Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 132

The photos started appearing on Wednesday.

Not all at once. That would have been too obvious. Amber was smarter than that. She spaced them out over three days like a carefully orchestrated PR campaign designed to destroy someone's reputation without looking like that was what she was doing.

First post: throwback photo of Chase and me from junior year. We were sitting on the bleachers during some pep rally, both looking bored out of our minds. The caption read "some people never move forward 💭✨" with a string of nostalgic emojis that made it look wistful instead of vicious.

Forty-three likes in the first hour. Comments full of "omg remember when" and "those were the days."

Nobody saw the knife hidden in the nostalgia.

Second post: group photo from senior year. Me, Chase, Amber, Miles, and half the lacrosse team crammed into someone's basement. Amber had cropped it so Chase and I were front and center, his arm casually draped over the back of my chair. Caption: "Funny how some patterns repeat themselves 🔄"

This one got more attention. People started connecting dots that didn't actually connect.

Third post: Chase's old Instagram from five years ago. A photo of his car with me barely visible in the passenger seat. Amber's comment underneath: "Wild how history repeats when people refuse to grow up."

By Thursday, the whispers had started.

I didn't hear them directly. That wasn't how small-town gossip worked. It traveled through intermediaries. Through friends of friends who "just wanted to make sure you were okay." Through people who cornered you at coffee shops with concerned expressions and thinly veiled judgment.

Jasmine mentioned it at the committee meeting. "Someone's been posting a lot about you and Chase lately."

"I noticed."

"It's Amber, right? From high school?"

"Probably."

"She seems..." Jasmine searched for the diplomatic word. "Invested in your personal life."

"That's one way to put it."

By Friday, it had escalated.

Sarah from AP English messaged me: Hey, Amber mentioned she's worried about your judgment lately? Is everything okay?

Rachel from the debate team: Someone said you and Chase Donovan are dating again? Didn't you just end an engagement?

Even people I barely knew were suddenly concerned about my mental state. Because apparently making choices they wouldn't make meant I was having a breakdown.

The worst part? Amber wasn't even lying. Just arranging the truth into patterns that looked damning from certain angles.

Saturday afternoon, my phone rang. Mom. I considered letting it go to voicemail. Considered throwing my phone into the nearest body of water and living off the grid like some kind of hermit who didn't have to deal with other people's opinions.

Instead, I answered.

"Zoey." Her voice had that particular tightness. The one that meant someone told her something and she'd been stewing about it for hours.

"Hi, Mom."

"I ran into Amber Mays at the grocery store today."

Of course she did. Because apparently my life was a poorly written soap opera where everyone conveniently bumped into each other at crucial narrative moments.

"Okay."

"She seemed very concerned about you. Said you've been making some questionable decisions."

My jaw clenched. "Amber's not exactly an unbiased source."

"She said you left Daniel to date your high school boyfriend. Is that true?"

The accusation hung there. Heavy. Loaded with implications I didn't have the energy to unpack.

"It's more complicated than that."

"Complicated." She laughed. Sharp. Bitter. "That's what people say when they know they're making a mistake."

"I didn't leave Daniel for Chase. I left Daniel because I never should have said yes in the first place."

"And now you're running back to some boy from high school? That's your solution?"

"I'm not running back. I'm just—"

"Just what? Reliving your youth? Sabotaging your future? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're throwing away everything stable for temporary excitement."

Her words landed like accusations. Like I was on trial for the crime of wanting something that didn't fit into her neat little boxes.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know that teachers from your old school are calling me. Asking if you're alright. If there's anything they should be concerned about."

My stomach dropped. "What teachers?"

"Does it matter? The point is that people who care about you are worried. And instead of listening, you're doubling down on whatever rebellious phase this is."

"It's not a phase, Mom. It's my life."

"Then start acting like it."

She hung up before I could respond. Just disconnected like she'd already made her verdict and my defense was irrelevant.

I sat on the hotel bed staring at my phone. Chest tight. Hands shaking. That familiar rage building in my throat that had nowhere to go.

This was what Amber wanted. Not to hurt me directly. Just to activate everyone else's doubt. To turn my own support system into weapons pointed at my choices.

And it was working.

I locked myself in the bathroom. Small space. White tiles. Fluorescent lighting that made everything look harsh and overexposed. Slid down the door until I was sitting on cold linoleum with my knees pulled to my chest.

Texted Chase with trembling fingers: This is getting messy.

Sent it before I could overthink. Then waited.

One hour passed. Then two. My phone stayed silent except for three texts from my mom that I didn't open.

I started wondering if he was going to respond at all. If maybe he'd decided this wasn't worth the drama. If the ghost of his brother and the weight of everyone's opinions finally convinced him to walk away.

Then, at 10:47 PM, my phone buzzed.

Meet me at the park. Usual spot. 11 PM.

I stared at the message. Should have asked what he wanted to say. Should have prepared myself for whatever conversation was about to happen. Should have put on real clothes instead of the oversized t-shirt and leggings I'd been wearing since I got home.

Instead, I just texted back: Okay.

Then I grabbed my keys and drove into the night with no idea if I was about to get saved or destroyed.