Chapter 156
Nora's POV
"Um..." The blonde squinted at the screen. "Like, a week ago?"
"And she left yesterday," the Asian girl added. "Right after telling us to come here."
"So you were played." I handed the phone back. "This 'Truth Seeker' riled you up, pointed you at a target, then vanished before you could trace her."
The girls looked at each other, the reality of their situation finally sinking in.
"I..." The blonde's voice cracked. "We're so sorry. We just—we love Andrew so much, and we thought—"
"I know." I sighed, feeling some of my anger drain away. They were just kids. Stupid, impulsive kids, but still kids. "Look, I'm not going to press charges this time. But you need to learn from this."
I held up one finger. "One: Stop believing everything you see online. Screenshots can be faked. Photos can be edited. Always verify."
Second finger. "Two: Think before you act. You skipped school to harass a stranger based on anonymous gossip. That's not protecting Andrew. That's making his fans look unhinged."
Third finger. "Three: If you really admire Andrew, emulate what makes him great. He works his ass off training every day. He apologized when he accidentally hurt someone. He treats people with respect. Do that instead of attacking women on his behalf."
The blonde was crying now, mascara streaking down her cheeks. "We're really sorry, Ms. Grey. We'll—we'll delete everything. We'll tell people we were wrong."
"No." I shook my head. "Don't just delete it. Post corrections. Explain that you were misinformed. Take responsibility for what you did."
They nodded frantically.
"And for God's sake, go back to school," I added. "Your parents are going to lose their minds when they find out where you've been."
That sparked a fresh wave of panic, but I was done coddling them.
"One more thing." I fixed them with a hard stare. "If any of you—or any of your friends—come near me again, I will call the police. And I will press charges. Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.
"Good. Now get out of here."
They scattered like startled birds.
I stood there for a moment, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. My hands were shaking slightly as I pocketed my phone.
"Well, well." A familiar voice made me jump. "That was quite the performance, Nora."
I spun around to find Lucas leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, grinning like an idiot.
"How long have you been standing there?" I demanded.
"Long enough." He pushed off the wall and sauntered over. "Gotta say, Nora, you handled those fangirls like a pro. The legal jargon? Chef's kiss."
"Why didn't you help?" I glared at him.
"I was about to step in," he said innocently. "But then you pulled out the 'harassment and defamation' card, and I knew you had it covered."
"Ugh." I rubbed my temples. "I need coffee. Or a drink. Or both."
"Honestly, you should've been a kindergarten teacher instead of a journalist." Lucas fell into step beside me as I started walking toward the parking lot. "You've got a serious talent for educating kids."
"That's because I had to raise you," I shot back.
"Raise me?" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "You didn't raise me. You just beat me up whenever I messed up."
"And yet here you are, mostly functional. You're welcome."
He laughed. "Fair point. But seriously—you okay? Those girls were pretty hostile."
"I'm fine." I wasn't, really. My heart was still racing, and part of me wanted to go home and hide under a blanket. But I'd dealt with worse during my DSW days.
"You sure? Because Julian's gonna be pissed when he finds out."
I grimaced. Lucas was right. Julian was already protective to the point of overbearing sometimes. If he found out teenagers had cornered me at work...
"Don't tell him," I said quickly.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You want me to lie to my boss?"
"I want you to exercise discretion," I corrected. "There's a difference."
"Uh-huh." He didn't look convinced. "And when he inevitably finds out and asks why I didn't mention it?"
"Tell him I handled it." I stopped at my car and turned to face him. "Because I did."
Lucas studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But if those girls come back—"
"They won't."
"If they do," he insisted, "you call me immediately. Or Julian. Or both."
"Deal. But right now I need to draft a statement."
"A statement?"
"I'm not letting this fester. Those girls might post corrections, but I need to get ahead of this before it spirals further."
Lucas whistled. "Proactive. Julian's taught you well."
I flipped him off. Then he headed toward his own car.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I stared at the blank document on my phone. Then I started typing.
Regarding recent rumors:
1. I have a boyfriend. Our relationship is stable and committed.
2. I do not engage in romantic entanglements with interview subjects or colleagues.
3. The circulating photos have been taken out of context. For those spreading defamatory content: I've collected evidence and forwarded it to legal counsel. I suggest you stop immediately.
Short. Direct. No room for misinterpretation.
I posted it across all my social media accounts, then turned off comments. Let them chew on that.
---
I barely touched the casserole Marianne had lovingly prepared. My fork pushed chicken and vegetables around the plate while Gareth recounted his day at the company, Lucas complained about traffic. The conversation washed over me like white noise.
"Nora, you okay?" Marianne's hand covered mine. "You've hardly eaten."
"Just tired." I forced a smile. "Long day."
The moment dinner ended, I retreated to my room. My laptop was already open on the desk, browser tabs multiplied like weeds—Instagram, basketball forums, local news sites. I'd been monitoring the fallout all evening through my phone, watching the venom spread.
But when I refreshed the main gossip account, the page returned an error message.
This account has been removed for violating community guidelines.
I blinked. Refreshed again. Same result.
The hateful comments that had flooded my posts earlier—gone. Not just hidden or reported. Completely erased, replaced by a platform notice: This comment was removed for violating our Community Standards.
I clicked through to the original forum thread. The entire discussion had vanished. In its place: Thread deleted by administrator for containing defamatory content.
I knew platform moderation. I'd filed enough abuse reports to understand the glacial pace of review processes. This wasn't organic cleanup. This was surgical intervention.
The local tabloid site that had published the cropped restaurant photo now displayed a stark warning banner: Domain suspended pending legal investigation.
Someone with serious reach had scorched the earth.
My phone buzzed. A notification from Instagram—someone had tagged me in a post. I almost didn't click it, expecting more abuse.
Instead, I found Andrew Anderson's verified account, blue checkmark prominent, posted two hours ago.