Sabotage, Secrets, and a Dangerous Offer

We pushed harder. Through the exhaustion. Through the stolen gym time, the missing equipment, the sudden “coincidental” power outages.

We refused to let Stacey’s sabotage win. Every day, we found ways to adapt.

If the gym was booked? We trained on the hard pavement outside.

If the lights went out? We pulled out our phones and flashlights and kept going.

If something went missing? We improvised.

We were tired. Sore. Running on fumes. But we weren’t stopping.

We've been at this for hours, pushing through routines in a space that feels more like a battleground than a practice arena.

The fluorescent lights flicker again, casting strange shadows across our movements, another gift from Stacey's endless arsenal of subtle torments.

I catch Sasha stumbling on a transition she usually nails, frustration etched across her features. Carlos's timing is off by a fraction, and Lucy's usually perfect form shows signs of strain.

We're all wearing thin, stretched to breaking point by circumstances beyond our control.

Beyond my control. The thought sits like acid in my stomach.

No matter how determined we were, the tension was growing. And it wasn’t just from the obstacles Stacey kept throwing our way.

It was from me and Marcus. Or more specifically—whatever was happening between us.

The team didn’t say it outright, but I could feel it. The way they exchanged glances when they thought I wasn’t looking. The way practice felt heavier whenever his name was brought up.

And then—the whispers started.

One evening, as I was stretching, I overheard Jade and Sasha talking near the lockers.

"If Betty wasn’t involved with Marcus, none of this would be happening."

"I know, but what do you want her to do? Pretend like she doesn’t exist?"

"No, but she needs to wake up. Stacey isn’t going to stop unless she sees there’s nothing left to fight for."

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit.

Because deep down? I knew they were right.

Later that night, Lucy cornered me in the parking lot.

She didn’t beat around the bush.

"We need to talk."

I crossed my arms, already knowing where this was going. "Lucy, if this is about—"

"It is." She cut me off without hesitation. Her tone wasn’t harsh. But it was firm.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Betty, I’m saying this because I care about you, okay?"

I swallowed, already feeling my chest tighten. She hesitated before meeting my eyes.

"The team is getting frustrated," she admitted. "They don’t want to blame you, but… this whole thing with Marcus? It’s affecting all of us."

I looked away, pressing my lips together. Lucy stepped closer, softer now.

"I know you don’t want to hear this. But Stacey is doing this because of you. Because she thinks you’re still chasing Marcus." I flinched. "She’s making our lives hell because she sees you as a threat."

My nails dug into my palms. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

"I know," Lucy said, genuine. "But you have to make a choice, Betty. Either you keep letting Marcus drag you into this mess, or you let him go."

My throat tightened.

"Look, I get it.” Lucy sighed again, voice softer now. “He’s hot. He’s mysterious. He’s… whatever the hell he is to you."

I exhaled sharply, looking away.

"But Betty," she continued, stepping forward, her voice dropping into something more serious. "You deserve more than a guy who only wants you in the dark, when no one else is looking."

I swallowed.

"You deserve more than being someone’s secret."

My chest ached. I knew she was right. And finally, for the first time, I admitted it to myself.

"I need to move on," I said, the words tasting like both freedom and heartbreak.

Lucy nodded, squeezing my arm. "Yeah. You do."

And so—I did. The next day, I gave Marcus a taste of his own medicine.

If he could ignore me? I could ignore him right back. And I didn’t just ignore him in small ways. I made sure he felt it.

I stopped looking at him during training. I didn’t acknowledge him in the cafeteria, even when I felt his gaze burning into my back.

If he was nearby, I walked the other way. If he tried to speak to me, I acted like I didn’t hear it.

And it worked. At first, he didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t chase.

But then? Then, he started seeking me out.

It started small.

A bump of his shoulder against mine in the hallway. A longer-than-necessary glance during warmups. A tense pause when he passed me in the locker rooms, like he was waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I never did. Then, he escalated.

One day, as I was gathering my things after practice, I felt him step into my space.

I didn’t look at him. But I could feel him. His presence. His heat. The silent frustration rolling off him in waves.

"Betty." His voice was low, rough, barely a breath away from my ear.

I ignored him. Kept shoving my stuff into my bag like I hadn’t even heard him. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"Don’t do this," he muttered.

I still didn’t look at him. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I turned and walked away.

Leaving him standing there. For once, I was the one leaving him behind.