Chapter 157
Nora's POV
"Quick clarification since apparently the internet lost its mind: I accidentally collided with a journalist at yesterday's game. She got hurt because of me. The 'date' everyone's talking about? Me apologizing over dinner with her colleague present."
The post continued with a second slide.
"Ms. Grey is a professional doing her job. The hatred she's received is disgusting. To whoever started this smear campaign: you crossed a line. My legal team is involved."
"And to my real fans: think before you attack someone based on lies."
The post had exploded—512K likes, 54K comments, most of them supportive or apologetic. Andrew's face in the attached photo looked serious, almost stern. No playful athlete grin. This was damage control at the highest level.
I sat back, laptop screen glowing in the dim room. The pieces assembled themselves with uncomfortable clarity.
The simultaneous takedowns. The legal language on suspended domains. The coordinated platform response.
This wasn't something my budget lawyer could've accomplished in three days. Hell, this wasn't something most lawyers could accomplish at all.
My phone buzzed again. Julian's name flashed across the screen.
I stared at it for five seconds before answering.
"Nora." His voice came through low and careful, like he was testing temperature.
I didn't bother with pleasantries. "It was you, wasn't it?"
Silence stretched between us.
"Yes."
Just that. One word, no deflection.
I closed my eyes. "Julian, I had a lawyer handling it."
"I know." His voice carried a thread of something that might've been regret. "I'm sorry I didn't act sooner. But when I saw those threats in your comments..." He exhaled sharply. "I couldn't wait."
The edge in his tone told me exactly how close he'd been to losing control. I pictured him in some building, reading those vicious accusations against me, that dangerous stillness settling over him.
"Thank you." My voice came out softer than intended. "I mean it."
"When your lawyer can't handle something," Julian said quietly, "remember you still have me."
Something warm unfurled in my chest, pushing back the day's accumulated stress. I leaned into my desk chair, letting my head fall back. "I'll remember."
Another pause. Then: "How are you holding up?"
"I'm okay. Just... tired."
"Get some rest. I'll be back soon."
I bit my lip, then said it before I could overthink. "I missed you."
The silence on his end felt different this time. Charged.
"Say that again."
Heat crept into my face despite being alone. "Don't push it."
His low laugh vibrated through the phone, and suddenly three hundred miles felt like three thousand. "I missed you too, Nora. More than I should probably admit."
"When are you coming back?"
"I have some family matters to handle here." He sounded frustrated. "Two more days."
"Okay." I traced patterns on my desk with one finger. "I'll be here."
The conversation drifted after that, settling into something comfortable. Julian asked about my day—the edited version, anyway. I told him about Marianne's casserole, Lucas's new assignment. Normal things. Safe things.
My eyelids grew heavy as he described the bureaucratic nightmare of infrastructure audits. His voice had that quality that always made me relax, like a physical weight lifting off my shoulders.
His quiet laugh was the last thing I registered before sleep pulled me under.
---
I woke to pale morning light and the muffled sound of my phone alarm. For a confused moment, I couldn't remember falling asleep. Then I saw my phone on the pillow beside me, call duration still running: 8 hours, 23 minutes.
My heart did something complicated in my chest.
I brought the phone to my ear, but the line was silent except for barely audible breathing. He'd stayed. All night.
"Julian?" I whispered.
A rustle of movement. "Good morning." His voice was rough with sleep, intimate in a way that made my skin warm.
"You didn't hang up."
"You asked me not to."
I pressed my face into the pillow, stupid grin spreading across my face. "You still have your own business to handle."
"I've had worse mornings." I heard him moving, probably getting up. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah." Better than I had in days, actually. "You?"
"Better than expected." There was a smile in his voice.
We said goodbye reluctantly. After the call ended, I just lay there for a moment, phone cradled against my chest.
Then I remembered the chaos from yesterday and grabbed my laptop.
My Instagram had transformed overnight. The comment section that had been a toxic wasteland now showed measured, supportive responses. New posts from Andrew's fanbase: We were wrong. We're sorry. Some offered shaky explanations about being manipulated, others just apologized outright.
My email pinged. Subject line: Investigation Report — Defamation Case.
I opened it.
The report was thorough. Surgical. Eight pages documenting the entire chain of events, complete with IP addresses, timestamps, and financial transactions.
Photo Origin Analysis:
- Basketball collision photo: Shot by Vincent Woods, processed by Ruby Hill. Hill violated protocol by sending unpublished material to her cousin, Sarah Klein, who distributed it through coordinated sockpuppet accounts.
- Restaurant photo: Taken by a player from Andrew Anderson's rival team as part of a coordinated harassment campaign against Andrew. The perpetrator hired a bot farm to amplify false narratives.
Federal Cyber Crimes Division had traced everything. Payment records. Burner phones. VPN routes. The people who'd orchestrated this left digital fingerprints everywhere once you knew where to look.
The Consequences section made my stomach clench.
Rival player: Terminated by his team, facing civil suit from Andrew Anderson's legal team for defamation and invasion of privacy. Career effectively over.
Sarah Klein: Posted public apology video, agreed to settlement payment. Her reputation was shredded.
Ruby Hill: Fired from NPR for "gross violation of editorial standards, unauthorized disclosure of unpublished material, and harm to colleague reputation." Flagged in industry databases.
The report ended with a personal note.
Nora, I want you to know that these actions were not about revenge. They were about accountability. What they did crossed legal and ethical lines, and the consequences reflect that. You didn't ask for this, but you deserved justice. — J.S.
I read it three times. Then I closed the laptop and pressed my palms against my eyes.
He'd dismantled my enemies like chess pieces. Methodically. Legally. Completely.
And somehow that made me want to cry and laugh at the same time.
My phone buzzed with a new Instagram DM request.
Sunflower: Ms. Grey, this is the girl from yesterday. I'm so, so sorry for what we did. We've been talking, and we realized how wrong we were. We want to make it right.
Her message continued: We started a support group called 'Team Nora'—not just for you, but for all the workers who get unfairly attacked online. We've been reporting fake accounts, correcting false information. We're 30 members strong now.
We know we can't undo what we did, but we want to show you that we learned. We'll keep fighting for you and those who need it. Our combat power is solid! 💪
I clicked the linked account. @TeamNora_Official had already posted threads debunking the smear campaign.
These kids had pivoted from attackers to advocates in forty-eight hours.
I typed back: Thank you for this. It means more than you know. Keep learning, keep questioning, and keep standing up for what's right. That's all I ask.
I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Maybe this whole mess wasn't so bad after all.