Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 98

I try to pretend yesterday didn’t happen.

That Amber didn’t apologize. That she didn’t look at me like a person instead of a target. That my chest didn’t feel strangely lighter afterward—like someone cracked a window I forgot was sealed shut.

Pretending is easier than thinking.

So I wake up, pull on clothes that feel too big or too tight depending on the second, and head to campus with my head down. I don’t skip class today. I can’t afford to. I sit in the middle row, notebook open, pen ready, and force myself to listen.

I actually write things down.

Not well. Not beautifully. But enough.

That feels like a victory.

Between classes, the hallway buzzes with voices. My name floats through it—not loud, not whispered, just… present.

“She really spiraled after Chase.”

“I heard Ellen was the other girl.”

“No, apparently it was mutual.”

“Honestly, Zoey always thought she was better than everyone.”

I keep walking.

My shoulders tense, my jaw clenched, but I don’t stop. I’ve learned that stopping makes it worse. Stopping invites commentary. Stopping turns pain into a performance.

I make it to the library and sit at a long table near the back. My laptop hums softly as it wakes. I open an article for my next paper and read the first paragraph four times before anything sticks.

Focus, I tell myself. Just focus.

Someone drops into the chair across from me.

I flinch.

“Relax,” Amber says. “It’s just me.”

I stare at her. “Do you stalk people now?”

She snorts. “Please. If I wanted to stalk you, you’d never know.”

I roll my eyes despite myself. “What do you want?”

She gestures at my screen. “You’re actually studying. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t start,” I warn.

“I’m not,” she says, holding up her hands. “I came to ask if you’re going to the club meeting later.”

“Which club?” I ask.

“Chess,” she replies.

“I’ll be there,” I say cautiously.

She nods. “Good.”

“That’s it?” I ask.

“For now,” she says, standing. “Don’t disappear again.”

She leaves before I can respond.

I sit there for a moment, stunned.

People don’t usually ask me to stay.

By the time chess club starts, my head aches from concentrating so hard all day. The room is fuller than usual, chairs pulled closer together, voices overlapping.

I take my usual seat near the wall.

I lose my first match.

Then my second.

By the third, my hands are steady even as I make mistakes. I don’t spiral. I don’t apologize excessively. I just nod and reset the board.

Progress.

During a break, I head to the water fountain, my throat dry. Two girls from another program stand nearby, talking loudly.

“I mean, if you cheat with your friend’s boyfriend, what do you expect?” one says.

“Ellen’s been crying nonstop,” the other replies. “But honestly, Zoey’s not innocent either.”

I stop.

Not because I want to.

Because my body does it before my brain can intervene.

“Excuse me?”

They turn, startled.

I step closer, my heart pounding. “What exactly are you implying?”

The first girl scoffs. “Relax. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“Say it,” I insist.

She opens her mouth—

“Hey,” Amber’s voice cuts in sharply. “You got something to say, say it to me.”

Both girls stiffen.

“This doesn’t involve you,” the second girl mutters.

“It does now,” Amber replies coolly. “Because you’re spreading crap that isn’t true.”

The first girl rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows Zoey always thought she was above Ellen. This was bound to happen.”

Something inside me snaps—but Amber gets there first.

“No,” she says flatly. “What happened is Chase cheated. Repeatedly. And Ellen participated. Zoey didn’t force anyone to do anything.”

The room goes quiet.

People are watching now.

“You don’t know that,” the girl argues weakly.

“I do,” Amber says. “And even if you didn’t—what kind of person hears about betrayal and decides the victim deserves it?”

The girl flushes. “We were just talking.”

“Then talk quieter,” Amber snaps. “Or better yet, don’t talk at all.”

Silence stretches.

The girls exchange looks, then walk away quickly.

I stand there, frozen.

Amber turns to me, her expression softer now. “You okay?”

I blink. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes,” she says. “I did.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

“Because,” she replies, “watching people tear you apart for something you didn’t do is gross.”

I swallow hard. “You used to do that.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m trying not to anymore.”

That shouldn’t mean anything.

It does.

Back in the chess room, people avoid my gaze. A few offer awkward smiles. One guy nods at me respectfully.

The dynamic has shifted.

I don’t know how to feel about it.

After the meeting, I pack my bag slowly, my hands shaking just enough to annoy me. Amber waits by the door.

“You coming?” she asks.

“Where?” I reply.

“Cafeteria,” she says. “I’m starving.”

“I—” I hesitate. “I have work.”

She tilts her head. “You skipped lunch.”

My stomach twists. “How would you know?”

“Because you always do when you’re stressed,” she replies casually.

I stare at her. “Have you been paying attention to me?”

She shrugs. “Hard not to when you’re walking around like a ghost.”

I exhale slowly. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

The cafeteria feels louder than usual. Amber leads the way like she owns the place, grabbing a tray and gesturing for me to follow.

“Sit,” she says, pointing to an empty table.

I do.

She slides into the seat across from me, already eating.

“You don’t have to stare at it like it’s going to bite you,” she says, nodding at my tray.

“I’m not hungry,” I lie.

She raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”

We sit in silence for a moment.

“I didn’t do that for points,” Amber says suddenly.

“I didn’t think you did,” I reply honestly.

She studies my face. “You look surprised.”

“I am,” I admit. “I didn’t expect… that.”

“Neither did I,” she says. “But I meant it.”

I poke at my food, my appetite faint but present. I take a bite anyway.

It tastes like cardboard.

Progress is still progress.

“People talk,” Amber continues. “They always will. But they’ll stop if they don’t get reactions.”

“I’m tired of being talked about,” I say quietly.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Me too.”

I glance up at her. “You?”

She laughs softly. “You think popularity means control. It doesn’t. It just means the spotlight never turns off.”

I nod slowly.

We sit there longer than I expect, not talking much. It’s not comfortable—but it’s not hostile either.

When I stand to leave, Amber says, “Hey.”

I pause.

“You did nothing wrong,” she says. “Don’t let them rewrite that.”

My throat tightens. “Thank you.”

She smirks faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”

I almost smile.

As I walk back to my dorm later, my chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. Not healed. Not fixed.

But defended.

And that matters more than I want to admit.

For the first time since everything fell apart, someone stood beside me instead of watching me drown.

I don’t trust Amber yet.

But tonight, that doesn’t matter.

Tonight, I wasn’t alone.

And that feels like the beginning of something I didn’t see coming.