"We need it documented. Official, with your digital signature."
Brilliant. Now the pretty boy is doing that thing where he looks both irritated and unfairly attractive at the same time.
He hesitates, jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say.
"Worried about your reputation, Huntington?"
His jaw tightens. "My father's running for office. If this becomes public?—"
"Maybe you should have thought about that before helping Cher and Ryan," I cut in.
"James," Drew says sharply from his chair; I've heard that tone before, usually when he thinks I'm being a prick. Then to Caleb, "Your statement will be confidential unless there's a formal hearing, which we hope to avoid."
Caleb nods, shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine. I'll write it up."
While Tyler and Drew step out again to talk about Gavin and sandwiches,don't want to know, I set up a template for Caleb's statement. He types quickly, efficiently documenting his interactions with Cher and Ryan, the instructions they gave, and the payment he received.
"You really didn't suspect anything?" The pictures they asked him to change practically scream red flags.
"I suspected they were being jerks," he admits. "But not that they were trying to destroy someone's relationship." He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. "I needed the money. My father… he only pays for tuition and housing. Anything else, I'm on my own."
"Tough life, having to work for spending money like the rest of us mortals." Zero effort goes into hiding my sarcasm.
Three part-time jobs to cover what scholarships don't. Tech support for the university, freelance web security, and keeping this frat's digital infrastructure running. All while maintaining grades good enough to keep those scholarships. But sure, poor little rich boy has to earn his own beer money.
He looks up at me, eyes narrowing. "You have no idea what my life is like."
"And you have no idea what Tyler's been through because of what you helped do."
For a moment, we just stare at each other. His expression has shifted from defensive to actively hostile, which is fair enough. Not like I've been welcoming. The doorbell cuts through our standoff. Drew's already moving toward the front door, Tyler and Gavin close behind.
Following at a distance, staying in the hallway where visibility is good but involvement is minimal. Perfect vantage point.
Drew opens the door to reveal a blonde woman who looks like she stepped out of a catalogue for "Sorority Girls Who Definitely Weren't the Problem, Officer." Her expression is all wide-eyed concern, but there's something calculating underneath.
"Tyler, can we talk? Alone?"
Right. Because that's not suspicious.
Drew crosses his arms, blocking the doorway. "That's not happening."
Good man.
She insists it's between her and Tyler, voice dripping with false sincerity. Tyler, surprisingly, agrees to hear her out on the porch. Drew leaves the door open,smart move, and most of the frat hangs near it to watch.
Turning back to Caleb, who's still standing awkwardly in the living room. His attention is fixed on the front door, shoulders tense.
"That's her, isn't it?" Quiet enough that only he can hear. "Cher."
He nods, jaw tight. Those blue eyes have gone cold, focused. Whatever he's feeling about being here, about helping us, it's getting overridden by something else. Anger, maybe. Or maybe he now knows exactly who he helped and what she did.
On the porch, Cher is in full performance mode. Can't hear everything, but the body language screams manipulation, the hand reaching for Tyler's arm, the lowered voice, the wide, sincere eyes that probably work on every straight guy she meets.
Wow, she's good at this. If I didn't know what she'd done, I might almost buy it.
Caleb's hands have curled into fists at his sides. Watching him watch her is more interesting than watching the performance itself. His expression has shifted from wary to something harder.
"You okay?" The question surprises both of us.
