Chapter 17 Rebuke

Chapter 17 Rebuke
"This is so weird."

I stared at my tablet screen, a frown pulling at my brow as I kept scrolling—slowly, taking in every line on the screen.

"Hm... something's not right. Hate comments spiking out of nowhere? I know I've always had haters, but it doesn't usually jump like this during a quiet stretch with no particular trigger."

I set my tablet down and stared up at the bare ceiling. Then something clicked.

"Oh! Or... tsk. While she's been keeping a low profile, she's apparently been busy making new trouble."

I went looking for information. I knew the school website well enough—I'd spent enough time on it doing data collection for school organisations, and it turned out that came in handy. Moments exactly like this one, for instance.

"Wow! the amount of bot accounts here. Is this coordinated? Obviously—that's rhetorical."

I pulled up the recordings and photos from when Chris had gone after the bullies the day before. They'd apparently been waiting for exactly this moment to hit back.

Whoever had set the attack in motion was clearly working with someone else. I was becoming more and more certain there was a third party pulling the strings.

"Hm. So it really was her."

After digging up a particularly active forum thread, I found Casey's username right at the centre of it. And there she was, spreading fresh rumours about me.

'She's a bad influence on Chris.'

'Rachel filled Chris's brain with the way losers think. She's defending losers now and turning her back on us, wow!'

Rachel deliberately wanted to control Chris. She cut him off from his friends, manipulated him, brainwashed him, and slowly destroyed him.'

'I heard she offered herself to Chris in exchange for his protection. Yeah, they're friends with benefits.'

I laughed out loud. Offering myself? I didn't even want to kiss Chris. Sure, we kept finding ourselves in those frustratingly ambiguous moments—but none of that made me tempted. Not his looks, not his—wait. Why was I listing things to compliment?

The longer I scrolled, the worse it got. At first I told myself it was fine — I was used to this kind of thing. But the further down I went, the more vile and degrading the posts became.

Photos of me were being shared across platforms — doctored into indecent edits, paired with slander and profanity, all surfacing across different accounts.

"What's wrong?"

I startled, snapping out of my apps immediately.

"Nothing. Just catching up on the F1 news."

"Oh yeah? You look like you're lying right now—since when were you any good at it? If you're going to lie, at least train your eyes to hold contact first."

Tsk, why did he always manage to look so insufferably cool at moments like this? Like some brooding, poetic philosopher.

"Stop prying into other people's lives," I said flatly.

I pushed Chris out of my room. I didn't want to discuss this with anyone—not now. I was worried, unsure, everything tangled up together. And also...

Who was I, that Chris should care this much about me?

I didn't want to get swept up in feelings that weren't real. The kind of familiarity that built up from seeing someone every single day — but that didn't make it genuine.



Mrs Carla sat across from me, her expression serious—though that was nothing unusual. A long breath cut through the quiet—and with it, a conversation that only grew heavier from there.

Mrs Carla sat upright in her chair, fingers laced together on the gleaming glass table. The way she looked at me made the room feel smaller than it actually was. I knew that look, the look of a businesswoman appraising an asset, not a mother speaking to someone she employed.

"Rachel," she said finally, her voice calm but cold, "I've been reading the reports from the past few weeks."
I held my breath without meaning to.

"And to be honest, I didn't like what I saw."

I dipped my head slightly, waiting for her to continue. Mrs Carla was not someone who spoke without purpose.

"Firstly," she raised one finger, "the incident at the WAG dinner. Chris caused a scene with Emma and Shane—in front of the sponsors."

I swallowed.

"I've already taken steps to manage Chris's public image—the press side has been handled, Mrs Carla."

"Good. Then you'll also be aware that two of the main sponsors have been asking whether Chris is in an... emotionally unstable place."

"Secondly. The incident at school."

A long breath left her lips this time. Much heavier.

"Chris is suspended for three days."

The room felt even colder.

"A fight with other students. The video circulated before the school could take it down."

I knew the video she was referring to. The footage of Chris going after the students who had tried to corner me in the school corridor.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mrs Carla raised her hand slightly, cutting me off.

"I'm not asking for an explanation of who started it," she said flatly. "I'm only looking at the end result."

"Chris was supposed to be in the most important phase of his career. A rookie on the rise. Every move he made was being watched."

She paused for a moment, then leaned forward.

"But lately—every story that came out about Chris was followed by the same word."

She looked me straight in the eye.

"I hired you," she continued, her voice lower now, "to make sure Chris had someone who could balance his life. Someone who could keep his rhythm steady."

There was a moment of silence.

"But what I see now..."

She paused—as if choosing each word with great care.

"...Chris's image is slipping."

My chest felt a little tight.

"I'm not saying it's entirely your fault, Rachel," she continued. "Chris has always been stubborn. That's no secret."

She leaned back in her chair
.
"But a chaperone's job is to manage the effects of that stubbornness."

Her gaze never left me. Her eyes dropped briefly to the table, then lifted back to me—unhurried, measured, as though she had all the time in the world.

"If the impact only continues to grow... then I have to start questioning whether the methods we're using are still effective."

The words came out very calmly. Too calmly. I knew exactly what it meant. She was weighing something.

"I appreciate your hard work throughout all of this," she continued.

"And about Chris—according to the earlier reports, at least has shown some changes since you came on."

She paused again.

"But the kind of change I need isn't temporary."

The room went quiet for a few seconds.

"Chris's career can't afford a process that takes too long."
My heart beat a little faster.

"I'll be watching how this develops over the coming weeks," she said finally.

Then, in a voice that remained polite but cut considerably sharper, she added,

"And if this situation continues to deteriorate... I may have to consider making a change in the people around him."

The phrasing was careful—but the meaning couldn't have been clearer. I took a slow breath. She was considering replacing me.