"They'll destroy you for leaking."
"Already destroyed. Fired and blacklisted. Might as well make it count."
He sends the files while we're still on the phone. I watch them download, hands trembling so hard I nearly drop the laptop.
"Thank you. I mean it. Thank you."
"Good luck, Trinity. For what it's worth, I think what you and that orc have is real. I've been editing this show for three seasons, and I've never seen anyone look at each other the way you two do."
He hangs up before I respond.
I open the files. Timestamps, metadata, original audio—everything I need to prove the leak was manufactured. The conversations were real, but they happened over weeks.Different contexts, different topics, all carefully woven together to build their story.
My hands hover over the keyboard. I could send this to Maya, let her craft the perfect PR response. Could send it to a journalist, let them break the story with proper framing.
Could upload my video alongside the proof, create an irrefutable defense.
But something stops me. Some instinct that says bringing in others right now will dilute the impact. Will turn this into a team effort instead of what it needs to be.
A line in the sand.
I open the video file again. Watch myself on screen, raw and honest and furious. Add a new segment.
Press record.
"Since I filmed this earlier, I received proof that the leaked conversations were edited. Manipulated. Taken out of context and stitched together to create a narrative that doesn't exist."
I hold up my phone, showing the timestamp files.
"I have the originals. I have the metadata. I have everything needed to prove that the show fabricated evidence against me to generate drama."
My voice doesn't shake this time.
"But here's the thing, I'm not releasing that proof through journalists or PR teams or anyone else who might soften the blow. I'm putting it out there myself, raw and unfiltered, because I'm done playing by their rules."
I lean into the camera.
"You want to know if I'm calculated? If I'm strategic? Yes. I am. Because surviving as a small business owner requires calculation and strategy and making hard choices about what you're willing to sacrifice."
"But you know what I'm not willing to sacrifice? The truth. My integrity. And the person I fell in love with, even if he's currently too scared or too smart to answer my calls."
The words spill out uncensored now.
"Korgan Dongoran, if you're watching this, and I know the producers will make sure you do, I'm fighting. Not just for my bakery or my reputation. For us. For the thing we started building before they tried to burn it down."
"I don't need you to save me. I need you to decide if what we have is worth fighting for. If it's real enough to withstand this kind of pressure."
"And if it's not? If you've decided I'm the liability they say I am? Then at least have the guts to tell me yourself instead of hiding behind silence."
Stop recording.
I don't watch it back this time. If I do, I'll lose my nerve. Will second-guess every word, every raw edge, every moment of vulnerability that could be twisted into new ammunition.
Instead, I upload both files—the video and the proof—to every platform I can access. YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, my bakery website that's still crashed from traffic.
Title it:The Truth About Heart of the Horde: Trinity Lewis Speaks
Write a description that's short and sharp:They manufactured evidence. I have proof. Watch.
