Marcus POV
Practice had just ended, and I was digging through my duffel bag like a lunatic. Sweat clung to my back, my muscles still twitching from drills, but my mind wasn’t on basketball anymore. My phone was gone.
I checked every pocket twice. Then again. Dumped my entire bag onto the bench—jersey, towel, earbuds, charger. No phone.
“Yo, anyone see my phone?” I asked, trying to sound chill, but my voice cracked halfway through.
Vel sauntered past me with that smug look he wore like cologne—thick, greasy, impossible to ignore. “Lose something, lover boy?” he said, towel slung over his shoulder, grinning like he knew something I didn’t.
“Yeah. My phone.” I straightened up. “You see it?”
He shrugged. “Nah. Maybe it ran off to take more vids of Betty. She’s got a real eye for angles, huh?”
That made me freeze.
“What the hell did you just say?”
Vel leaned against the lockers like he was settling in for a show. “C’mon, man. Don’t act like you didn’t know. Everyone’s seen it by now. ‘Braceface Betty’s Big Reveal.’ Damn. Who knew she had that in her?”
My stomach turned cold. “What are you talking about?”
He snorted and pulled out his phone. “You seriously haven’t seen it?” A few swipes later, he held the screen up like it was the game-winning shot.
It was her.
Betty’s Video. In lingerie. Vulnerable. Real.
Not a thirst trap. Not even posed for attention. Just… her. Soft and unsure and private.
And my brain short-circuited.
Vel kept talking, probably throwing more garbage my way, but I wasn’t hearing anything. All I could see was Betty. Her eyes. The trust she gave me the night we kissed. The way she melted into my hand like she hadn’t been touched like that before.
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
I knew that even when I did it.
She wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to get close, maybe flirt, maybe break her heart. Win over her dad. Secure my future. Easy.
But nothing about her was easy.
Okay, where are we really, Marcus? I always liked Victoria’s Secret model types—long legs, glossy lips, fake laughs. So why did my chest twist every time she looked at me like I wasn’t some stupid jock trying to impress everyone?
Why her?
Why now?
Why the hell did I kiss her like I meant it?
My jaw clenched as I grabbed Vel’s phone and opened the uni group chat.
There it was.
The picture. And under it—a message from my number.
“Thanks for the show, braceface. You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”
My throat closed.
I checked the texts to her next. Dozens of missed calls. All ignored.
She thought I did this.
She thought I posted that photo.
I tasted blood. I didn’t know if it was from biting my tongue or just fury.
Someone had stolen my phone. Someone had sent that message. Someone had made her feel disposable—again.
And I didn’t need a detective badge to know who it was.
Vel.
The weird tension during drills. The snide Betty comments. The fact that he already had the photo. The way he couldn’t stop smirking now.
I turned to him, holding his phone.
“What did you do with my phone?” My voice was low and sharp enough to cut metal.
Vel blinked. “What? Chill, man.”
“You think this is funny?” I took a step forward. “You think ruining her life is just part of the joke?”
He laughed. “Relax. She’s the one who took the video. She wanted it out there.”
“Shut up,” I growled.
The locker room went quiet.
“I sure as hell didn’t write that message.” I said louder.
Vel raised his hands. “I didn’t touch your phone.”
“Then how’d you know exactly what got sent from it?” I asked, stepping closer. “You quoted it word for word.”
His face twitched.
Busted.
I didn’t wait for more excuses. I shoved his phone back into his chest. “You didn’t just mess with me. You humiliated her. You made her think she was nothing.”
For once, Vel didn’t have a smartass reply. Just that empty, blinking look.
I backed off, chest heaving.
The kiss, the photo, her silence—it all crashed together in my head like a trainwreck.
I wasn’t some lovesick idiot. I didn’t have her name scribbled in a notebook with hearts around it. But that girl?
That girl made me feel like I wasn’t drowning for once.
And now she thought I betrayed her in the worst possible way.
Because of him.
I sat down on the bench and ran a hand through my hair, staring at the mess of my bag. This wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t even regret.
It was rage. And something deeper I didn’t want to name yet.
But whatever it was—it wasn’t fake.
And I’d burn everything down before I let her believe it was.