Chapter 25: The Tabloid's Fury (Silas POV)

Mercer's gone, his words, "you might disappear," still ringing in the loft, cold and heavy. Nico's pacing fast, hands shaking, torn about the offer. "It's a way out," he'd said, voice low, but I'm not sold, not with that smirk Mercer left behind. The air's tense, quiet, when Nico's phone buzzes hard on the table. He grabs it, quick, and his face drops, pale as hell. "What?" I ask, loud, stepping closer. He holds it up, screen glowing, a tabloid headline screaming: "Nico Ash: Drugs, Fraud, and Ruin."

My stomach twists, and I take the phone, scrolling fast. It's bad, real bad. The story's got pictures, grainy shots of Nico at gigs, captioned like he's some crook. "Ties to drug rings," it says, "cooking books, scamming fans." Lies, all of it, but it's loud, bold, tearing him apart. "This isn't me," he says, quiet, voice breaking, sitting hard on the mattress. I nod, fast, sitting beside him. "I know," I say, firm, but the damage is done, his name's trash now.

He checks his accounts, quick, fingers trembling, and groans loud. "Gone," he says, showing me, emails from sponsors, "deal's off," "can't work with you." My chest tightens, seeing his world crash more. "They're piling on," I say, low, rubbing his back. He pulls away, fast, standing again. "Piling?" he yells, loud. "They're killing me, Silas! Everything's gone!" I stand too, slow, trying to stay calm. "We'll fight it," I say, steady, but he shakes his head, eyes wild.

His phone keeps buzzing, nonstop, and he opens X, hate's flooding in, fast and ugly. "Drug scum," one says. "Fraud loser," another. Threats too, "watch your back," "you'll pay." My heart sinks, and I grab the phone, shut it off. "Don't look," I say, sharp, pulling him close. He resists, stiff, then slumps against me, breathing hard. "They hate me," he says, quiet, voice cracking. "Everyone." I hold him tighter, soft. "Not me," I say, low. "Never."

He's breaking, I feel it, shoulders shaking, hands gripping my shirt. "I can't take this," he says, muffled, face in my chest. "It's too much." My throat's tight, guilt hitting, Cole's crash, my push, now this. "You're strong," I say, firm, rubbing his neck. "We'll get through." He pulls back, fast, eyes red. "How?" he yells, loud. "It's lies, and they're winning!" I nod, slow, feeling helpless. "I know," I say, quiet. "But we've got stuff, files, Mercer."

He laughs, bitter, stepping away. "Mercer," he says, sharp. "Maybe he's right. Take the deal, end this." I shake my head, quick. "No," I say, loud. "He's trouble, Nico. This is them pushing harder." He paces again, fast, muttering, "Pushing me off a cliff." I grab his arm, steady. "Stop," I say, soft. "Breathe. We're still here." He looks at me, lost, and nods, slow, but he's cracking, bad.

I sit him down, grab water, hand it over. "Drink," I say, quiet, sitting close again. He takes it, slow, hands shaky, and sips, staring at the floor. "I was somebody," he says, low, voice flat. "Now I'm nothing." My chest hurts, and I grab his hand, tight. "You're not," I say, firm. "You're mine. That's enough." He looks up, eyes wet, and nods, small, but I see it, he's slipping, mental walls crumbling under this storm.

The loft's quiet, just his breathing, rough and uneven, when I grab my phone, needing air, something to do. "Checking mine," I say, loud, opening X, scrolling quick. My heart stops, my name's there, trending, tied to Nico's mess. I click, fast, and it's worse, an anonymous post, big, loud: "Silas Reed ran Cole Kelly off the road. Murder, not accident." My breath catches, and I drop the phone, screen glaring up at me.

"What?" Nico asks, sharp, leaning over. He grabs it, reads, and his eyes widen, fast. "Silas, this," he says, loud, stopping short. I shake my head, slow, hands trembling. "Lies," I say, quiet, but my voice shakes, Cole's crash, my fault, now public, twisted worse. "They're hitting us both," I say, loud, standing fast. He nods, slow, gripping the phone. "Who?" he asks, voice high, scared now too.

I pace, fast, head spinning, tabloid, threats, now this. "Same ones," I say, sharp, turning back. "Blackmailers, maybe Mercer's crew." Nico stands, quick, eyes wild again. "They're ruining us," he says, loud, throwing the phone down. I grab his shoulders, firm. "We're not done," I say, steady, but I feel it, panic, deep, clawing up from Cole's ghost, this lie cutting fresh.

He's breathing hard, close to breaking, and I pull him in, tight, trying to hold us together. "We'll figure it out," I say, low, rubbing his back again. He nods, weak, against me, but I see it, his mind's fraying, and mine's not far off, this scandal dragging us both down, hate loud and close.