Chapter 155
Nora's POV
Her confident posture crumbled completely under my direct challenge. Good. Maybe now they'd actually listen instead of parroting whatever garbage they'd been fed online.
I pulled my phone from my bag, keeping my expression deliberately neutral. Time to make this real for them.
"Let me explain something," I said, my voice shifting into the professional tone I'd perfected at work—calm, measured, unshakable. "Under Silverton city law, what you're doing right now constitutes harassment. That's a misdemeanor punishable by up to six months in jail and a $2,500 fine."
The girls exchanged panicked glances. One of them—a brunette with braces—whispered urgently to her friend.
"Additionally," I continued, letting each word land with deliberate weight, "the accusations you've been spreading online constitute defamation, which is a civil tort. I can sue for damages. And trust me, you don't want this kind of thing on your permanent record."
"You're... you're bluffing," the blonde stammered, but her voice had lost its earlier venom.
"Am I?" I met her eyes steadily. "I used to deal with legal frameworks every single day. Try me."
The shift was immediate. The girl who'd been filming on her phone slowly lowered it. Another took a step back.
"Now." I softened my tone just slightly—not friendly, but no longer hostile. "Let's talk about your accusations like rational people. First, you claim I 'deliberately staged' the basketball incident. Tell me—do I have mind control powers that made the ball fly toward me? Or did I install magnets under my skin to attract Andrew?"
Silence. A few of them had the decency to look sheepish.
"Second, the restaurant photos." I pulled out a medical report from my bag. "This is from the clinic near the arena. Timestamp shows 4:47 PM, the day of the game. I was treated for a back injury caused by the collision. Andrew offered to buy dinner as an apology. That's called basic courtesy, not a date."
I held up the document long enough for them to read every word before tucking it away.
"But you were alone with him," the blonde protested weakly.
"Alone?" I raised an eyebrow. "There were his teammates at the table. A waitress took our order. The restaurant had at least twenty other diners. If that's your definition of 'alone,' you need better vocabulary."
One of the younger girls—an Asian girl with thick glasses—bit her lip, clearly wavering.
"Furthermore," I said, my voice hardening again, "I could have sued Andrew for negligent injury. Medical bills, lost wages, pain and suffering. But I didn't. Does that sound like someone trying to 'use him for clout'?"
The girls had gone completely silent now, their earlier bravado evaporated.
"But... but everyone online is saying—" the Asian girl started timidly.
"Online." I pulled out my phone again, opening Instagram. The notification count had climbed past 999+. I clicked through to the comments section, my jaw tightening as I skimmed the vile messages.
Gold-digger bitch.
Stay away from Andrew, you clout chaser.
Bet she slept her way into NPR.
My fingers trembled slightly as I took screenshots, but I kept my face impassive.
"You know what this is?" I held up my phone. "Cyberbullying. Defamation. And some of these—" I scrolled to a particularly graphic one, "—contain sexual content, which makes it sexual harassment under federal law."
"We didn't write those!" the blonde said quickly.
"But you shared posts that linked to them. In legal terms, that's secondary distribution. You're still liable."
I watched the blood drain from their faces as that sank in. Good. Let them sweat.
"I'm forwarding all of this to a lawyer I know," I continued, methodically saving the worst comments. "The people who posted these better lawyer up."
"Please—" The Asian girl stepped forward, her eyes brimming with tears. "We didn't mean—we just thought—"
"You thought wrong." I cut her off, but softened my tone slightly. She looked genuinely remorseful, unlike some of the others. "You were manipulated. Someone fed you a narrative, and you swallowed it without question."
"What do you mean?" the blonde asked.
"How much do you actually know about me?" I asked. "Seriously. Before these photos, what did you know?"
Blank stares.
"Nothing," I answered for them. "You knew nothing about me. So when someone posted those photos, you filled in the gaps with assumptions. Older woman"—I was only twenty-four, but whatever—"must be a gold-digger. Must be using him. Must be manipulative."
I paused, letting that sink in.
"For your information, I work at NPR. I've interviewed mayors and CEOs. If I wanted to 'use someone for clout,' why would I pick a college basketball player who can't even legally drink yet?"
That landed. A few of them exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"You think I'd risk my professional reputation for sports coverage?" I shook my head. "That's not even my beat."
The brunette with braces spoke up hesitantly. "But the photos look... intimate."
"Photos can be cropped. Angles can be manipulated. Context can be removed." I held her gaze. "That's why real journalists verify multiple sources before publishing. You were weaponized by someone who knew exactly how to push your buttons."
"Who?" the blonde demanded.
I gestured for her phone. After a moment's hesitation, she unlocked it and pulled up her WhatsApp. The group chat was called "Andrew Anderson Official Fans."
I scrolled through recent messages, my eyes narrowing as I found what I was looking for. Someone with the username "Truth Seeker" had posted both photos three days ago, along with inflammatory captions.
This woman is using Andrew for clout. We need to protect him. Someone should confront her at NPR.
The basketball photo showed me and Andrew in near-intimate contact. The restaurant shot was taken from the bar, carefully framed to exclude Benjamin and the other teammates, making it look like an intimate dinner for two.
"This person." I held up the phone. "When did she join the group?"