across the court—and paige was already staring, already smirking like she knew exactly how deep under azzi’s skin she still lived?

yeah.

it felt like everything again.

the moment they brushed shoulders during a stoppage, paige leaned in close enough for azzi to smell her shampoo—some kind of vanilla crap azzi used to steal when they were roommates at usa training camp.

“you ready to lose in front of your new little fanbase?” paige said low.

azzi didn’t flinch. just smiled without smiling.

“you ready to stop pretending like you don’t miss me?”

and god, the way paige’s smirk cracked for just a second?

it made something deep in azzi’s chest clench.

she turned and walked away, not letting herself look back. that wasn’t the game they were playing right now.

the ball tipped. the game started.

and azzi moved.

she played like hell. like revenge. her jumper was falling. her defense was locked in. every time paige crossed her path, azzi made sure she felt it—shoulder bumps, lingering glances, quick grins after made shots.

it was petty. it was immature.

it was so them.

by the time she nailed a three with paige in her face and backpedaled with her follow-through still hanging in the air, it wasn’t about points. it was about proving a point.

and when paige muttered “cute” under her breath, azzi didn’t even hesitate.

“didn’t know uconn still relied on ghosts to win games.”

she meant it to sting. she meant it to land.

because azzi remembered what it was like when paige disappeared.

when the injury benched her and she went radio silent. when everything got quiet and azzi kept waiting for a call that never came. she’d been ready to stay, back then. ready to commit. ready to build something real.

but paige had shut down.

so azzi had walked away.

now? now she was playing the best ball of her life.

and paige?

still in her head.

still in her chest.

still on her damn mind when the halftime buzzer sounded and azzi walked off the court feeling like she’d just run a marathon—tight lungs, sore legs, and that familiar ache in the back of her throat that only ever came when paige was involved.

she didn’t look back as they hit the tunnel.

didn’t have to.

she could feel her behind her.

and if paige wanted a war?

azzi wasn’t done fighting.

paige’s pov:

the second half hit with a crash.

if the first half was about getting the jitters out, then the second was pure war. both teams were on fire, pushing every inch of the floor with intensity that felt personal, that felt like a hundred little fires blazing all at once. no one was holding back anymore. they couldn’t.

it was as if the stadium itself could feel the weight of what this game really was.

and somewhere, buried underneath all the noise and chaos of the game—underneath the plays and the fans screaming—it was azzi. still there. still watching. still outplaying her, in ways that made paige want to scream and kiss her at the same time.

it was maddening.

she’d kept it together in the first half. she had to. but now?

now the cracks were starting to show.

azzi had hit another three-pointer in paige’s face to start the third quarter. and paige had looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, she hadn’t just seen an opponent. she hadn’t just seen a rival. she’d seen azzi—the girl she used to know. the girl she used to hold in her arms. the one she used to share secrets with. laugh with. get lost with in a world that wasn’t this.

that didn’t make sense now, did it?

azzi had chosen south carolina. and paige had stayed at uconn. and somewhere between the game-changing decisions, somewhere between commitments and broken promises, they had become something different.

paige shot a glance at her now, tracking her every move on the court like a damn shadow. azzi wasn’t even looking at her this time, which… kind of hurt more than the trash talk, more than the smiles, more than the jabs.

it was just the silence. the absence.

paige took a deep breath. get it together. this wasn’t about her. this was about winning. this was about proving herself. this was about the team.

not her.

but the thing was, when you had someone like azzi on the other side of the court, with the same history, the same chemistry, the same everything… it never stayed about the game.

the ball was inbounded to her. she caught it, faked a pass to the corner, and drove hard to the basket, testing the defense. she had a clear lane, but her instincts weren’t focusing on the hoop. they were focusing on azzi, who had just switched onto her side, following her every step like she knew what paige would do before she did.

azzi moved with that same calm intensity, sliding her feet, keeping her hands active, but there was something else behind it. something… personal.

paige faked another move. went left, then right, hoping to get past azzi, but as she did, she felt it. the pressure. the weight. the way the air seemed to thicken between them.

azzi was in her head.

paige pushed forward, trying to block it out, trying to focus on the basket—but it was useless. azzi’s presence was too loud. too sharp.

and then—

she swiped at the ball.

azzi stole it.

the crowd gasped.

and azzi took off down the court like she’d been waiting for that moment all game. like she knew. paige stood there for a moment, staring after her, before she snapped herself back into focus. this wasn’t the time. this wasn’t the place.

the game was everything.

but azzi?

azzi had been her everything.

and somehow, it was still there. all of it. like it had never gone away.

azzi made the layup on the other end of the court, and the lead grew for south carolina. 65-62.

paige wiped her face with the back of her hand. the clock was ticking down. the last few minutes of the game. this was where they thrived—where they always thrived. uconn had come back from bigger deficits. paige had made crazier shots.

this wasn’t over.

but it felt like it might be. the way azzi was playing, the way she was moving—she was unstoppable tonight. and it wasn’t just the basketball. it was the way she had that same look in her eyes—the one that used to be for paige. it was the way she held herself on the court, knowing every inch of paige’s rhythm. every weakness. every trick paige might try to pull.

it felt like a game of cat and mouse.

and right now, azzi was the one with the trap.

paige shook her head. focus. just focus. she had to focus.

but azzi was there, on her, and everything else—the whole game was slipping through her fingers.

they traded buckets for a few minutes. uconn stayed within three points. paige knew she had to get one more big shot, but the pressure kept building. it kept twisting tighter. the defense got harder. south carolina was more aggressive.

and azzi? azzi was everywhere. she was on paige’s every move. her shadow.

at some point, the game got lost in the noise of their back-and-forth. paige’s head felt like it was spinning. the playmaking, the defense, the shots. it all blended together in a whirlwind of adrenaline and desperation.

and then finally, paige found herself at the three-point line, wide open for a shot.

she caught the ball and didn’t think twice.

she shot.

but as soon as the ball left her hands, she knew. she knew it was off. she’d rushed it. she’d tried to push through the nerves, but the ball was spinning too quickly. it clanged off the rim, and the rebound was claimed by south carolina.

azzi had her hands on the ball again and she was running with it. fast.

the clock ticked. the game was slipping away.

paige’s heart pounded in her chest, and for a second, everything around her went quiet. she couldn’t look away. couldn’t look anywhere but azzi. she could feel her breath. could hear her footsteps. could feel her presence like she was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

and azzi?

azzi didn’t look at her.

she just kept running.

azzi’s pov:

the buzzer went off, but the noise didn’t stop.

not really.

it was like the air itself stayed thick—like the loud cheers and jeers, the shouts of “go uconn!” and “go gamecocks!” all melded together, but none of it was real. none of it touched her. not in the way it used to. not in the way that would make her want to celebrate.

she had won.

south carolina had won the game. it was one of those moments that should’ve felt like the pinnacle—the kind of thing you’d call home about, the kind of thing that would live in your memory forever.

but instead, azzi stood there in the middle of the court, staring at the floor beneath her, feeling the weight of the exact opposite. she wasn’t proud. she wasn’t basking in the glory of her performance. it wasn’t the win that mattered. it was the game. the game they had just played. the game with paige.

everything about it felt twisted, like the joy of the win was somehow complicated by the way paige’s eyes had followed her during those last moments. the way the tension between them had never gone away.

azzi couldn’t breathe.

the crowd was still screaming, and her teammates were celebrating around her, but she didn’t care. she tried to fake a smile, but it felt wrong. hollow. she couldn’t shake the feeling of paige’s gaze—of that soft anger in her eyes when she missed the shot. it wasn’t just a basketball game to paige. azzi had known that for years.

and what the hell was she supposed to do with that?

the other players moved around her, hugging each other, high-fiving, and celebrating their victory. but azzi was rooted to the spot. staring. lost in the moment that had started before the game and hadn’t ended yet.

she hadn’t expected this. she hadn’t expected to feel this way.

in fact, she’d been sure of one thing—when she made the decision to go to south carolina, when she made the decision to step away from all of that, from paige, away from their future—she’d been sure she’d feel relief.

but now? now all she could feel was confused. she should have been proud. she should have been excited. and yet, as she turned to walk off the court and head back to the locker room, there was a pit in her stomach that she couldn’t shake.

it didn’t help that she could feel paige behind her. feel her eyes burning into her back. feel her presence.

even after all the months, the weeks, the practices, the games, the decisions—they were still here. still tied to each other in a way that was way more complicated than any of them could explain.

she kept walking, ignoring the media and cameras trying to catch her eyes, trying to get a soundbite. she didn’t have the energy for that. she didn’t have the energy for anything.

when she reached the tunnel, she finally exhaled. the noise of the crowd faded, and she finally allowed herself to process what had just happened. south carolina had won, yes. but none of that really mattered now.

her gaze went to the exit door.

and there she was.

paige.

standing a few feet away in the tunnel, still in her uconn jersey, her arms crossed, looking like she was waiting for something—waiting for azzi to make the first move, to say something, to break the silence.

azzi’s heart hammered in her chest. her mind was screaming at her to turn away, to just walk past, to not engage. but when paige looked up at her, there was no choice.

the silence between them stretched out, long and heavy.

paige raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into that knowing half-smirk. “so… what’s the deal now, huh? you get to win, but i’m still stuck in this?”

azzi felt a flash of irritation. she was not doing this right now.

paige wasn’t looking for an answer, not really. she was teasing her. as always.

azzi pushed past the temptation to snap back. instead, she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, trying to remain calm, trying not to give in to the way paige’s eyes were burning through her, as if she was expecting something more.

“i don’t know, paige,” azzi said, forcing herself to sound nonchalant, even if every word felt like it was being pulled from the deepest part of her chest. “you tell me. you’ve been on the court with me all night.”

paige didn’t respond right away. instead, she looked at the floor, running her fingers through her hair, clearly trying to figure out the right words. and for a moment, azzi could see it—the crack in paige’s armor, the part of her that was still so raw.

“you really think that’s what i wanted?” paige said, her voice softer than azzi expected, but no less intense.

azzi looked up at her, confused. “what?”

paige’s eyes locked with hers, and the silence thickened again. “i didn’t want this. you think i wanted to watch you play for someone else? you think i wanted to lose to you?”

azzi’s stomach flipped. “you didn’t lose to me.”

paige’s smile faltered. “no? well, sure doesn’t feel like that.” she pushed off the wall, walking toward azzi with purpose now. “i thought we were a team. we said we were going to do this together.”

azzi felt the tension in her chest rise, her throat tightening. “you left, paige. you were gone before i could even get a chance to tell you why.”

paige took another step closer, her face softening as if she was finally allowing the emotions to slip through. “you think that was easy for me?” she whispered. “you think it was easy to just let you go? after everything?”

azzi looked down at the floor, feeling the weight of it all come rushing back. she swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. “it wasn’t easy for me either,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “but i had to make a choice, paige.”

paige was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

azzi couldn’t take it anymore. “what do you want me to say? that i regret everything? because i don’t. i don’t regret choosing south carolina.”

“then what’s the point?” paige asked softly. “if it didn’t mean anything, then why are we standing here, acting like it did?”

azzi felt the cold sting of truth hit her like a punch to the gut.

it was never that simple. it never had been.

the weight of the last few months—the decisions, the arguments, the empty texts, the silences—was crushing her in a way she didn’t know how to explain. this wasn’t just about basketball anymore.

this was about them.

and for the first time in a long time, azzi couldn’t tell if it was too late to fix it. too late to undo the things that had been said, the things that hadn’t been said.

too late to fix them.

“i don’t know if it’s too late,” azzi muttered, her voice cracking slightly.

paige didn’t answer. she didn’t need to.

but as she turned away, her footsteps echoing in the tunnel, azzi couldn’t help but feel that the silence had just stretched a little bit too long.

now tell me if you liked it and if i should keep writing this

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #fiction #uconn wbb #south carolina wbb #paige x azzi

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honeydippedfiction · 19 days ago

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Sweet Poison {JB9}

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Synopsis: Y/N can't believe it, she has to be dreaming. I guess this is what happens when you mess with the star quarterback. Can Joe really gain her forgiveness?

Warnings: Strong Language, Alcohol Use, Mature Themes, Mild Public Attention, Angst,Emotional Distress, Media Intrusion / Paparazzi, Gaslighting / Manipulation, Strong Language (Mild), Toxic Relationships, & Sexual Undertones.

Themes: Truth vs. Public Perception, Female Empowerment, Betrayal and Trust, Reputation and Image, Control and Reclamation, Performance as Catharsis, & Miscommunication and Consequences.

WC: 22.5k

A/N: Joe is in biiig trouble

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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Y/N stood frozen, phone still on the carpet, mind whirling with everything Michelle had just said. The weight of the words—Joe’s fiancée—felt like a slap to her chest. It wasn’t just the fact that Joe was engaged, it was the fact that he’d let her believe their little arrangement was just that: no strings, no expectations. Now, everything felt twisted, and she was left reeling in the emotional fallout.

Kayla was pacing across the room, still ranting about Joe, but Y/N couldn’t focus on her best friend's fury. Her mind was swirling with so many emotions—anger, betrayal, confusion. He’s engaged—those three words echoed in her head over and over.

This whole arrangement with Joe had started so casually, no promises, no commitments, just two people satisfying their needs without labels. But Joe had made it seem like he was single, like there was no one else in the picture. She had trusted him—let her guard down—and now, it felt like everything she’d known had been a lie.

Kayla, fully aware of the situation, was a whirlwind of frustration and outrage. She had been watching Y/N spiral in disbelief, her best friend sitting there like a ghost, face pale and distant. Kayla’s eyes narrowed in anger, her voice rising as she stood up and began pacing.

“No. No, Y/N. This is not happening,” Kayla snapped, her words sharp and filled with the heat of betrayal. “I cannot believe you let that man—Joe—play you like this. Engaged? Engaged!?”

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just sat there, shoulders slumped, her mind a mess of conflicting emotions. She couldn’t seem to process it all, the reality of what had happened crashing down on her like a wave that kept pulling her under. Joe was the one who had seen her in her most vulnerable moments, the one who had made her feel safe, wanted, and important. And now, she was just a fool, believing in something that was never meant to be.

Kayla’s voice cracked through the fog in Y/N’s mind, her frustration only growing as she paced in front of her best friend.

“How dare he? You let him in, Y/N. You let him see you—the real you. And he had the nerve to pull this shit?” Kayla’s hands were thrown up in the air, as if she could physically throw Joe out of the situation.

Y/N finally lifted her gaze to meet Kayla’s eyes. She wanted to say something, to tell her that it wasn’t that simple, but words failed her. Instead, she just stared, the tears threatening to spill but not quite breaking free yet.

Kayla sat down beside her, dropping her shoulders and taking a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her composure. Her gaze softened, but there was still a fire in her eyes. “Listen, I’m pissed. I’m so damn pissed on your behalf, but you need to snap out of this, okay? He doesn’t deserve your tears. He doesn’t deserve your time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she finally let the tears fall. Kayla wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in for a hug as Y/N let the raw emotion spill out. She felt stupid, humiliated, angry. She felt like everything she had shared with Joe was a lie—a manipulation.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I don’t know, Kayla,” she murmured. “I really don’t know.”

She felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t a home wrecker, she never wanted to be one. She had always refused to cross that line, always swore she wouldn’t be the cause of someone’s relationship falling apart. Yet here she was, in the middle of a mess she never thought she’d be in. What did that make her?

Kayla, sensing the internal battle within her friend, stopped pacing and knelt down in front of Y/N, putting a hand on her knee. “Y/N, I get it. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t know. You thought it was just a casual thing. But Joe—he messed with your head. He lied to you.”

“I didn’t know, Kayla,” Y/N said softly, feeling a wave of tears burn in her eyes. “I had no idea. He made it feel like it was just us. Like we were just having fun. I thought—I thought…he was honest with me. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her thoughts still racing. How could she have been so blind? The fact that Joe was engaged to someone else—and yet still fucked her multiple times over the past few months, made her feel like she was the only one—had shaken her trust. Not just in him, but in herself too.

She had always been so careful with people, so guarded. And Joe had broken through that. Now it felt like all of it was a game to him. He had gotten what he wanted, and now she was the one left to pick up the pieces.

“I don’t know what to do, Kayla,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted this. I just wanted—” She broke off, looking out the window, her gaze distant.

Y/N wiped her face, still trying to control the trembling in her hands. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head. How had she trusted him this much? How had she let him see everything—everything—and still, he had been hiding something so important?

Kayla was quiet for a long moment, then finally spoke, her voice more serious than before. “You need to call him out. Tell him the truth, and if he thinks he can just waltz back into your life after this? He’s got another thing coming.”

Y/N nodded, wiping away the tears that had fallen, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let Joe make her feel like she was the bad one here. No. He had crossed a line, and now it was time for her to set the boundaries, to take control of the situation.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed. She froze. She knew who it was without even looking. Joe.

Kayla watched her, her eyes narrowed, the fire still flickering in them. “You’re not answering that. You don’t need to answer that. He’s got some nerve trying to reach you after everything.”

Y/N stared at the phone for a moment longer before setting it down on the table. “No. I’m not answering. Not right now.”

Her mind was clear for the first time in days. She wasn’t going to let Joe dictate the narrative. She wasn’t going to be just another side piece in someone else’s life.

“I’ll talk to him later,” she said, finally looking Kayla in the eye. “When I’m ready. But right now? I need to focus on myself.”

Kayla gave her a satisfied grin. “That’s what I’m talking about. You own this, Y/N.”

Y/N stood up, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she walked to the window and gazed out at the busy street below. For the first time, the anger was beginning to turn into something else—strength, independence. She wasn’t going to let Joe have the final say in this.

She had to take back control of her life.

The sound of her phone buzzing again cut through the silence, but Y/N didn’t look at it this time.

“I’m done being confused,” she said, more to herself than Kayla. “He doesn’t get to make me feel like this anymore. I’ve got bigger things to focus on. Like my career, and getting my head back in the game.”

Kayla gave her a playful nudge. “There it is. That’s the Y/N I know.”

Y/N smiled faintly, feeling the weight of the situation starting to lift. This was just another bump in the road. And she wasn’t going to let Joe—or anyone—derail her again.

“I’m going to crush this,” she said, with a newfound determination. “I’ve got too much going for me to let some dick mess it up.”

As the night wore on, the storm of emotions in Y/N’s chest settled into something more manageable—anger turned to resolve, and heartbreak turned to clarity. She was going to get through this, stronger than before.

And Joe? Well, he’d learn sooner or later that Y/N wasn’t someone to be toyed with. Not anymore.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The night passed in a haze of exhaustion for Y/N. She had finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep, still replaying the day’s events in her mind. Thoughts of Joe, his lies, and the mess he had caused ran in a continuous loop. She was pissed, heartbroken, confused, but more than anything—she was done letting herself be anyone’s afterthought. No more.

But sleep didn’t come easily. The tension, the anger—it lingered beneath the surface, barely contained.

Around 2 AM Kayla, feeling the protective surge for her best friend, wasn't having any of this nonsense. Y/N might be asleep, but she wasn’t about to let Joe’s behavior slide. Picking up her phone, she dialed Ja'Marr’s number. Her fingers almost trembled in anger, but there was a cold, steely determination in her voice when he picked up.

"Ja'Marr, you better listen to me,” Kayla snapped as soon as Ja'Marr answered. “I don’t know what the hell is going on between Joe and Y/N, but he better get his shit together."

Ja'Marr, sounding somewhat surprised by Kayla’s fiery tone, chuckled a little. "Whoa, whoa, Kayla. What’s going on? What's all this about?"

“What’s going on? Are you serious right now?” Kayla nearly growled, leaning back on the couch in her hotel room, phone pressed to her ear. “Your boy has been playing games, and Y/N is the one getting caught up in it. He’s engaged, Ja'Marr. Engaged! And he’s been stringing her along like she’s some side chick.”

Ja'Marr froze for a moment, a grunt of disbelief escaping his lips. "Wait, what? Engaged? You sure about that?"

“Hell yeah, I’m sure! You think I’m gonna make this up? Your boy’s been lying to her face this whole time, and you’re telling me you didn’t know?” Kayla continued, her voice rising with every word. “You better check your boy because I swear to God, if he keeps treating Y/N like a damn side piece, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

On the other end, Ja'Marr shifted uncomfortably, his voice lowering. "Alright, alright. I didn’t know all of that. But Joe's a grown man, Kayla. He makes his own decisions."

“Grown man, huh? A grown man who can’t even be honest with the woman he’s been balls deep in, pretending to have feelings for?” Kayla scoffed. “You better tell him to get his act together. And trust me, if Y/N finds out any more about this little engagement secret, he’s gonna lose her for good.”

Before Ja'Marr could respond, the sound of footsteps in the background caught Kayla’s ear. “Hold on, who’s that?”

There was a slight pause before Ja'Marr’s voice came back, quieter. “That’s Joe... he’s here at my place.”

“Oh, so now he’s hearing all of this, huh?” Kayla raised her eyebrows and grinned knowingly. “Well, then, I’m glad you’re hearing it straight from me, Joe. You better fix this before it blows up in your face.”

From Ja'Marr’s end, there was a short silence, and then a gruff voice joined in.

“I heard everything, Kayla,” Joe’s voice came through, low and tight with tension. “And I’m not happy about it.”

"Don’t even start with me, Joe," she snapped, her tone sharp as a knife. "You’ve got some nerve stepping into this conversation like nothing happened. You’ve been playing with Y/N’s heart like it’s some damn game, and I’m done watching you do it."

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Kayla was on fire now, cutting him off again.

“You think you can just lie to her, treat her like a side piece, and then what? Just waltz back into her life, acting like none of this matters? Nah, not on my watch.” Kayla leaned back against the hotel couch, phone still pressed to her ear, fury burning in her eyes. “You’re engaged, Joe. ENGAGED. And now you're acting all confused about why everyone’s pissed at you?”

She didn’t even wait for him to respond, continuing, “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. Y/N deserves way better than you. You want to play house with your fiancée and then come around acting like you're single? Stay away from Y/N, you hear me? She doesn’t need a man who can’t even be honest with her.”

Kayla was done. Every ounce of loyalty, every bit of protectiveness she felt for her best friend was fueling her words now. She gripped the phone tighter, her heart pounding with righteous anger, and she was ready to lay into Joe with everything she had.

Ja'Marr, who’d been silent through the whole thing, coughed awkwardly. “Kayla, I—”

“No, Ja'Marr. Not this time,” she fired back, her protective instinct for her best friend driving her words. “I’m done with this. Y/N trusted you, Joe. You saw her at her most vulnerable, and you decided to play games. If you have any respect left for her—hell, if you have any respect left for yourself—then you better step back and stay the hell away. Go back to your fiancée and keep pretending that everything’s fine while Y/N moves on and finds someone who actually deserves her.”

Ja'Marr’s voice came through, quieter now, as he tried to bring the heat down. “Kayla, look, I get it, but you gotta—”

“Don’t try and make excuses for him, Ja'Marr,” she cut him off, her voice seething with irritation. “He’s a grown man. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And it’s not gonna happen again, not while I’m around. I’m watching out for her, and if he thinks I’m going to let him off the hook for this, he’s wrong.”

Kayla shook her head. “Joe, you better handle your business. Or next time you hear from me, it won’t be just through the phone and I promise you, your wrist and knee won’t be the things that end your career, it’ll be me.”

There was a long, tense silence on the other end. Kayla could hear Joe’s breathing deepen, and it was clear he was starting to realize just how far he’d messed up. He muttered a quiet, “I never meant for this to happen,” but Kayla wasn’t having any of it.

“Yeah, well, intentions don’t count when you’re playing with someone’s feelings. Y/N has been nothing but loyal to you, and look where that’s gotten her. You don’t deserve her, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you hurt her anymore.”

She let the words sink in before adding, “And just to be crystal clear—if I have anything to do with it, you won’t be stepping foot anywhere near her again. Go back to your perfect little fucking life with your perfect fucking fiancée. If Y/N needs you, she’ll let you know. But for now, stay the hell away. She deserves someone who won’t lie to her face.”

With that, Kayla hung up the phone, tossing it on the couch as if she’d just thrown down a mic. Her eyes narrowed with fire, and she exhaled deeply. “I swear, if Joe doesn’t get his shit together, I will personally make sure he never hurts her again. If that man thinks he’s getting away with this, he’s in for a rude awakening.”.”

Back at Ja'Marr’s place, Joe stood in silence, the tension thick in the air. He could feel the weight of what Kayla had said pressing on him. He’d messed up, and now he had to figure out how to fix it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N sat in the studio, headphones on, eyes closed as she focused on the track playing through the speakers. The soft hum of the music felt like a release, each note a way to channel the swirling emotions that had taken over her the past few days. The weight of everything—Joe, the drama, the lies, the heartbreak—seemed lighter here, in this controlled environment, with her music and her thoughts all contained in the walls of the studio.

Kayla was lounging on the couch in the corner of the room, her legs stretched out and her phone in hand, swiping through something she wasn’t paying much attention to. She had been Y/N’s rock through all of this—making her laugh when all she wanted to do was cry, talking her down when her emotions threatened to explode, and most importantly, making sure she didn’t get caught up in Joe’s mess.

“You’re killing it, babe,” Kayla said, her voice loud enough to be heard over the sound of the music. “This track’s fire. You’ve been in here for hours.”

Y/N didn’t open her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’m close. Just gotta get this last layer of vocals down.”

Kayla snorted, raising an eyebrow. “You sure that’s all it is? I’m telling you, there’s so much heat in this album, your fans are gonna lose their minds. Especially with that single. You can’t not include it. The world loved that football player song.”

Y/N sighed, her fingers still moving over the mixer as she added another layer to the track. She’d been avoiding thinking about that song for days now. The one that had caused so much chaos. The one that had practically broken the internet. The one that had been about him.

“Nope. It stays as a single,” Y/N said firmly, not even glancing over at her best friend. “That’s all Joe gets. I’m not giving him that kind of power on my album. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Kayla tilted her head, clearly intrigued. She stood up, walking over to Y/N’s side and leaning against the desk, arms crossed. “You sure? I get that he hurt you, but this could be the moment to really make a statement. Show the world who you are, show them that you're not letting him off the hook.”

Y/N shook her head, tapping the table as if in emphasis. “I’ve got nothing to prove. That song was cathartic, but I’m done with him. It’s one thing to make a song about an ex or a fling, but it’s another to let it follow me around on every track I put out.”

Kayla seemed to accept that, nodding as she sat down in the chair beside Y/N. “Alright, fair enough. Just don’t let him keep taking up space in your head. You’re making all this magic, and he doesn’t deserve to be part of it anymore.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath. “I know. It’s just… it’s a lot, you know? One minute I’m thinking we’re just having fun and I’m getting the best dick of my life, and the next minute, I find out he’s engaged. Engaged, Kayla. I feel like I’m the one who’s been played even though we were never anything official.”

Kayla didn’t miss a beat. “You were played, babe. He made you feel like you were special, like you mattered, when all he did was use you to feel better about himself. And you deserve way more than that. Trust me, you’re better off without him.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a moment, but it was real, and it was grateful. “I keep telling myself that. I just need to focus on me. My music, my acting, everything else. Not him.”

“Exactly,” Kayla said, her eyes softening. “And as for that football player? The world’s gonna keep speculating, but they don’t know the truth. You’ve got this, girl. Just keep doing your thing, and don’t let anyone drag you down.”

Y/N took another deep breath, feeling the weight of everything she’d been carrying slowly start to lift. Kayla was right. She’d been through enough drama with Joe. She didn’t need to let it follow her into her next chapter.

The fans would speculate. The media would gossip. But at the end of the day, Y/N was the one who held the power—through her music, her work, and the life she was building for herself. She wasn’t going to let a man, or the lies he told, define her.

“Alright,” Y/N said with a small nod, her resolve building. “Let’s finish this track. And then? It’s time for the next chapter.”

Kayla shot her a grin, clearly proud of her best friend. “Hell yeah. Let’s get this done.”

And as the first notes of her track filtered through the speakers, Y/N felt a renewed sense of clarity. She was stronger than this. She would rise above it. Joe was a part of her past, but he didn’t get to write her future.

And with that, the music played on—just her, the beat, and the promise of a new beginning.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The studio was buzzing with energy, Y/N’s new album finally taking shape after months of hard work and emotion. Today, though, the mood was a little different. Latto and Megan Thee Stallion were both in the studio, vibing to one of their new collabs with Y/N, and the chemistry between the three was electric. The track they had been working on was fire, pure heat, and they were all eager to see the final version.

As they listened to the playback, Megan and Latto exchanged a knowing look, both picking up on the subtle shift in Y/N’s mood. She’d been distracted lately, especially after everything that went down with Joe. Her focus had been on finishing her album, but there was a palpable tension beneath the surface.

“You good?” Latto asked casually, a raised eyebrow giving away her concern.

Y/N hesitated, letting out a deep breath before she shook her head. “Yeah, just… a lot has been going on, you know?”

Megan, ever the observant one, didn’t miss a beat. She leaned in, folding her arms and giving Y/N a teasing smirk. “You still thinking about that man? You’re still letting Joe take up that much space in your head?” she asked, her voice playful but laced with sincerity.

Y/N’s face tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing her expression. “I’m just trying to move on. It’s not easy when you’ve been played like that, you know? I thought I was just a ‘fun time,’ and then I find out he's engaged. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Megan and Latto exchanged a glance, both of them fully aware of the situation that had unfolded. They’d known about Joe from the moment Y/N started talking about him, and they’d been keeping track of the drama that had exploded all over social media.

Latto leaned back against the console, nodding. “Nah, girl, we get it. But you’ve got to stop letting him control your energy. You’re Y/N—don’t let some weekend dick ruin your vibe. He’s not worth it.”

Megan grinned, her eyes lighting up. “And let me tell you something. If you’re really done with him, tonight’s the night. Payback time. We’re going out, and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. We’re gonna show that man—and the world—just who you are.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, her heart still heavy with everything that had happened. But then she looked at her two friends, their excitement contagious. She couldn’t stay cooped up in this funk. It was time to reclaim her power, to stop letting Joe’s actions determine her happiness.

“You sure you guys want me to come out with you? I feel like I’ll just be a little out of place with—” Y/N trailed off, the thought of being seen with them still making her uneasy.

Megan shook her head. “Girl, you’ve been cooped up long enough. You need to let loose, have some fun, get a little freaky. Show him you don’t need him, and that you're way too much of a queen to be stressed over a man who can't even be honest.”

Latto nodded, jumping in. “Exactly. You deserve to have fun, Y/N. Let’s hit the town, have a good time, and let Joe and everyone else see that you’re on top. You’re already that girl and been that girl, but tonight, you’re gonna remind everyone why.”

The fire inside Y/N was slowly being reignited. It was time to stop letting Joe’s betrayal hold her back. She deserved to feel empowered, to be around people who lifted her up, not bring her down.

“Alright,” Y/N said with a sly grin, her lips curving into something dangerous. “Let’s do it. Payback time, right?”

Megan and Latto exchanged a victorious look, both knowing that Y/N was already shifting from heartbroken to fierce. They weren’t just going to let her drown in a past mistake—they were going to make sure she owned the night.

Later that night, Y/N, Megan, and Latto were dressed to the nines. The club was alive with music and energy, the perfect place for Y/N to reassert her confidence. She felt free, the weight of everything that had happened fading as she walked into the venue, the trio turning heads the moment they stepped through the door.

Megan leaned over to Y/N, a mischievous grin on her face. “Tonight, baby, you’re going to remind every man in this place exactly who you are.”

Latto added, “And if any of ‘em need a reminder, we’ll be happy to give it to them.”

They made their way to a VIP booth, the music thumping as the drinks flowed. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the excitement buzzing in the air, the shift in energy bringing her back to life. For once, she wasn’t thinking about Joe or the drama—she was simply living in the moment, with her girls by her side, enjoying the night.

As the night wore on, and the laughter and music filled the space, Y/N found herself feeling lighter. She wasn’t thinking about Joe. She wasn’t thinking about his lies. She was thinking about her—about reclaiming her joy and showing the world that she was a force to be reckoned with.

By the end of the night, Y/N’s phone buzzed with notifications. The usual social media noise, the chatter from her fans, and a couple of texts she ignored. But she couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips when she saw a message from Kayla:

"You’re looking fire tonight, girl. And by the way, I’m sure Joe’s seeing those pics. Keep doing you. He's probably regretting everything right now."

Y/N slid her phone back into her purse, her smile growing. Tonight, she wasn’t just getting over Joe. She was owning the moment. And that was all she needed.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N was feeling herself. After everything that had gone down with Joe, she’d finally reclaimed her power, her confidence. Her mind was clear, and she was ready to get back into the grind. She stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room, glancing at her reflection as she fixed her hair. She liked what she saw — strong, confident, unapologetically herself.

It had been a while since she’d felt like this — like she was back in control, doing what she loved. And it felt damn good.

Kayla was there, as always, by her side, being the ultimate hype woman. "You look fire, girl," she said, adjusting her sunglasses with a grin. "You're about to kill this music video."

Y/N smirked. "I’m already killing it." She winked at Kayla as she slid her phone into her pocket. "But we do need some fuel. Let’s grab smoothies."

Kayla immediately perked up. "Hell yes. Smoothie break. Let’s go."

The two of them left the set, stepping into the warm California air. The hustle and bustle of the crew continued behind them as they walked toward the corner smoothie stand. Y/N was in her element, enjoying the rare moments of peace between takes. The day had been long, but her energy was high. She was on top of her game — and no one, not even Joe, was going to take that from her.

Y/N and Kayla were in the midst of their usual banter, walking across the set with their smoothies in hand, when the air shifted—so suddenly that it was almost palpable. Kayla’s playful tone abruptly quieted, her eyes narrowing as she stopped dead in her tracks. Y/N, ever the oblivious one, was still laughing at something Kayla had said, but when she noticed the silence, she followed her best friend's gaze.

And that’s when she saw them.

Joe. Ja'Marr. Tee. Standing just outside the cafe, clearly deep in conversation, but their presence alone sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. Her stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the smoothie she had just taken a sip of. For a moment, it was like the world slowed down. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, all the previous emotions—anger, betrayal, frustration—rushing back to her.

Joe looked... different. His usual easy confidence was now replaced with a sort of tension she couldn’t quite place. Ja'Marr and Tee, however, were as casual as ever, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing between their two friends.

Kayla, though? Kayla was another story. Y/N had never seen her best friend look so... fierce. Protective, even. The way Kayla’s eyes were practically shooting daggers at Joe was enough to make the air around them crackle.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat when she realized they had made eye contact. Joe’s expression was unreadable for a moment, but then, a flicker of something—was it regret? Was it guilt?—crossed his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N immediately turned away, her grip tightening on her smoothie.

“Kayla,” Y/N whispered, her voice a little shakier than she wanted to admit. “Please tell me I’m not seeing this right.”

Kayla’s response was a low growl, barely audible. “You don’t have to deal with him, Y/N. Not after what he did. If you want me to, I’ll march right over there and tear him a new one, I swear.”

Y/N could feel her best friend's protective energy radiating off her in waves. She was the type of friend who would go to war for Y/N, and right now, the intensity in her eyes said she was ready to do just that. But Y/N... she wasn’t sure what she was ready for. Part of her wanted to just walk over and confront Joe, demand answers, demand something from him. Another part of her just wanted to pretend like this moment wasn’t happening—pretend she didn’t have to face the man who had hurt her so much.

But her decision was made for her when Joe started walking toward them.

"Y/N," he called softly, his voice deep and hesitant, "can we talk?"

Y/N froze again. His approach only made her feel smaller, more vulnerable than ever. She glanced over at Kayla, silently begging her not to do anything crazy. Kayla, however, wasn’t having it. She stepped forward, practically standing in front of Y/N like a bodyguard, her arms crossed firmly across her chest.

“Y/N doesn’t have anything to say to you,” Kayla said, her voice sharp and commanding. “I don’t care what kind of game you think you’re playing, Joe, but you stay the hell away from her.”

Joe’s face fell slightly, and he glanced over at Y/N. She couldn’t read him—was he apologetic, or was this just his usual charm, attempting to slide back into her life?

“You don’t have to do this, Kayla,” Joe said, trying to soften his voice. “I just want to talk to her. Alone.”

Kayla shook her head, her voice growing firmer. “Not happening. Not after what you pulled, Joe. I’m not letting you mess with her head again. Not on my watch.”

Y/N’s eyes locked onto Joe, and her body tensed with all the anger and disappointment she had been holding in for weeks. She wasn’t scared anymore. She wasn’t backing down. No more games. No more pretending.

Kayla shifted slightly, her eyes never leaving Joe, ready to step in if needed, but Y/N had this under control. She wasn’t the vulnerable girl who let Joe play with her heart anymore. She was pissed, and she was going to make sure he knew it.

“Joe,” Y/N started, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, you know that?”

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Y/N raised a hand, cutting him off.

“No,” she said, her tone cold. “Don’t even try to explain yourself. I’m not interested in your excuses or your bullshit. I’m not one of those girls who gets swept up in the pretty words, and you’re not gonna make me feel sorry for you, not after everything you’ve done.”

Joe’s face was a mix of regret and guilt, but Y/N didn’t care. This wasn’t about him. This was about her, about how he had disrespected her, used her, and made her feel like she was just a temporary thing.

“You think you can just show up like this, like you didn’t fuck everything up between us? Like it doesn’t matter that you lied to me, that you kept your engagement a secret? You knew exactly what you were doing, Joe. And you know what?” Y/N took a step forward, her eyes blazing with anger. “I’m not your fucking side piece. I’m not some girl you can just fuck around with when it’s convenient for you and then go back to your fiancée like nothing happened.”

Kayla’s eyes shot daggers at Joe, but Y/N was too far gone in her rage to notice. She was on a roll, and Joe had nowhere to hide.

“You knew damn well what you were doing when you kissed me, when you got into my bed, when you made me feel special. And you know what?” Y/N’s voice got quieter, but the venom was still there. “You made me believe you cared. You made me feel safe, vulnerable… like I mattered. And what do I get? Your fiance calling me.”

Joe looked like he was about to speak, but again, Y/N cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t even try. You fucked this up, Joe. You don’t get to come back in here with some sad puppy-dog eyes and expect me to fall for it.”

She took a deep breath, finally giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts, but not backing down for a second.

“You had me thinking we were something real. But now, I see exactly who you are. So here’s what’s gonna happen.” Y/N stepped closer, making sure she was inches from him, her voice low and steady. “You’re gonna go back to your fiancée, play house, and pretend like everything’s fine. And me? I’m gonna move on. You’re not worth another second of my time. I don’t need you, and I sure as hell don’t need your apology.”

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Y/N wasn’t done.

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk your way out of this. You’re not sorry, Joe. You’re just sorry you got caught.” Y/N threw a final look over her shoulder at him, her tone dripping with disdain. “Stay the hell out of my life.”

With that, Y/N turned on her heel, walking away without looking back. She didn’t need to hear another word from him. Everything she had to say was out in the open, and it felt damn good.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Flashback - The Mistake That Changed Everything:

It was late, the house was eerily quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Joe had just wrapped up a long practice and was too tired to think straight. When Michelle showed up, it was supposed to be a simple matter: grab the rest of her things, and leave. That was the deal. But Michelle never made things simple.

Joe had made a point of being polite. It had been a few months since they’d officially broken up, but Michelle never seemed to get the memo. She’d always thought they’d get back together, always had an air of ownership about him. Joe had learned the hard way that she couldn’t accept the end of their relationship. Tonight, he had no idea how things would escalate.

He’d left his phone on the counter, a careless mistake he would come to regret. He didn’t think anything of it as Michelle rummaged around, tossing a few things into a bag. It wasn’t until he went to the bathroom, a moment of brief silence, that it happened.

Michelle picked up his phone. Her fingers hovered over it for just a second, temptation gleaming in her eyes. Joe's messages were open. One text from Y/N stood out, clear as day: "What time are you coming over tonight?"

Michelle's stomach twisted, but her mind went into overdrive. She wasn’t about to let Joe go off and have fun with someone else while she was still in the picture. She’d never accepted that they were over. As her fingers brushed over the screen, she noticed the heart emoji Y/N had sent. It was innocent enough, but to Michelle’s twisted mind, it was a threat. She saw it as an open declaration that she had lost Joe, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

I can still make him mine, she thought, her fingers tightening on the phone.

Michelle didn’t just close the app and walk away. No, that would have been too easy. She was angry—vindictive even—and she decided to escalate the situation. In a swift, decisive move, she opened up Joe’s phone and called Y/N.

Michelle watched as Y/N’s face appeared on the screen, and she couldn’t help the wide, almost too-perfect smile that stretched across her lips. It wasn’t a typical, sweet smile—this one was calculated, precise, and carefully rehearsed. She could already feel the satisfaction bubbling up inside her. She knew Y/N would be blindsided, and she was here for it.

When she saw the hesitation in Y/N’s eyes, the confusion flickering across her face, Michelle leaned into the moment. Y/N was probably expecting Joe, as always—maybe even hoping to hear from him after whatever happened between them. But no, it was Michelle now, and this little chat was about to be a wake-up call.

“Hello, Y/N,” Michelle purred, her tone smooth as silk. She had perfected this voice, this air of control. “It’s so nice to finally talk to you.”

She watched closely as Y/N blinked a few times, looking down at the phone as if she were trying to make sense of what was happening. Perfect. Everything was unfolding exactly how she wanted. She could almost taste the tension through the screen, and it was delicious.

“Uhm… Who are you?” Y/N finally stammered, her voice shaky despite the calm she was trying to project.

Michelle’s smile widened, almost to the point of smugness, and she couldn’t help but let the words slip easily off her tongue. “I’m Michelle,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness and malice in equal measure. “Joe’s fiancée.”

There it was. The bombshell. She watched Y/N’s reaction carefully. The color drained from her face, her breath hitching in her throat. The stunned silence hung thick in the air, and Michelle reveled in it. It was exactly what she’d expected. Y/N was probably trying to figure out if she had heard her right.

“Fiancée?” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. Michelle could feel the discomfort radiating from the screen. Good.She knew Y/N would be floored. Michelle had been patient, biding her time. Joe had thought he could play this game without consequences, but he hadn’t considered her.

“Yup,” Michelle said, her voice almost saccharine now. “We’ve been together for a while now.” She let the words sink in before adding, “But I’m sure he’s told you we’re very open about... certain things.”

That was the part she enjoyed the most—the subtle, passive-aggressive jab. She didn’t want Y/N to feel like she was some clueless victim. No, this was about reminding her of her place in Joe’s life: a temporary, replaceable “distraction.” And Michelle would be right there waiting when it was over.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, her tone smooth and almost sympathetic. “I’m not here to cause drama. Joe and I have an understanding. He enjoys... his little distractions. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t come back to me at the end of the day.”

She could see the raw anger in Y/N’s eyes, the confusion giving way to the beginnings of rage. Michelle’s grin turned just a touch sharper as she watched the other woman’s face fall, the realization settling in.

She’d been so sure that Y/N didn’t know the full picture. But this? This was her turning the tables. She wasn’t about to let some random girl keep Joe distracted for too long. She had already been through the drama of his past relationships. This time, Michelle wasn’t going to let Y/N walk away without knowing where her place was in the grand scheme of things.

“Joe’s always been a good boy,” Michelle added, her voice oozing with possessiveness. “But you... you’re just one of many. And that’s okay, Y/N. We all know our places.”

She leaned back in her chair, savoring the silence that fell over the call. She was so sure that Joe and Y/N had some sort of thing going on, but what did that matter? Michelle had Joe wrapped around her finger. He was always going to come back to her—no matter how many distractions he had.

And as the call ended, Michelle couldn’t help but smile to herself. She’d planted the seed of doubt in Y/N’s mind, and there was nothing more satisfying than watching someone squirm. It was only a matter of time before Y/N would realize her mistake, but by then, Michelle would have Joe back, and that was the only thing that mattered.

She’d let Y/N play pretend, but in the end, Michelle would always be the one standing next to Joe.

No one takes what's mine.

She felt a wicked satisfaction wash over her as she set Joe’s phone down. It was a lie, a dangerous, calculated lie. Michelle was counting on Y/N not knowing the truth—that Joe wasn’t with her anymore, that he’d been free for a while. She was betting on Y/N getting the message and walking away, letting her and Joe’s so-called relationship play out.

As Michelle waited, she barely noticed Joe walking back into the kitchen. The look in his eyes didn’t register as Michelle slyly placed the phone back down on the counter, pretending nothing had happened.

When Joe saw the outgoing FaceTime in his call log he looked up, his stomach dropped. "What the hell did you do?"

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Back in the Present:

Joe sat on his couch, scrolling through his phone. His eyes kept drifting back to the string of messages he had received from Y/N, each one colder than the last. He had tried to reach out to her—calling, texting, but nothing. And now, after that disastrous interview where he was indirectly caught up in the gossip about her song, it was clear that Y/N wasn’t playing around.

Joe didn’t understand what had gone wrong. He had never been dishonest with her, at least not intentionally. They were just... friends with benefits. That was it. They’d always been upfront about not wanting a relationship, about keeping things casual. He wasn’t expecting her to develop feelings, but maybe, just maybe, he could have handled things better.

It was when Michelle had called him the other night, demanding he “fix this,” that the real bombshell dropped. It was Michelle who had called Y/N, not Joe. It was her manipulative way of making sure Joe’s attention stayed with her.

That night still haunted Joe. He hadn’t known Michelle would go this far—pretending to be with him, controlling him, making him feel guilty for things he hadn’t even done. But it was what had happened next that twisted his gut: Y/N had cut him off. The call from Michelle had been enough to make her walk away from him, to assume he was in the wrong. And the truth? Well, the truth was that he didn’t get a chance to explain it before it all spiraled out of control.

Joe had no idea how to fix this, or even if he could. He needed to make things right with Y/N—he couldn’t just leave it hanging in the air. But the reality was that Michelle’s actions had completely poisoned his connection with Y/N.

When his phone buzzed again with another text from Y/N, Joe’s heart skipped a beat. This time, it was clear she had moved on. And the frustration and anger that had been bubbling inside him for days finally boiled over.

"I don’t want to do this anymore, Joe."

Those words stung, harder than anything he had ever felt before. He knew he had to explain everything, but the question was: Would she even listen?

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe sat back in the plush armchair in Ja'Marr’s hotel room, his hands running through his hair in frustration. His mind was spinning, and the weight of the confrontation with Y/N and Kayla was heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t expected things to spiral out of control like this, but here they were.

Ja'Marr and Tee were both sitting across from him, silent for a while, letting him stew in his frustration. Finally, Tee broke the silence.

Tee, ever the optimist, glanced at Joe, his brows furrowed. "Look, man, there has to be a way for this to get fixed, right?" he asked, his voice full of uncertainty. "You two were good, Y/N’s not the type to just throw something away without a chance at fixing it. Anyone can see youtwo are more than just sneaky links."

Joe glanced up at him, his eyes tired and filled with regret. “I don’t know, Tee. I’ve tried. Y/N isn’t gonna believe anything I say now.”

Ja'Marr suddenly shifted his posture, his eyes wide with realization. "Hold up, man. You’ve got cameras all over your house, right?"

Joe froze. Joe’s mind clicked into gear. He had completely forgotten about the cameras. His thoughts shifted immediately to the security cameras Michelle insisted on installing after they moved in together. The idea of them recording all the private moments he’d shared with Y/N, the awkward conversations, the heated encounters—that was a ticking time bomb he had never fully realized until now.

Tee's eyes widened as he pieced it all together. "You mean... those cameras?"

Joe’s eyes widened slightly as Ja'Marr’s words hit him. His mind flashed back to the security cameras he’d installed in his house, ones that had caught every conversation and every moment, including the one with Michelle when he’d ended things.

“Damn,” Joe muttered under his breath. “The cameras.”

Ja'Marr continued, his voice calmer now, but still sharp. “Yeah. The footage from that day—when Michelle packed her stuff, when you two had that breakup conversation—it’s all on there. If she has those clips, she can prove what really happened. It’ll show that you weren’t hiding anything from Y/N, at least not like Michelle made it look.”

Joe’s stomach churned. “But it’s not just that. Michelle, she—she used that whole fiancée thing to manipulate everything. She was trying to make it seem like I was some kind of player, that I was two-timing Y/N when we were just… casual. And I never told her the full truth about Michelle.”

Tee shook his head. “Man, this is a mess. But the footage? That’s the key to clearing things up. If you can get your hands on it, show Y/N that Michelle’s been playing games, then maybe you can fix it. But you gotta be real with her. No more hiding.”

Joe let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his face. “I should’ve told her sooner. I never thought Michelle would go this far. We were done, and then she… she just showed up, started playing these games with my head, and I fell for it. I didn’t even realize she was pulling strings until it was too late.”

Ja'Marr raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to handle Michelle, man. She’s been lying about everything, including your relationship. She wasn’t your fiancée. You know that, right?”

Joe nodded. “I know. She just said that to make Y/N mad, to get back at me for ending things. But Y/N didn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve any of this drama.”

Tee leaned forward, his voice firm. “Then get your ass up, go to your place, and get that footage. Once you’ve got it, you can go to Y/N, tell her everything, show her the truth. But you’ve got to move fast. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to look.”

Joe’s hands balled into fists, his frustration bubbling over. “Yeah, I know. I can’t let Michelle control this. I need to fix this before I lose her for good.”

Ja'Marr sat back, his eyes piercing. “It’s not gonna be easy, bro. But you’ve got to make it clear to Y/N that Michelle was lying about everything. She needs to see that you weren’t playing her. If you want a chance, this is it.”

Joe took a deep breath, the weight of what he had to do settling on him. He had made a mistake by not being honest from the beginning. But now, he had to own up to it and make things right. He stood up, determination flooding his veins.

“I’m going to do it,” Joe said, his voice steady. “I’ll go get the footage. I’ll make this right. No more lies.”

Ja'Marr nodded, a faint smile crossing his face. “Good. But don’t forget—you’ve got to be honest with Y/N. Don’t just show her the footage. Tell her everything. She’s not gonna trust you if you leave anything out.”

Joe met his gaze, the weight of Ja'Marr’s words sinking in. “Yeah, I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to show her I’m serious.”

With a final look at his friends, Joe turned and walked toward the door, his mind already racing through the steps he needed to take. Michelle was going to be dealt with, and Y/N was going to hear the truth. He couldn’t fix everything overnight, but he wasn’t giving up on her without giving it his all.

Later that night back in Cincinnati, Joe was sitting in front of his laptop, staring at the footage from his security cameras. His hands shook as he clicked through the different clips, watching Michelle pack her things, seeing the exact moment when they’d both agreed to break things off for good.

It was all there—the truth was right in front of him. He had to show Y/N.

Joe took a deep breath and opened up a new message. He typed quickly, not bothering to overthink his words.

Y/N, we need to talk. I’m sorry for everything. Michelle isn’t my fiancée. She’s my ex. I know I’ve hurt you, and I never wanted this. If you’ll let me, I want to explain everything. I’ll be honest, I swear. Please, just let me explain.

He hit send, his heart racing. This was it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N was lounging on the couch in the Airbnb, the soft hum of the city outside filtering through the windows. Kayla was sprawled on the opposite side of the room, scrolling through her own phone with that hyper-aware look she always had when something was on her mind. Y/N had been trying to relax, but there was a lingering tension in the air ever since that FaceTime call with Michelle. The whole thing felt like a punch in the gut, and no matter how much she tried to push it aside, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been played.

The ping of a text message broke through her thoughts, and instinctively, she reached for her phone. But before she could even glance at it, Kayla had snatched it out of her hands with a quickness that made Y/N blink in surprise.

Kayla raised an eyebrow, a scowl already forming as she swiped through the message. “Oh, hell no,” she muttered, a scoff escaping her lips.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What? What’s it say?”

Kayla shot her a look, her eyes narrowing as she handed the phone back to Y/N. “It’s from him,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Joe, trying to play Mr. Perfect again.”

Y/N frowned as she took the phone back, her fingers brushing over the screen. She read the message quickly:

Her breath caught in her throat. The words were like a cold slap to the face, but a rush of anger quickly followed the sting. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she read it again, her mind racing with all the things she wanted to say, none of which seemed adequate to explain how messed up everything had become.

Kayla was watching her, arms crossed, lips set in a tight line. “You’re really gonna fall for this again?” she asked, her tone laced with disbelief. “This is textbook Joe, trying to fix things with some sob story.”

Y/N stared at the phone in her hand, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. She’d been hurt, played with, and caught up in something that she had never even wanted. But as much as she wanted to ignore Joe, to just move on, something in her—something she couldn’t quite name—still cared.

She shook her head, letting out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know, Kayla. Part of me wants to just block him and move on, but another part of me… part of me still wants to know what the hell happened.”

Kayla huffed, pushing herself off the couch to stand in front of Y/N, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “You’re not stupid, Y/N. Don’t let him back in so easily. He messed with your feelings, and now he’s trying to worm his way back in with some excuse about his ex? Hell no. You deserve better than that.”

Y/N looked at her best friend, the fierce protectiveness in her eyes, and for a moment, she was torn. Kayla was right—Joe had hurt her, lied to her, and made her feel like she wasn’t worth being honest with. He didn’t deserve her attention, let alone her time.

But… there was still a small voice in the back of her mind that couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed.

“I don’t know, Kayla,” Y/N said quietly, her voice betraying a trace of vulnerability. “I’m pissed, but part of me wants the truth. I’ve been through enough guessing games. I just—” She trailed off, unsure of how to put the mix of emotions swirling inside her.

Kayla scoffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Y/N, listen to me. The only truth you need is that he’s not worth your time. He’s got his finacee, his drama, and he’s been playing games with you the whole time. You need to cut him off for good.”

Y/N bit her lip, her mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. She knew Kayla had a point. Hell, she’d even said it herself countless times—no man, especially not someone like Joe, was worth losing herself over. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure she was ready to let go of the version of him she’d been holding onto.

“I don’t know if I can just let him go, Kayla,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you’re right. I can’t just keep playing this game.”

Kayla softened, stepping closer and giving Y/N a hug. “I’ve got your back, no matter what. You deserve to be treated like a queen, not some side piece. Don’t forget that.”

Y/N nodded against Kayla’s shoulder, feeling the weight of everything start to settle in. Maybe she wasn’t ready to shut the door on Joe just yet, but the next step—whatever it was—had to be hers to decide. And she wasn’t going to let anyone, not even him, make that choice for her.

She pulled away, wiping her eyes quickly. “I’ll reply. But I’m doing it on my terms.”

Kayla raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the decision to be made. “Okay. But make sure you’re doing it because you want to, not because he’s throwing a pity party. He’s had his shot.”

Y/N stared down at the message one more time. This wasn’t just about Joe anymore. It was about her. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she was ready to take control of what happened next.

With a steady hand, she began typing her response.

Joe, I don’t know what you’re trying to fix, but I’m done with all the games. I don’t need your apology. I need honesty, and you should’ve given that to me from the start. I’m moving on, and you should too. Take care.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself.

Kayla gave her a knowing look, one that was part proud, part relieved. “There you go. Now, let’s go grab dinner, and leave him in the past where he belongs.”

Y/N smiled faintly, the first real smile she’d had in days. “Yeah. I’m done with the drama.”

And with that, they headed out the door, ready to put the past behind them, one step at a time.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The restaurant was tucked away on a cozy side street, just a few blocks from the Airbnb. Soft string lights hung above, their warm glow casting a golden hue over the patio. The quiet hum of conversation and the clink of silverware felt like a welcome reprieve from the chaos that had followed Y/N all day. The weight of the past few weeks seemed to ease, just slightly, with each breath she took. For the first time in what felt like forever, she could exhale.

Y/N and Kayla sat across from each other, their wine glasses half-full and steaming plates of pasta between them. It wasn’t the most glamorous meal, but right now, it didn’t matter. The moment felt simple—comforting even—and Y/N needed that more than anything.

Kayla leaned back in her chair, propping her chin up on one hand as she studied Y/N. There was a flicker of something in her expression—pride, maybe, mixed with a touch of concern.

“You know,” Kayla began, her voice softer than usual, “I’m proud of you. You said what needed to be said. No drama. Just truth.”

Y/N looked up, offering a small smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was something. “It didn’t feel good… but it felt right,” she admitted, her gaze dropping to her glass of wine. The decision to confront the situation had been difficult, but it was the only choice she had left. The weight of it was still heavy on her chest, but at least she didn’t feel like she was hiding anymore.

Before Kayla could respond, Y/N froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. A movement across the street caught her attention—two figures crouched behind a parked SUV. At first, she tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just some tourists doing something weird. But then, the glint of a camera lens caught the soft light, and her stomach dropped.

Kayla followed her gaze, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone sharp, aware of the sudden shift in Y/N’s posture.

“They’re taking pictures,” Y/N said under her breath, her voice low but filled with tension. Her pulse started to spike. “Paparazzi. Across the street.”

Kayla’s eyes snapped to the figures now. Her lips parted, disbelief flashing across her face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she hissed, scanning the scene as if she could will the photographers away with sheer force of will. “Are you serious right now?”

Y/N nodded grimly, already feeling the familiar sting of being watched. The creeping sensation of exposure crept up her spine. Every second felt like it was being measured, analyzed, and ready to be twisted into a headline. Her mind raced. She looked down at herself—casual jeans, an oversized sweater, no makeup—nothing scandalous. But none of that ever mattered to them, did it?

She straightened slowly, trying to ignore the growing discomfort gnawing at her stomach. She forced herself to focus on Kayla, attempting to pretend this was nothing, that she could just push it away. But then came the click—loud enough to cut through the music spilling from the restaurant speakers. A flash followed, and then another.

A voice from a nearby table broke through the noise. “Is that—?”

A couple of heads turned.

And just like that, Y/N’s patience snapped.

“Grab your stuff,” she muttered, voice tight as she pushed back her chair. Her hands trembled just slightly, the weight of it all becoming too much. “We’re leaving. I’m not doing this.”

Kayla didn’t hesitate. She stood quickly, tossing a few bills onto the table before grabbing her purse. Y/N followed suit, throwing down her napkin with sharp precision, the flicker of anger in her eyes now clear.

The moment they stepped off the patio, the photographers—who had been quietly observing from across the street—moved closer. Their cameras clicked faster, the flashes blinding. Y/N’s heart began to race, a familiar sense of dread curling in her stomach.

“Y/N! What’s going on between you and Joe Burrow?” one of them yelled, his voice cutting through the night air like a blade.

“Y/N! Is it true you and Joe Burrow were seen fighting earlier today?” another shouted, as they closed in.

“Are you two together?” one asked, like they had every right to invade her privacy.

“Did you know he’s engaged?”

The last question hung in the air, and Y/N felt her skin burn with the weight of it. It was too much. Too many questions, too many assumptions—too many people who thought they had a right to dissect her life, her choices.

Kayla whipped around, her fists clenched and ready to throw down, but Y/N held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks.

Y/N’s eyes locked onto one of the photographers, her gaze icy but unwavering. “Take another photo,” she said, her voice low and controlled, though every word was laced with authority. “And I swear I’ll make sure your agency gets a cease and desist so fast your camera will melt.”

There was a hesitation, just for a split second, but it was enough. The photographer faltered. He could see she meant it. Slowly, he lowered his camera.

Y/N turned to Kayla, her expression still dark, her jaw clenched. “Let’s go.”

They walked quickly, the sound of their heels on the pavement echoing through the empty street. Neither of them spoke a word until they rounded the corner and slipped into an alley that led toward the Airbnb.

Once they were out of sight, Y/N finally slowed her pace, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Her hands still shook from the adrenaline, but the anger that had been bubbling inside her was now starting to cool into something more resolute.

Kayla looked over at her, her tone a strange mix of concern and pride. “I’m so sick of your life being a headline. Are you okay?”

Y/N nodded, though the tension still lingered in her shoulders. “I just…” She shook her head, her voice thick with frustration. “I don’t want to be a story anymore. I’m done being his aftermath.”

Kayla’s expression softened, and she immediately looped her arm through Y/N’s, pulling her close. “Then let’s rewrite your story. Yours. No more paparazzi, no more exes, no more drama. Just you.”

Y/N didn’t reply right away. She was still too wound up, too angry to form words that felt right. But something shifted inside her. As they walked through the quiet streets, the weight of the day slowly started to lift. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she felt a flicker of resolve deep within her chest.

This wasn’t over, she knew that much. The paparazzi, the headlines, the never-ending circus—none of it would stop. But this time, she wouldn’t be caught in the middle of it. She would take control, rewrite her story, and leave the chaos behind her.

For the first time in a long time, she felt the quiet stirrings of hope.

She might not have all the answers yet. But at least this time, she’d be the one holding the pen.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Mid-Air – Flight to Houston, Late Afternoon

The hum of the jet engines was steady, almost soothing, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to relax. The plush first-class seat felt more like a cage, its soft leather a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside her. She stared out the window, watching the world below shrink into a blur of clouds and distant cities, her fingers gripping the phone pressed to her ear.

Across from her, Kayla sat with her earbuds in, her eyes closed, pretending to nap. But Y/N knew better. Kayla was always alert, always watching, always ready to jump in if things went sideways.

“I don’t care what you have to do, Harper, but I need answers,” Y/N’s voice was tight, barely above a whisper. She glanced at Kayla, who shifted slightly, her brow furrowed as she half-opened an eye, sensing the tension.

On the other end of the line, Harper’s voice came through, sharp and exasperated. “I’m on it, Y/N. Trust me. I’m just as blindsided as you are. That restaurant wasn’t even on the radar. I triple-checked the reservation system. Someone tipped them off. That’s the only explanation.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles whitened around the phone as she stared at the clouds below. “So, what, you think it was a fan? A staff member? Joe?”

Harper hesitated, the silence thick on the other end before she spoke again, carefully. “I’m not pointing fingers, but let’s be real—someone in Joe’s camp benefits from this. Especially with all the Michelle rumors still floating around. Now they’ve got you in the mix, and the tabloids are already spinning it into some ‘love triangle’ drama. I’m trying to control it, but TMZ’s already on it, and they’re not being subtle. They’re already running with the story.”

Y/N’s eyes closed, the tension in her body rising. “Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

“TMZ’s going live with a piece in an hour,” Harper continued. “They’ve got you listed as a ‘mystery woman.’ But trust me, it won’t stay ‘mystery’ for long. Three outlets have already reached out, asking for confirmation on your whereabouts last night. They’re hunting for answers.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. Her fingers dug into the leather armrest. “I knew I should’ve stayed inside,” she said, her voice tinged with regret.

“Listen to me,” Harper said, firm and quick. “You did nothing wrong. You had a conversation. He’s the one with all the baggage, the history. You don’t owe them anything. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, her eyes flicking to Kayla, who was now fully awake, watching her with concerned eyes. “That’s not how it works, though, is it? They see a picture, spin it into a story, and suddenly I’m the problem.”

Harper’s voice softened, like she was trying to offer a lifeline. “We can still control the narrative. Do you want me to prep a statement?”

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip, her gaze never leaving the horizon. “No. Not yet. If we say anything now, they’ll just twist it into more fuel for the fire.”

Kayla cracked an eye open, her voice sharp and pragmatic. “She’s right. The more you say, the more they’ll twist it. Keep quiet. Let them chase their own tails.”

“I agree,” Y/N said, her voice low but steady. She felt the weight of her words as she spoke them into the phone. “Let them speculate. But you keep digging. I want to know who sold us out. I’m not letting this slide.”

Harper sighed, but there was a resigned note in her voice. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. And Y/N, just—be careful in Houston. There’s already chatter about your appearance tomorrow night. Press will be circling like vultures.”

Y/N’s grip on the phone tightened even more, her heart beating in a slow, measured rhythm. “I’ll handle it,” she said, her tone hardening. “This concert is mine. They’re not taking that from me.”

She hung up the phone, the click of the call ending resonating like a final judgment. Kayla immediately pulled her earbuds out, her face a mixture of concern and readiness. She leaned forward slightly, the quiet hum of the plane filling the silence between them.

“You really think it was someone from Joe’s team?” Kayla asked, her voice low.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She stared straight ahead, her mind racing. She could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her—Joe’s shadow, the tabloids, the questions she couldn’t answer, the mess that seemed to follow her everywhere. Her fingers tightened around her phone as she turned it over in her hand, the plastic feeling suddenly cold and foreign.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice distant, her words slow. “But if he did set me up to clean up his image…”

Her words trailed off, but the implication hung in the air between them, thick and heavy.

Kayla leaned forward, gently squeezing Y/N’s hand. “Houston’s a fresh start,” she said, her voice full of determination. “Don’t let them drag the past into it.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes following the horizon as the lights of Houston began to shimmer in the distance, signaling the final approach. Below them, the city stretched out in a mosaic of bright lights and shadowed streets, a place that held both promise and peril in equal measure.

The plane began its descent, and for a moment, the noise of the engines roared louder, the sound of the outside world closing in. Y/N’s pulse quickened, her mind focused on the night ahead—the concert that she’d worked so hard for. But there was more than just the performance looming ahead of her. There was the press, the scrutiny, and the gnawing question of who had betrayed her.

“I’ve got a concert to prepare for,” Y/N said, her voice steady and cold, a quiet resolve settling over her. “And a reckoning, maybe, not far behind.”

Kayla nodded, her gaze unwavering. “We’ll handle it. Together.”

As the jet touched down, the plane’s wheels kissing the runway with a soft thud, Y/N allowed herself a deep, steadying breath. For the first time all day, she felt something shift inside her—a sense of purpose, of control.

This wasn’t over. But this time, she’d be the one setting the terms.

She was ready.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Houston – Backstage, The Arena – 7:30pm

The black SUV pulled up behind the venue, its tires humming quietly against the smooth asphalt as it slowed to a stop just past dusk. Houston’s air was thick and warm, the kind of heat that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, heavy with anticipation. Even from the loading dock, Y/N could hear the distant roar of fans gathering outside. The crowd was already pressing against the barricades, phones held high, eager to capture every moment of the night. Their voices—excited, loud, full of energy—carried through the building, filling the air with an electricity that made her pulse quicken.

Y/N stepped out of the SUV, hoodie pulled up and sunglasses on, despite the dimming light. Her security detail formed a tight shield around her, blocking the few lingering photographers and curious onlookers. The team moved with practiced efficiency, ushering her inside, away from the chaos, but not fast enough to make it feel like she was hiding.

Backstage was a whirlwind of activity—a mix of stagehands hustling to finalize the set, stylists rushing to touch up costumes, dancers warming up with synchronized moves. The noise of it all—the beeping of equipment, the chatter of crew members, the soft hum of the music rehearsing in the background—felt oddly comforting. In this world, amidst the frenzied motion, Y/N could almost forget about everything outside these walls. For a few hours, she could be lost in the show.

“You good?” Kayla’s voice broke through the noise, low and steady, as she fell into step beside her.

Y/N turned to her, offering a tight nod. “As good as I can be.”

But even as she said it, she knew something was off. Her gut was tight, her thoughts scattered. She was halfway through inhaling a breath when her phone buzzed again—a sharp, insistent buzz that made her stomach twist.

Kayla glanced at the screen before muttering, “That can’t be good.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. She answered the call before the third ring. “What now?”

Harper’s voice came through immediately, clipped, without any preamble. “TMZ just dropped it.”

Y/N froze mid-step. The blood drained from her face as she instinctively looked for an exit, but the narrow hallways backstage left her no room to escape. Kayla’s hand on her arm grounded her, but the weight of Harper’s words hit her like a freight train.

“What?” Y/N breathed, panic quickly climbing her throat. “How the hell—”

“I don’t know,” Harper snapped, her voice edged with frustration. “But they didn’t just post the confrontation photos. They got hold of a photo from last month—on set. You and Joe. Together. Outside your trailer.”

Y/N’s pulse spiked, her body going rigid. “What?” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she pulled the phone away, staring at it as though it might offer some kind of explanation. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, her chest tightening.

Harper continued, her voice clipped and fast. “I’m sending it over. They’re pushing a timeline now, saying your thing with Joe started during filming. Before the Michelle rumors. Before anyone even knew you two were talking.”

Y/N’s hand trembled as she opened the message. The photo appeared before her, and her eyes flicked over it frantically, searching for any shred of doubt. But the more she stared, the more the cold truth of it settled in.

Headline:Caught on Set: Y/N and Joe's Secret Romance? Exclusive Photo Raises New Questions

Photo:Y/N, exiting her trailer in a soft robe and slippers, clearly mid-scene. Just behind her, Joe—his hair tousled, a lazy grin on his face, shirt hanging open—stepping out too, caught in the same moment, the intimacy of it unmistakable. They weren’t touching, but the angle, the soft light, the way they were framed—it made the whole thing look… too close. Too personal.

Article Excerpt:“Sources tell TMZ that Y/N and Joe grew ‘very close’ on the set of her upcoming streaming drama last month. While reps for both remain tight-lipped, this photo—captured by an anonymous source—shows Joe exiting Y/N’s private trailer after hours. The two were spotted in L.A. in what looked like a very heated exchange, sparking renewed interest in Joe’s relationship history, especially with longtime fiancée, Michelle, who was believed to still be in the picture at the time this was taken. Fans are already divided, with some defending Y/N, while others question whether she played a part in Joe and Michelle’s rumored breakup. As of now, Y/N has not issued a comment.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped. She read the article twice, thrice, her eyes scanning the words, looking for any clue, any hint that might disprove the narrative being spun. But there was nothing. Just the photo, the article, and a growing sense of dread.

“I was working,” she muttered under her breath, her voice hollow. Her head throbbed as she tried to make sense of it. How could this have happened? How could this be out there now?

Kayla’s jaw clenched as she read over her shoulder, her expression darkening. “They’re painting you like you’re the homewrecker.”

Y/N’s voice was low, almost dangerous. “That photo wasn’t from paparazzi. That was someone on set.”

The weight of the accusation hit her like a slap. She didn’t need to say it aloud, but the realization crushed her anyway. Someone had been watching her, waiting for a moment like this to exploit. And that someone—Joe’s team?—had played the game, too.

“I’m calling legal,” Harper’s voice came through again, sharp. “This is slander adjacent. If you want to fight this, we can hit hard.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her head still spinning with all the possibilities. Her thoughts raced, bouncing from one frantic idea to the next, but one thought stood above them all: Joe knew. He had to have known that photo existed. He had to have known it could leak. And yet, he had said nothing. Not a word. Not a warning.

She felt the coldness creep into her veins, sharp and cutting. “No statements yet,” Y/N said, her voice icy, betraying nothing. “Let them run with it. Let them eat it up.”

“Are you sure?” Harper asked, her tone carefully cautious.

“Oh, I’m very sure,” Y/N replied, her voice hardening. “But when I respond… it won’t be in some press release.”

She ended the call, the finality of it ringing in her ears. The space between her and Kayla felt vast for a moment, but when she turned to look at her, something had changed in her eyes—something fierce, something calculated.

“I’m not letting them twist this,” Y/N said, the fire in her voice unmistakable. “And I’m sure as hell not letting him get away with it.”

Kayla, who had been watching her with careful eyes, couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. “So what’s the move?”

Y/N lifted her chin, her gaze shifting toward the stage entrance. The roar of the crowd, the hum of excitement just beyond the walls, was growing louder by the second.

“First,” she said, her voice cool and determined, “I give them the best damn show of their lives.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Houston – The Arena – 10pm

The stadium lights dimmed to near nothingness, and in that quiet, pregnant moment, the anticipation swelled. A collective scream—raw, primal—tore through the crowd like thunder, as if the very air itself had split wide open. The sound was deafening, a wall of energy pressing in on all sides.

Then, a heartbeat pulsed through the speakers. Deep, slow, commanding. A beat that resonated deep in the chest, settling into the bones. Smoke spilled across the stage in curling waves, a thick fog that bathed the set in mystery and allure. The LED screens flickered to life, igniting with crimson flashes of light. And then, silhouettes began to emerge from the shadows, dancers falling into perfect synchronization, their movements as fluid as they were fierce.

And just as quickly, everything stopped.

The strobe lights hit. A pulse of electric energy, bright and blinding, and then Y/N rose from the platform at center stage, a silhouette among the flames. Her head was held high, every inch of her a study in confidence, in power. The microphone was already in her hand, steady and commanding.

She didn’t smile.

She smirked.

The moment she stepped into the spotlight, she owned it. The first beat dropped like a sledgehammer, a rush of sound that hit the crowd in waves, reverberating through every inch of the arena. Y/N’s movements were fluid, calculated—each step, each flick of her wrist, each breath, perfectly timed. She didn’t just sing about desire. She embodied it. The way her body moved—sharp, sensual, confident—told a story without words, a declaration that she was in control. Every step she took, every calculated pause between lyrics, every eye-flick toward the camera was a message: I know exactly what I’m doing. And I’m not asking permission.

The opening track, “Bad Habit,” pulsed through the speakers, sultry and rhythmic, shaking the very foundation of the stadium. The bass reverberated through the floor like an electric current, and the crowd was whipped into a frenzy. Y/N’s dancers orbited around her like satellites, moving with an energy that matched the intensity of the song. But Y/N? She was the sun. Every movement was designed to pull the spotlight back to her, to center the chaos of the show around her presence.

She wasn’t running from the headlines. No. She was dancing in the spotlight they’d given her.

About thirty minutes into the set, the crowd was already delirious, caught up in the tidal wave of energy she’d built. The lights flickered, then dimmed to a deep, intoxicating violet. A single spotlight fell on her, its harsh beam cutting through the shadow like a knife. The crowd quieted almost instantly, the air growing thick with anticipation.

Y/N paused, breathing heavy, but every inch of her glowing with the aftershocks of the performance. She raised her mic slowly, almost teasingly, as if she were savoring the moment before speaking.

“H-town,” she purred, her voice smooth as velvet, “Y’all have been wild tonight.” Her lips curled into a teasing grin. “So I think it’s only right that I give you something special…”

The crowd lost it. Gasps, screams, the kind of reaction only a few artists could command. Phones lit up like a thousand stars as they captured the moment.

“This next track,” Y/N said, pacing the stage like a lioness stalking her prey, “has never been released. Never performed. Hell, no one outside my team has even heard it.”

A collective intake of breath went through the crowd, the noise swelling into an almost electric hum.

“It’s raw,” Y/N continued, her eyes now locked on the front row. “It’s messy. It’s mine. And it’s the only time I’m explaining a damn thing.”

The bass dropped out completely. Silence.

And then—she leaned into the mic, lips brushing the cold metal as she lowered her voice. “Y’all ever get tired of people trying to tell your story for you?”

The crowd exploded. Cheers, whistles, a lone voice screaming, “Preach!” followed by a chorus of laughter and agreement.

Y/N let the noise swell, feeling the collective power of the crowd amplify her own. A grin spread across her face—sharp, deliberate, full of fire and knowing.

“Good,” she drawled, her voice cutting through the noise, “’Cause I don’t get tired of proving them wrong.”

Then, as if the very words had sparked it, the opening chords of Sweet Poison hit the air like a match to gasoline. The melody was slinky, hypnotic, pulsing with a dangerous, seductive energy. The crowd went absolutely wild, the entire stadium trembling with excitement.

“You taste good but you burn slow /Can’t lie, I knew it from hello /Thought you were mine, but you were everybody’s — /So I turned you into a melody.”

The song was dark, sexy, tinged with bitterness—a warning and a confession wrapped in one. Every lyric that came from Y/N was a shot fired at the headlines, at the whispers and rumors that had followed her for weeks. You taste good, but you burn slow. Can’t lie, I knew it from hello.

As the song progressed, a camera feed captured her up close, splashing her face across the massive screens behind her. Her lips were glossed and parted, eyes lined with thick, smoldering eyeliner, like warpaint. Beneath it all, that smirk—a reminder that she was in charge. She wasn’t a victim of the story they were trying to tell. No, she was the one doing the telling now.

Each verse was a release, a purge of the poison they’d tried to force into her narrative. Every chorus? A challenge. She leaned into it, holding the mic as if it were a weapon, letting the crowd scream the words back at her like a collective middle finger to anyone who’d ever tried to rewrite her story.

The choreography was darker now, more intense, matching the emotional core of the song. The visuals behind her flickered between blooming black roses and blurred headlines—paparazzi flashes, blurry images of her and Joe. The subtle nod to the chaos that had erupted only days before, a reminder that she was still standing.

By the time the final chorus hit, Y/N stood center stage, drenched in sweat and bathed in a blinding spotlight. Her eyes were glittering, not with tears or exhaustion, but with something sharper—vindication. A challenge.

It was the most alive she’d felt in weeks.

This wasn’t damage control.

This was reclamation.

Even Kayla, who had been dancing her heart out with Y/N’s backup crew, stopped for a moment, wide-eyed as she watched her best friend perform. A smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head in awe. “She’s not just performing,” Kayla murmured to herself, her voice laced with admiration. “She’s burning the whole damn narrative down.”

As the final number approached, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. Lasers shot across the stage, fire bursts lit up the air, and Y/N emerged in a shimmering black bodysuit that clung to her like armor, reflecting the flames that danced around her. She hit the final note, a powerful crescendo that shook the stadium to its core.

And then, the lights cut out.

The crowd went insane. Screaming. Stomping. Demanding more, but Y/N was done giving tonight.

She stood center stage, bathed in one final spotlight. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the adrenaline still pulsing through her veins, every inch of her lit with the energy of the performance. Her lips curled into a defiant grin.

“Thank you, Houston,” she said, her voice low and breathy, but filled with fire. “Next time, bring the rumors to the show. I’ll give you a better version.”

With that, she dropped the mic.

Blackout.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Cincinnati – Bengals Meeting Room

Joe sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid as his eyes scanned the group assembled before him—his publicist, a couple of PR specialists, and the team of legal advisors from the Bengals. The tension in the room was thick, and it mirrored the knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He hadn’t been this angry in a long time. The TMZ article had dropped like a bomb, and now the fallout was raining down.

His phone buzzed on the table in front of him, but he ignored it, his gaze cutting through the room as everyone waited for him to speak.

“So, we’re doing this?” he asked, his voice colder than he intended. “We’re all sitting here talking about this shit? We knew this was coming, but this fast?”

The PR director, a sharp-eyed woman named Casey, cleared her throat. “We anticipated the media scrutiny, Joe. But they’re spinning it into a mess. They’ve got you, Y/N, and Michelle all tangled up in a ‘love triangle’—and the public is eating it up.”

Joe’s jaw tightened, and he leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I never lied about anything. She—” He cut himself off, irritation building. He wasn't going to get sidetracked. “Listen, this whole thing is a disaster. I already told you I broke up with Michelle after Christmas. Why the hell is that not getting through?”

Casey nodded, looking through her notes. “The problem is that no one really knows when that breakup happened. Michelle’s been making it sound like you two are still together. And the article seems to confirm that, especially since Y/N and Michelle’s names got tied up in this fight.”

Joe's eyes darkened as he exhaled, a deep, slow breath. “Michelle’s the one causing this mess. She called Y/N, claiming we were still together—she started all of this. Y/N didn’t even believe me when I tried to explain.”

He slammed his hand down on the table, making everyone jump slightly. “This is the part that pisses me off. I never wanted any of this. Y/N is not a side chick. She’s not a homewrecker. And I damn sure didn’t drag her into this bullshit.”

The legal team exchanged glances. One of the lawyers, a guy named Derek, spoke up cautiously. “We can’t do much without solid proof. You know that. Right now, we’re dealing with speculation. No one can verify that Michelle’s call was made, and without something more concrete, this could drag on for weeks.”

Joe pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration building. “So, we just let them spin their story? We let them keep calling Y/N a homewrecker, a problem that wasn’t even hers to begin with? And I’m supposed to stay quiet, keep my head down?”

“Joe, we know it’s frustrating,” Casey said gently. “But right now, no one knows the truth except you, Y/N, and Michelle. If you come out with a statement now, it could escalate things, and we don’t want that.”

Joe was about to retort when Derek added, “We need to be careful about what we say publicly. We can’t risk making any statements that could hurt you legally, especially since Michelle has yet to go public with anything regarding your breakup. The media will hold on to whatever narrative they want.”

Joe ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting harder to keep his temper in check. Every minute that passed felt like a dozen more accusations piling on top of him. He never wanted his relationship with Michelle to get this messy.

And then there was Y/N. His mind flickered to her, the last conversation they’d had. She wouldn’t even pick up his calls now. He could hear her words in his head—the way she’d accused him of playing her, of using her as a cover for his life with Michelle. He hated that she believed Michelle. Hated that he couldn’t convince her otherwise.

“Let’s not forget the deal we had,” Joe muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Y/N and I had an agreement. Nothing serious. Just... friends with benefits. And now, suddenly, everything’s a scandal. We didn’t want any of this.”

Casey exchanged a quick glance with the rest of the team. “We get it, Joe. But that arrangement... it’s not something the public is going to understand easily. The fact that you and Y/N were involved—and with Michelle still in the picture—complicates everything. If we don't handle this carefully, it could be a PR nightmare.”

Joe rubbed his face again, feeling the weight of the entire situation pressing down on him. He hated this. He hated that Michelle had put him in this position. That his private life was now fodder for the tabloids. And the worst part? He couldn’t fix any of it without making things worse.

Ja'Marr’s words from earlier in the day echoed in Joe’s mind—“You’ve got cameras all over your house, right?” Joe hadn’t realized it at the time, but now, sitting in this meeting, he felt like it was the only thing that could help clear things up.

"I’ve got evidence," Joe said suddenly, interrupting the flow of conversation. The room quieted as all eyes turned to him. “I’ve got security footage. Michelle insisted on installing cameras after we moved in together. And, yeah, I’m going to use that to clear this up.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, security footage?”

Joe leaned forward, his hands clenched in his lap. “I have footage of when I ended things with Michelle. She packed up her stuff, we had the conversation, and I have it all on tape. It’s proof that I wasn’t hiding anything from Y/N. It shows exactly what happened.”

There was a moment of silence as the team processed what Joe had just said. Derek leaned forward. “This footage could be exactly what you need to clear your name. If you show Y/N this, it’ll prove that Michelle was lying about everything.”

Joe’s stomach churned at the thought of showing Y/N the footage. It was intimate, personal—moments he’d never intended for anyone else to see. But if it meant she’d finally believe him, he was willing to do whatever it took.

"But it's not just about the footage," Joe continued, his voice growing colder. "Michelle has been manipulating everything, using the whole 'fiancée' thing to make me look like I was juggling two women. I wasn’t. Y/N and I were never anything more than... casual. We agreed on that, and we were good with it. But now, Michelle's trying to make it sound like I was cheating. She wants to control the narrative."

“Exactly,” Casey said, picking up on his frustration. “This footage could turn the whole situation around. You’ve got proof that you didn’t hide anything. But the real question is—how are you going to present this? You can’t just release it to the public. That will look even worse.”

Joe clenched his teeth, running a hand over his face. "I’m not releasing it to the public. I’m going to show it to Y/N. She deserves the truth, even if it’s hard to hear. I’ll explain everything. No more lies. No more games.”

Ja'Marr’s words echoed again: Don’t just show her the footage. Tell her everything.

Joe closed his eyes, letting the weight of that advice sink in. He knew what he had to do now. "I should’ve been honest with her from the beginning. I didn’t think Michelle would go this far. But I can’t keep running from it. I need to fix this."

Tee, ever the pragmatic voice, nodded. “Alright, so you’re gonna show Y/N the footage and tell her everything. That’s your best shot at making this right.”

Joe stood, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "I’ll do it. I’ll show her everything. No more hiding, no more half-truths. It’s time to stop letting Michelle control the narrative."

The team around him nodded, knowing this was the best course of action. But Joe wasn’t looking for the approval of anyone in the room. He wasn’t looking for a quick fix. He was looking for a way to clear his name and hopefully, just maybe, get back the one thing that mattered most to him: Y/N.

“I’m going to do it,” he said again, more to himself than anyone else. “I’ll show her the footage. I’ll make her see the truth.”

As he walked out of the room, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart sinking when he saw Y/N’s name on the screen. She hadn’t called in days, and every time he’d tried to reach her, she’d ignored him.

His fingers hovered over the screen, but he didn’t respond. Not yet. He knew what he had to do first.

He had to make it right. And he would—whatever it took.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Green Room - Houston - 12:45am

The green room had finally quieted, the kind of hush that settles only after the final encore fades and the crowd’s roar becomes a memory vibrating faintly in the bones.

Y/N stood near the mirror, her reflection blurred by soft lights and smudged eyeliner. She peeled off the last pieces of her stage outfit, her muscles aching in that satisfying way that followed a show done right. Her skin still buzzed from adrenaline, but she could already feel the crash creeping up—subtle, inevitable.

Behind her, Kayla moved through the small space like a quiet storm, sweeping up discarded water bottles and snack wrappers. She tossed an energy bar into a trash bag and turned to toss Y/N an oversized hoodie.

“You were a machine out there,” she said, her voice low but grinning. “Honestly, you could’ve walked on stage, said ‘goodnight,’ and the crowd still would’ve begged for more.”

Y/N chuckled, catching the hoodie and pulling it over her head. “Tempting. Might try that next time.”

She collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, rubbing at her temples. The couch cushions exhaled beneath her as if they, too, were exhausted.

Then the silence fractured.

A sudden buzz erupted from the vanity behind her, the vibration of her phone against the hard counter making both women freeze for a moment. Kayla turned first.

“Unknown number,” she read aloud, raising an eyebrow. “You think it’s him?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t move, either. She just stared at the screen like it might explode.

Kayla didn’t wait for permission. She crossed the room in two quick strides and picked up the phone, answering it without a hint of hesitation.

“Hello?” she snapped, her voice instantly sharp, like steel unsheathed. “If this is a sympathy call for Joe, you can forget it. We’re not interested in whatever story he’s spinning now.”

There was a pause—a longer one than Y/N expected—before a calm, familiar voice replied.

“Relax, Kayla. It’s Sam. And I’m not calling for Joe.”

Kayla blinked, caught off guard, and slowly lowered the phone from her ear. Her eyes flicked to Y/N, who straightened on the couch, frowning.

Kayla tapped the speaker button and held the phone out between them.

“You’re Joe’s best friend,” Y/N said evenly, arms folding across her chest. “So forgive me if I don’t buy the whole ‘independent concern’ angle.”

“I get it,” Sam replied, his voice steady but without defensiveness. “And yeah, he’s here. Sitting right next to me, actually. But this wasn’t his idea. I called because I wanted to.”

Y/N’s brows knit together. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, trying to read between every word.

“So what is this, then? A new PR strategy? You take turns trying to get through?”

Sam sighed quietly on the other end. “No strategy. No script. Look, I’ve known Joe for a long time. Long enough to know when he’s faking it—and when he’s wrecked.”

That hit Y/N like a slow, unseen wave. She didn’t respond immediately.

“I’ve seen him mess up,” Sam continued. “I’ve seen him walk away from things that didn’t matter to him. But this? He’s not walking away from this like it’s nothing. That’s how I know this isn’t just about him. This hit you, too. And I guess... I just wanted to check on you.”

Y/N was silent. Her fingers gripped the edge of the hoodie sleeves, pulling them over her hands as she stared at the floor.

“You’re not calling to defend him?” she asked quietly, more to confirm than accuse.

“No,” Sam said, his voice low. “I mean, yeah, he’s my best friend, and I’ve got his back. But I’m not blind. You didn’t deserve to be in the middle of any of this. I’m not here to justify it or explain it away. I just thought someone should check in without asking for something in return.”

Y/N slowly leaned back, absorbing his words like static in the air.

From the corner, Kayla watched her carefully, still wary, but something in her expression softened.

Y/N’s voice, when it came again, was quieter. “It’s been a lot.”

“I figured,” Sam replied. “You don’t have to say anything more. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, Y/N. I just wanted you to know someone was thinking about you—not the headlines, not the drama. Just you.”

That—of all things—cut the deepest.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat was too tight. Her eyes shimmered, though she quickly blinked the sting away.

“Thanks,” she said after a long beat. The word came out softer than she intended, almost fragile.

There was a pause on the other end. “If you ever need to talk… about anything. Doesn’t have to be about him. I’m around.”

Y/N nodded before remembering he couldn’t see it. “Appreciate it, Sam.”

She ended the call gently, then just… sat there, the phone still resting in her hands like a strange weight.

The room was quiet again, but now it felt different—thicker somehow, charged with unspoken things.

Kayla sat down beside her, folding her legs up on the couch.

“That was... surprisingly human of him,” she said.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, staring at a spot on the wall. “It was.”

She didn’t ask if Joe had heard everything. Didn’t want to know. Not yet.

But something inside her—something bitter and bruised and stubborn—shifted, just slightly. Not forgiveness. Not even understanding. Just... movement.

She exhaled long and hard, letting her head fall back against the couch.

“He didn’t try to explain anything,” she said eventually. “Didn’t ask me to give him a chance. Just asked if I was okay.”

Kayla nodded, eyes still on her. “Because you’re not. You’re doing a damn good job pretending, but you’re not okay.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “I don’t trust him. I don’t even know if I trust myself right now.”

“No one said you have to,” Kayla replied gently. “But Sam… he wasn’t pushing. That’s probably why it got to you.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. Just pulled the hoodie tighter around her and curled deeper into the couch.

“I hate that it did,” she whispered.

Joe’s name never passed her lips, but he lingered there anyway—in the air, in the silence, in the ache that hadn’t quite dulled.

She didn’t know what would come next.

But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like the end.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Cincinnati — Sam’s Apartment

The living room was dim except for the soft glow from the kitchen under-cabinet lights. The muted hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in Joe’s head. He sat perched on the edge of the couch, hunched forward, one leg bouncing in a relentless rhythm that betrayed the tension coiled tight in his gut.

Sam ended the call, the faint click of the button sounding louder than it should have in the stillness. He stood motionless for a moment, his thumb lingering against the screen before sliding the phone into the pocket of his jeans. His arms crossed, his back leaned against the cool marble of the kitchen counter as he took in the anxious figure across the room.

“She pick up?” Joe asked finally, without lifting his head. His voice was taut, brittle around the edges.

“She picked up,” Sam confirmed, his tone neutral, but not unkind.

Joe raised his eyes, his breath catching slightly. “And?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. He let the weight of it settle between them, because sugarcoating wouldn’t help—not now. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, then walked slowly toward the armchair across from Joe and lowered himself into it.

“I didn’t say anything about the footage,” he said. “Didn’t mention you. I just asked if she was okay.”

Joe nodded, swallowing hard. He braced his forearms on his knees, his fingers threading together like he needed something to hold on to. “And?”

“She listened,” Sam said quietly. “Didn’t hang up. Didn’t yell. She was calm… but tired. Real tired. Like everything had finally caught up to her.”

Joe’s jaw worked as he stared down at his hands, hands that had once been steady—on the field, in the pocket, with her. They hadn’t been steady in weeks.

“She thinks I used her,” he murmured. “She thinks I stood there and let my ex drag her through the dirt and didn’t say a goddamn word.”

Sam didn’t flinch at the bitterness in Joe’s tone. He just leaned back and folded his arms again. “She’s hurt, yeah. You didn’t stop it soon enough. You didn’t say enough when it mattered. But she didn’t hang up. She heard me out. That means she’s still listening, Joe. Even if it’s just a little.”

Joe exhaled sharply, a sound that was part frustration, part grief. His mind flashed with memories—her laughter in his kitchen, the way she danced when she thought no one was watching, the way her hand fit into his like it was meant to. All of it had felt real. All of it had been real, until silence had replaced answers and avoidance had replaced truth.

“She deserved more than a call from you,” Joe said bitterly. “She deserved to hear it from me. In person.”

Sam’s brow arched. “Then stop hiding behind texts you won’t send and voicemails you delete. You know where she is. Get on a plane.”

Joe didn’t answer. His mind twisted with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. What if she didn’t want to see him? What if the moment she opened that door, all she felt was the sting of betrayal? He rubbed his hands down his face, then sat back, eyes unfocused.

“What if she slams the door in my face?” he asked finally, voice low.

“Then she slams it,” Sam said simply. “But at least she’ll know you showed up. That you didn’t run away. You owe her that.”

The silence after that was heavy, but it wasn’t aimless. Joe was thinking—really thinking. The first time he’d met Y/N, she hadn’t been impressed by who he was or what he did. She’d made him work for her time, her trust. And when she gave it to him, it had felt like something rare, something honest.

And he’d let it slip through his fingers without fighting for it.

He stared at the floor for another moment, then looked up slowly, something clearing behind his eyes. Not confidence. But resolve.

“She deserves the truth,” he said. “All of it. Even the parts that make me look like a coward.”

Sam nodded. “Then go give it to her.”

Joe stood up, pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the window. The skyline outside was a quiet shadow against the night. He stared at it like he was looking for answers in the lights.

“She’s not going to trust me again overnight,” he said. “Hell, she might not ever trust me again.”

“Then you show her she can,” Sam replied. “One day at a time. You don’t show up with a speech. You show up ready to listen.”

Joe gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “I used to be good with words.”

“Words don’t mean much right now,” Sam said, rising to his feet. “Actions do.”

The truth of it landed deep.

Joe turned from the window and reached for his jacket, pulling it off the hook by the door.

“You really think she’ll let me in?”

Sam shrugged, offering a small, hopeful smile. “Maybe not. But she didn’t shut me out tonight. That’s something.”

Joe stared at the door for a long beat.

Then he grabbed his phone and pulled up her contact—the one still saved under the nickname he hadn’t had the guts to change: Songbird.

He didn’t hit call.

Not yet.

But he booked the flight.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Atlanta – Recording Studio, Late Afternoon

The bass thudded low through the studio walls, steady and hypnotic like a distant heartbeat. It should’ve been grounding—familiar even—but Y/N wasn’t really listening. Not to the track, not to the lyrics, not to the faint conversation happening beyond the glass of the vocal booth.

She sat alone, hunched slightly over her notebook, pen still in hand but unmoving. The page in front of her was mostly blank, save for a single lyric scratched out and rewritten three times. The ink had smudged in places where her fingers had lingered too long. A half-empty water bottle sweated quietly beside her, untouched, ignored.

The room around her was quiet except for the low hum of studio equipment. Her producer, Drea, and her engineer, Miles, were somewhere behind the tinted glass, murmuring between themselves. They weren’t in a rush. They’d seen her like this before. They knew when to wait, when to let her sit in the mess of whatever she was feeling until it wrung itself into a song.

But this time felt different.

This time, the words wouldn’t come. Not because they weren’t there—because they were. They were lodged in her throat, pressed up against her ribs, clawing at her chest.

It was Joe.

Again.

She shut her eyes, but it didn’t help. His face was there behind her lids like an afterimage—blue eyes too damn bright to forget, jaw clenched in that way that made him look perpetually annoyed with the world. But not with her. Never with her.

God, she wanted to hate him.

Some days, she did. She hated that he still lived in her head. Hated that she’d catch herself wondering what he’d think of a new verse, or if he’d smirk at the little ad-lib she’d thrown into the bridge. Hated that when she sat in silence too long, she remembered what it felt like to wake up beside him, tangled in sheets and shadows, his voice scratchy with sleep and his hand resting on the curve of her hip like it belonged there.

And she hated that even after everything—the footage, the silence, the damage control—she still missed him.

Not just the physical parts, though those were seared into her memory like heat.

The way his hands felt on her waist. The gravel in his voice when he murmured her name against her skin. The way he’d tug at the hem of her hoodie, eyes dark and hungry, like she was something he was starving for.

But that wasn’t what haunted her most.

She missed how he made her feel.

Seen. Wanted. Alive.

Not the polished, camera-ready version of her that the world knew. Not the curated artist with a fanbase and a brand. But her. The girl who got anxious in crowds. Who hated flying but did it anyway. The one who sometimes second-guessed herself so hard she’d spiral before the first chorus even hit tape.

Joe had seen all of that—and he hadn’t flinched.

He’d challenged her, pushed her buttons just enough to make her snap back with that sharp tongue he secretly loved. He used to smirk when she got mouthy, like he was inviting it. Sometimes he’d say things just to pull it out of her. Just to watch her spark.

He was infuriating.

But also... grounding.

Even when he was grumpy, even when he wore his walls like armor, there were moments—private, fleeting ones—where he let her in. And when he did, he was lighter. Funnier than people would ever expect. He’d tease her mercilessly in the kitchen, steal her fries when she wasn’t looking, sing off-key on purpose just to hear her laugh. He made her forget to take herself so seriously.

And she’d needed that more than she realized.

Maybe she hadn’t meant to fall for him. Maybe she hadn’t even realized it had happened at all.

But that last night—when she’d slipped into his bed thinking it was just one more moment, one more breath before the inevitable unraveling—she hadn’t known she was slipping into something deeper.

And now?

Now, the absence of him felt like a dull ache that wouldn’t quit.

A knock on the glass jolted her out of it.

She looked up to see Drea gesturing gently toward the intercom. Her voice crackled a second later through the speakers.

“Hey, babe. You good to run that verse again, or you want to step out for a bit?”

Y/N blinked hard, forcing herself back into the present. She reached forward and clicked the intercom.

“Give me one sec.”

“Take your time,” Drea said, and the speaker clicked off.

Y/N looked down at the page again. The pen was still hovering. Still hesitant.

She’d written about heartbreak before. She’d written about anger, lust, loss. But this?

This was harder to name. It wasn’t love. Not quite.

It was something messier. Something quieter but deeper. The kind of feeling that crept in through cracks you didn’t know were open. The kind that didn’t announce itself with fireworks—but stayed with you like smoke in your lungs.

And maybe that’s why it scared her.

Because she didn’t think she had feelings for Joe Burrow.

Not until she realized how much it hurt not to have him.

Not until she realized how much of her music was starting to sound like memories of him.

And maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t done writing about him yet.

Her hand moved finally, pen scratching across the page with slow, deliberate lines. A verse began to form. Raw. Honest.

A confession.

Not for him.

For herself.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N’s pen moved across the page slowly at first, the tip barely grazing the surface of the paper as her mind tried to capture the swirl of conflicting emotions that had settled into her chest. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, drawing on the feelings Joe had left behind—those stolen moments, those raw exchanges.

The words came, one by one, but with them, a rush of clarity began to seep through the fog in her mind. This wasn’t a song for anyone but herself. She wasn’t writing for the public, or the press, or for the people who expected something polished. This was something real. Something stripped bare.

She wrote quickly now, the lines flowing with more certainty:

I didn’t know it’d be you,Didn’t see it coming, didn’t have a clue.All those words we never said,Now they’re stuck inside my head.

We were supposed to be a game,A fire that burned, no one to blame.But somewhere along the way I lost track,Thought I could leave, but I keep coming back.

And I can’t shake the way you made me feel—Seen, wanted, like something real.Not just the girl the world gets to see,But the one who lives inside of me.

I didn’t think I’d care this much,Didn’t know how to feel your touch.But now I’m left with nothing but this song,A love I thought was never meant to belong.

I didn’t see it coming, didn’t know I’d fall,Thought I was just playing, thought I’d have it all.But you got under my skin, deeper than I planned,Now I’m stuck with your touch, like I’m holding your hand.

We were just supposed to be a game,But now I’m tangled up in your name.Can’t shake the way you got me twisted—Like a drug, and I can’t resist it.

You made me feel like I was on fire,Like a spark that could light the entire sky.I never wanted to care this much,But here I am, craving your touch.

I can’t help the way you made me feel,Like I was something real.Not just a name, not just a face,But someone you couldn’t erase.

I said I’d leave, but here I am,Chasing a feeling I don’t understand.I don’t know if this is love, or just the thrill,But damn, I can’t say I’m over it still.

Her fingers froze for a beat as the last lines settled on the page, a lump rising in her throat. She’d been trying to write it out all day, but now that it was there, it felt... too much. Too real.

I never thought I'd care this much...

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She closed the notebook, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room, as though closing off a chapter she wasn’t quite ready to end.

“Y/N?” Drea’s voice came through the intercom again, softer this time. “You good to run the verse? We’re waiting on you.”

Y/N’s hand lingered on the notebook, her thumb tracing the edges of the paper. She didn’t respond immediately. The room around her felt heavy, like she was suddenly drowning in the weight of everything she hadn’t said—everything she couldn’t say.

She’d written the truth, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to sing it out loud.

The song was raw, unfiltered—everything she had kept buried in the past few weeks. The longing, the pain, the pieces of herself she hadn’t been ready to face. It wasn’t just about Joe. It was about the parts of herself she hadn’t acknowledged. The parts that had been awakened by him. The parts she had to let go of to move forward.

But maybe the hardest part? The hardest part was realizing that even though she hadn’t wanted to have feelings for Joe, she had. And those feelings had shaped everything—her music, her heart, her identity in the moment they’d shared.

Y/N clicked the intercom, her voice softer than it had been before. “Yeah. Let’s run it.”

She wasn’t sure if the words would make it to the recording or if she’d be able to keep her composure in the booth. But she was ready. She had to be. Even if the truth was still tangled in her chest.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Cincinnati – Joe’s House, Two Hours After the Game (2 weeks later)

The living room was cloaked in an uneasy silence, thick enough to cut through. Joe sat, motionless, in the dim glow of the muted replay on the TV. The game had ended hours ago, but it felt like it was still playing in his mind. A lost opportunity, a missed chance, a moment where everything slipped through his fingers—and it wasn’t just about the game.

His jaw was tight, his body rigid, like he was trying to hold everything inside. The loss had stung, yes, but there was something deeper gnawing at him. He hadn’t wanted to speak to the media, couldn’t stomach the thought of standing there, offering up the usual robotic answers. The loss wasn’t just a reflection of a bad game—it was a reflection of something more personal, something that had been hanging over him long before the final whistle blew.

Ja’Marr and Tee were seated across from him, their gazes heavy with unspoken understanding. They knew Joe. They had seen him angry after a loss, but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual post-game frustration. This was something else, something simmering just beneath the surface.

Ja'Marr was the first to break the silence, his voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters. “You gonna talk about it?”

Joe didn’t flinch. His eyes never left the TV. “Not in the mood.”

Tee, sitting beside Ja’Marr, chimed in, his tone casual but firm. “You ghosted the press. You always face the press, even when things are worse than this.”

Joe’s eyes flicked toward him, but there was no warmth there—just sharp, cold detachment. “They didn’t need to hear what I wanted to say.”

Ja'Marr exchanged a knowing look with Tee. They had both seen Joe pissed off before—hell, they'd seen him furious, after games that cost them the season or when things weren’t clicking. But this wasn’t just anger. This was something darker, something more complicated.

“You’ve been off, man,” Ja’Marr said carefully, trying to probe without pushing too hard.

Joe scoffed, pushing himself off the couch and pacing toward the kitchen. His movements were sharp, frustrated. “We all have. Everyone’s been off. O-line’s shaky, receivers are dropping passes, hell, even special teams can’t get it together.”

Tee wasn’t having it. He leaned forward, his voice hard but not unkind. “Don’t do that.”

Joe stopped, turning slowly to face him. “Do what?”

“Start pointing fingers like it’s everyone else’s fault,” Tee shot back. “You’ve been walking around like a damn ghost since she left.”

Joe froze for a second, his jaw tightening. “This has nothing to do with Y/N.”

Tee didn’t back down. He stood now, crossing the room and closing the space between them. “Bullshit.”

The words hit Joe like a punch in the gut. He had known this moment was coming. His teammates weren’t blind. They could see what was happening, even if Joe hadn’t fully admitted it to himself yet.

“You think we haven’t noticed?” Tee continued, his voice rising, frustration mixing with concern. “The way you’ve been distant, the way you’ve been on edge every time someone even mentions her name?”

Ja'Marr, always the quiet observer, remained silent, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold. His gaze flickered between Joe and Tee, sensing the tension, but letting Tee lead the charge.

Joe’s chest tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t need you guys to psychoanalyze me. This is about the game, not Y/N.”

Tee’s eyes darkened, and he stepped even closer now, his tone more intense. “Nah, Joe. This is about you losing Y/N and not being able to admit it. You’re not mad about the game, man. You’re mad because you let her go, and now you can’t figure out how to fix it.”

Joe’s breath hitched, his throat tight as he tried to control the emotions bubbling up inside him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tee didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He pressed on, each word deliberate. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw how she looked at you. And how you looked at her. This wasn’t a casual thing, Joe. You can try to lie to yourself all you want, but you’re pissed because you let something real slip away thinking it didn’t matter.”

Joe opened his mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. His chest felt heavy, the weight of Tee’s accusation pressing down on him. He didn’t want to admit it. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit it. But Tee’s words rang too true, and for the first time, Joe was forced to reckon with the reality he had been avoiding for weeks.

“It didn’t matter,” Joe said, his voice low, almost a whisper. But even as he said it, it felt like a lie. “It wasn’t supposed to.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Joe could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat louder than the last. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and memories, flashes of Y/N—laughing at something stupid he said, curling up in his arms after they’d spent the night together, the way she would challenge him just to see him crack a smile. He had tried so hard to convince himself it didn’t mean anything, that he wasn’t falling for her, but now it was all too clear.

Ja'Marr shook his head slowly, his voice soft but firm. “That’s your problem, bro. You thought if you didn’t name it, if you didn’t admit it to yourself, it wouldn’t be real. But it was real. And you didn’t say it until it was too late.”

Joe turned away, bracing himself against the counter like he was holding onto something—anything—to keep him from falling apart. His breath was ragged, his mind racing.

Tee’s voice softened, but the weight of his words hung in the air. “You miss her, Joe. That’s what this is. Not the game. Not the media. Her.”

Joe’s shoulders dropped slightly, a flicker of something breaking through the wall he had built around himself. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew Tee was right, and that terrified him more than any blitz or fourth-quarter pressure ever had.

The weight of the truth pressed down on him. He had never meant for it to go this far. Never thought he would care this much. But now, with his friends staring at him, holding up the mirror to his own denial, Joe had no choice but to face the fact that Y/N had gotten under his skin in a way no one else had.

And the hardest part? The hardest part was knowing he had let her slip away—too proud, too scared, too damn stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had been falling for her all along.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Atlanta – Y/N’s Apartment, Late Night

The soft glow from the city lights poured through the cracks in the curtains, casting thin silver lines across the sheets.

Y/N lay on her side, tangled in her duvet, sleep nowhere in sight.

Her phone was on silent, screen-down on the nightstand. She didn’t want distractions. Not from Kayla, not from Carmen, and definitely not from the part of her brain that kept spinning scenarios that always started with "What if Joe had just been honest from the beginning?"

She let her eyes drift toward the ceiling, her thoughts moving like waves she couldn’t stop.

It had been months now.

Months since that stupid, electric night in Baltimore—the Bengals game where it all began. She hadn’t even wanted to go. Football wasn’t her thing. But Kayla dragged her out, and somehow she ended up field-level after the game with a drink in her hand and him walking up to her like he already knew her name.

Joe.

Quarterback. Media darling. Supposedly reserved. Guarded.

But the way he looked at her? The way he made her laugh during that first conversation, called her out when she tried to play cool, leaned in close like she was the only one who mattered in a stadium full of noise?

It was intoxicating.

She remembered the tension in her chest that night—dangerous and thrilling, like something was about to change and she was just on the edge of knowing it.

And maybe that’s what pissed her off the most now. Because how could someone look at her like that... touch her like that... make her feel real for the first time in a long time...

...and still have a whole fiancée waiting in the shadows?

She turned over, clutching the pillow tighter.

He’d said they were over. Said Michelle wasn’t part of his life anymore. But the world didn’t know that. The media still thought they were engaged. And for a while, so had Y/N. Because Michelle made damn sure of that when she called and claimed otherwise.

And Joe? He hadn’t corrected the narrative fast enough. Hadn’t protected her from the fallout.

How do you make someone feel like the only one... while someone else still thinks they're the only one too?

Y/N blinked up at the dark ceiling, her chest hollow.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Maybe he really had been caught in the mess of ending one chapter while starting another. But none of it changed the reality—

She had trusted him. And he had let her walk straight into the fire without warning.

Now, even with the album coming, the release party being planned, the buzz building around her name... she still couldn’t shake the ache of what could’ve been, if only things had been real from the start.

If only he had been.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Atlanta – Private Loft, Early Afternoon

The echo of Kayla’s voice reverberated off the high ceilings of the loft, cutting through the otherwise peaceful buzz of preparation. Her arms were crossed, her posture stiff with frustration, as she glared at Y/N like she’d just announced plans to invite a tornado to the party.

"You want drama?" Kayla’s tone was incredulous, each word sharp and deliberate. "Because this is how you get drama."

Y/N stood at a long table, her hands skimming over mood boards, menus, and sketches—each piece carefully curated for the launch party of her debut album. The table was a chaotic but beautiful spread of possibilities, from champagne flutes that shimmered in the light to outfit designs that screamed bold and unapologetic. Carmen, her manager, sat a few feet away, her eyes glued to an iPad as she scrolled through venue options with a practiced, detached air—clearly not getting involved in the brewing storm between Y/N and Kayla.

"I’m not trying to start drama," Y/N said, her voice calm and firm, an attempt to ground herself. “I just want to invite the people who’ve supported me. And like it or not, Tee and Ja’Marr were there for me, even when everything was a mess.”

Kayla scoffed, the sound cutting through the air like a blade. “Yeah, they were there—with him. Joe. Who I’ll remind you, in case you’ve blacked it out, is the entire reason your name trended next to the word homewrecker for a solid month.”

Carmen raised a brow but said nothing, merely tapping her finger thoughtfully on the edge of the table as she tried to remain neutral, letting the two women duke it out verbally.

“She has a point,” Carmen added, but her tone wasn’t judgmental, more like she was just stating the obvious.

Y/N’s eyes shot up to meet Kayla’s, irritation flickering in her chest. “I didn’t say I was inviting Joe,” she snapped, her patience slipping through her fingers. “I said Tee and Ja’Marr. They checked in on me after everything. Ja’Marr even sent flowers, for God’s sake.”

Kayla’s lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “That doesn’t change the fact that they’re basically his brothers. They spend every waking moment with him. Do you really want them at your release party? The most important night of your career—where the press will be crawling all over the place—when you know any photo of them will automatically turn into speculation about you and Joe again?”

Y/N’s grip on the sketch in her hands tightened, the pencil lines of the dress she’d been eyeing blurring slightly as she stared down at it. It was bold—floor-length, body-hugging, a statement. The kind of dress that commanded attention without saying a word.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But I’m tired of making choices based on what headlines might say. If I’m going to rewrite my story, it has to be on my terms. And that means letting people in who I want there. Even if it’s complicated.”

There was a brief silence as Kayla, arms still crossed, let her gaze linger on Y/N. She knew her best friend. She knew how Y/N could be—headstrong, determined, always pushing forward, even when the path wasn’t clear. But this? This felt like a choice that could lead to a public disaster.

Carmen finally lifted her eyes from the iPad, her voice breaking the tension. “So we’re locking in a guest list today or no?”

Y/N nodded, a decisive movement that seemed to settle something in her chest. “Yes. Closed to the public. Invite-only. Tight list. We’ll do media separately—maybe a prescreened outlet or two, and if we can swing it, a Vogue spread. But I want the actual party to be private. Just the music industry, close circle. No chaos.”

Carmen tapped a quick note into her device, making it official. “Got it.”

Kayla groaned and dropped her head back, exasperated. “Fine. But when you see Ja’Marr walk in and Joe shows up fifteen minutes later like this is some damn rom-com, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Y/N offered a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure Kayla, or herself. “I’m not expecting anything.”

But deep down, that small, quiet part of her—the part that had allowed herself to care more than she ever intended—wondered if Joe would show up. If he’d stand in the doorway like he had so many times before, his eyes flickering with that warmth that had always made her feel seen, wanted, alive.

Her thoughts spiraled for a moment, her mind rushing through the days they’d spent together—the laughter, the heated arguments, the quiet moments when she’d wake up next to him, his eyes sparkling with mischief as if they were sharing a secret the world didn’t get.

But that was before. Before everything had shattered. Before she’d convinced herself she was done, that there was no going back. But sometimes, even when you tried to lock away the feeling, the memories wouldn’t stay buried.

Kayla snapped her fingers, pulling Y/N from her thoughts. “Hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Y/N blinked, suddenly back in the present, her fingers still resting on the edge of the dress sketch. "Sorry," she murmured, shaking herself free of the fog in her head. “I’m just... figuring things out.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Kayla insisted, her voice softer now, but still filled with concern. “I don’t care what you say. Those guys are connected to Joe. They’re his teammates, his best friends, and no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise, that connection doesn’t just disappear.”

Y/N met her gaze. “I know it’s messy. I know it’s complicated. But I can’t keep hiding from it. I’m tired of hiding. I’m not going to pretend those months with Joe didn’t matter—because they did.”

Kayla exhaled sharply, her posture softening just a fraction. “You’re right. It mattered. But so did the fallout. You have to be careful, Y/N. The world is watching.”

Y/N stood there, her fingers still lightly tracing the edge of the table. Her eyes scanned the room, seeing the preparations laid out before her—the dreams, the ambitions, the moments she’d worked so damn hard for. It was everything she’d ever wanted, but it came with a price. Maybe this was just part of the cost.

But she wasn’t going to let fear of the unknown dictate her choices. Not today.

“I’ve made my decision,” Y/N said, her voice steady. “I want them there. It’s my night. I’m not going to let anyone else control that.”

Kayla sighed, her eyes softening with reluctant understanding. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “That’s why you love me.”

The moment hung there between them, a mix of frustration, love, and the unspoken bond of two people who’d been through everything together. Kayla might not agree with her decision, but in the end, she would have her back. She always had.

And Y/N? She was finally ready to take control of her own story—no matter how complicated it got.

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