Chapter 17 The Second Strike

Chapter 17 The Second Strike


The thing about secrets is, they rot if you leave them buried. And sometimes, the smell is strong enough to choke a whole town.

That’s what I’m counting on when I press send.

The email is short, anonymous, and laced with just enough proof to make a hungry reporter salivate. I know which journalist to pick—someone who’s been circling the Langstons for years, the kind of dog who doesn’t let go once he tastes blood.

It’s late when I hit the button, my room dim except for the glow of my laptop. My pulse hammers as the whoosh of the email leaving seals my second strike.

Strike one had been messy but effective, knocking the Langstons off balance. This one? It’s designed to cause an earthquake.

I close the laptop and sit there, heart racing. Did I just cross a line? Probably. But I remind myself of Noah. Of the silence. Of the unanswered questions. If I don’t keep pushing, no one will.

By morning, the world is already buzzing.

It starts small—whispers in the hallway, phones lighting up with notifications. A headline flashing across screens.

Langston Family Under Investigation.

I keep my head down, pretending not to notice. Pretending I’m not responsible. But the energy at Blackridge is different today, thick and sparking like the air before a storm.

By third period, the whispers become shouts. Someone swears they saw flashing lights near the Langston estate. Someone else claims a raid is happening in real time, cops crawling all over the mansion like ants on spilled sugar.

And then, the proof: grainy photos spread like wildfire. Police cars lined up outside wrought-iron gates. Men in suits carrying boxes out the front door.

The mighty Langstons, cornered.

I should feel triumphant. I should feel invincible. Instead, my stomach twists.

Because while everyone else is gawking, one person isn’t.

Jace.

He sits in the back of class, phone face down on his desk, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. He’s too still, too composed, like a statue waiting to shatter.

And I can’t look away.

The bell rings, chaos spilling into the hallways. Students swarm, buzzing like flies around carrion. I catch fragments:

“—corruption—”

“—raid lasted hours—”

“—his dad might go down for this—”

I slide into the current, blending with the crowd. My mask firmly in place. But inside, I’m shaking.

Because this isn’t just gossip. It’s war. And I fired the first shot today.

At lunch, the cafeteria is a zoo. Everyone’s divided into camps: the gawkers who treat the Langstons’ downfall like entertainment, and the loyalists who defend them like knights circling a wounded king.

The queen bee, Sloane, is loudest among the loyalists. “This is garbage. Fake news. My dad says the Langstons are untouchable. This’ll blow over by the weekend.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe not. But her voice trembles just enough to betray the fear she’s trying to hide.

I take my usual spot near the edges, unpacking my lunch with steady hands I don’t really feel. My phone buzzes with updates, but I don’t check it. Not yet. Not where anyone can see.

Across the room, Jace walks in.

The volume dips, like the entire cafeteria is holding its breath.

He moves with that same careless grace, shoulders back, chin lifted, like nothing can touch him. But I see it—the tightness around his mouth, the storm brewing in his eyes.

People part for him, unsure whether to offer loyalty or distance. He chooses neither, sliding into his seat at the center of it all, ignoring the stares.

For a moment, I almost admire it. The sheer gall of acting untouchable when your world is cracking.

Then his eyes lift—and land on me.

It’s only a second, but it feels like forever. A jolt through my chest. A warning.

I look away first. Because if I don’t, I might give something away.

By the end of the day, the rumors are deafening. Someone claims Jace’s father was arrested. Another swears he bribed his way free. No one knows the truth yet, but everyone’s feeding on the spectacle.

When the final bell rings, I should leave. I should disappear before Jace finds me. But curiosity is stronger than fear.

So I hang back.

The halls empty, footsteps fading. I linger near the side door that leads to the parking lot, telling myself I just need fresh air. But when I push it open, the scene outside stops me cold.

Reporters.

At least a dozen of them, swarming the gates like vultures. Microphones waving, cameras flashing. They’re not here for the school—they’re here for him. For Jace Langston.

And there he is, walking straight into the storm.

Two steps behind him, his younger sister clutches her books like a shield. She looks terrified, blinking against the flash of cameras.

Jace doesn’t flinch. He shoulders through the crowd, jaw set, shielding her with his body when the microphones thrust too close.

I can’t hear the questions, but I see the mouths moving. Words like scandal, corruption, guilty.

For a moment, my chest squeezes. Because I wanted this—I wanted cracks in his perfect armor. But seeing him like this, protecting his sister while drowning in flashbulbs, it feels different.

Like maybe I lit a match and didn’t realize the whole house would burn.

I slip back inside before he can see me. Heart pounding, I press my back to the wall.

What have I done?

That night, the news is everywhere. Clips of the raid, headlines splashed across screens. Jace’s father denying everything with his politician smile, reporters tearing him apart with questions he won’t answer.

The Langston estate, once untouchable, is now under siege.

And I should feel victorious.

Instead, I feel watched.

My phone buzzes with an unknown number. One message.

You think you’re clever.

I freeze. My blood goes cold.

Another message follows.

But I see you.

No name. No signature. Just two lines that feel like a knife pressed against my throat.

I slam my laptop shut, the room too quiet, too heavy.

Because someone knows.

And maybe—just maybe—it’s him.