The comments blur together.
Who is this girl and where did she come from?
Wait, I thought he was with that blonde from Pike?
She’s cute but like…normal cute?
I have calc with her. She’s literally a genius.
Oh, so that’s why he’s dating her.
They actually look kinda good together.
Give it two weeks before he’s back to his rotation.
My stomach knots. I knew this could happen; Kieran warned me the campus watched him. But knowing is not the same asseeingit. My face on strangers’ screens. My name in their mouths.
The phone buzzes again.
AUBREY
BABE. You’re VIRAL. Like actually viral. My entire sorority is losing their minds. Are you okay???
Before I can answer, another message slides in.
UNKNOWN
Cute photos. Hope you’re ready for what comes next
You’re playing in a league you don’t understand
My blood runs cold.
I stare at the message, heart hammering, cheek still tingling where Kieran’s lips touched.
“This is about Theo,” I whisper again, but the words sound like a lie.
Because as I scroll through photo after photo of Kieran and me looking at each other like we mean it, I know I’ve stepped into something far more dangerous than a fake relationship?—
something that might not stay fake for long, something already spinning out of my control.
12
VIRAL (KIERAN)
The door slams behind me, muffling the echo of my own heartbeat. Outside, campus hums with laughter, music, a few stray shouts of my name, but in here it’s quieter. Almost too quiet.
Our house is a short walk off campus in Allston—four bedrooms, one shared disaster of a kitchen…but not tonight. The sink’s empty, counters wiped. I spot my own coffee mug washed and set upside down to dry.
Mason’s voice cuts through from the couch. “O’Connor! The king returns.” He’s sprawled with a controller in hand, socked feet on the coffee table. Riley is half lounging on the armrest, scrolling his phone with a grin that means trouble. He turns his screen toward me. BU Confessions—me and Wren on the quad, fingers tangled. “You’ve got the queen waiting in your room.”
My jaw locks. “Isabelle?”
He nods. “Yep. Walked in about ten minutes ago. Said she’d wait.”
Mason adds from the sofa, barely looking up, “Try not to knock over your trophies.”
“You done?” I bite out. His smirk fades. The room goes still. “Hey, man,” he says finally, quieter now. “Just messing around.”
