Chapter 3 Chapter 3; The Armor and the Anchor

Chloe’s Pov

The silence in the quad was loud enough to make my ears ring.

Dozens of glowing smartphone screens were pointed directly at my face, waiting for the reality TV trainwreck to explode.

And then there was Vanessa.

She stood there looking like a cheap, knock-off Barbie, her face contorted in this ugly, desperate rage. She really thought she was doing something. She thought because I’d flown across the country to escape a media shitstorm, I was weak. She thought she could use me to score points in whatever petty, small-town drama she had going on with Reid and his blonde sidekick.

She had no fucking idea who she was messing with.

I slowly lowered my sunglasses, letting the heavy silence stretch until Vanessa’s confident smirk began to waver. I didn't yell or get in her face. I just looked at her like she was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my thigh-high boots.

"A homewrecker?" I purred, my voice smooth, carrying perfectly over the quiet crowd. "Sweetie, to wreck a home, there actually has to be something worth breaking. And looking at the two of you..."

I paused, my gaze lazily drifting from her to Carter, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable under my gaze. "...it looks like you’re both doing a spectacular job of digging through each other's trash without any help from me."

"You bitch…" Vanessa choked out, her face turning a violent shade of red.

"I’m not done," I interrupted, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head back to look at me. The paparazzi in LA had chased me with cameras through airports, clubs, and even hotels. This girl was a literal amateur. "You don't know a single fucking thing about my life, my scandal, or what I do. But I know exactly who you are. You’re the girl who couldn't keep the captain, so you settled for the backup. Next time you decide to project your pathetic insecurities onto me, make sure you dress better for the occasion. That top is doing absolutely nothing for your complexion."

A collective, breathless “Oh shit” rippled through the crowd of students. Vanessa’s mouth hung open like a fish, completely humiliated as the phones captured every single second of her defeat.

I didn't give her another second of my time. I snapped my sunglasses back up over my eyes, turned on my heel, and walked away.

Behind me, I heard Reid’s deep, commanding voice bark at Carter to back off, but I didn't look back to see if he was following me. In fact, I practically felt the heavy weight of his grey eyes staring at my back, but his heavy footsteps never came after me. Good. Let the Boy Scout stay out there and clean up his ex's mess.

I was done playing nice.

My boots clicked loudly against the pavement as I marched blindly across the campus. My chest felt incredibly tight, the adrenaline from the confrontation starting to fade and leaving a hollow, shaky panic in its place. I needed to get away from all these prying eyes. I needed to hide before the mask completely cracked.

Before I realized where I was going, I pushed through a pair of heavy wooden doors and stepped into the campus library.

The air inside was cool and smelled like old paper and coffee. It was quiet, blissfully quiet. I walked deep into the stacks, weaving through rows of towering bookshelves until I found a secluded corner in the back, away from the windows and the main walking paths.

I slumped against a table, burying my face in my hands. The image of the flashing cameras at JFK, the screaming reporters, and Vanessa’s venomous words flashed through my head in a loop.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

I gasped, my head snapping up instantly. My defensive walls locked right back into place as I glared at the intruder.

Standing a few feet away was a girl holding a massive stack of textbooks. She was absolutely stunning, but in the most effortless way possible. She looked twenty-one, with deep, dark skin that practically glowed under the dim library lights, and when she looked at me, I realized her eyes were a striking, pure green.

As she set her books down, a warm, genuine smile spread across her face, revealing two deep, adorable dimples in her cheeks. She wore an oversized, chunky knit sweater, thick-rimmed glasses, and had her hair tied in a messy bun.

She was the absolute, total opposite of me…a textbook nerd who clearly lived in her own world of literature and quiet spaces.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, my tone sharp enough to draw blood. "Just looking for some peace."

Instequiet or getting defensive like most people did when I snapped, the girl just nodded understandingly. She slid into the chair across from me, completely unbothered by my attitude.

"I get it. The quad is a zoo today," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "I'm Blakeley Joe, by the way. I usually hide back here when the rest of the campus gets too loud."

I stared at her, waiting for the drop…for her to pull out her phone, or ask me about the reality show, or bring up the massive scandal that had been plastered across every blog for the past two weeks. But she just sat there, her green eyes full of nothing but simple, honest curiosity.

"You don't know who I am?" I asked, testing the waters.

Blakeley chuckled, those cute dimples popping up again. "Should I? I mean, unless you're a guest lecturer on seventeenth-century poetry, I'm usually pretty oblivious to what's happening outside these walls."

A sudden wave of relief washed over me so fast it made me dizzy. She didn't know. To her, I wasn't Chloe Dupont, the scandalous media princess. I was just a girl hiding in the library.

"I'm Chloe," I said, my voice softening for the first time all day. I leaned back in my chair, looking down at my tightly clenched hands. "The truth is... I'm having a really bad case of anxiety right now. That drama out there on the quad? It's all because of this horrible scandal back in LA. The media is saying I had an affair with this famous actress's boyfriend."

Blakeley’s expression immediately shifted into one of deep empathy. She reached across the table, her warm hand gently brushing over my knuckles.

"Oh, wow. That sounds incredibly heavy. Did you?"

"No," looking directly into her green eyes. The words tasted like second nature to me now. "It's all a lie. We never slept together. We were just friends, but the press twisted everything to make me look like the villain. It ruined my life, and now I can't even walk across a college campus without people calling me names."

Blakeley didn't hesitate for a single second. Her grip on my hand tightened slightly, her gaze fierce and protective.

"People can be so cruel when they hide behind a screen or a crowd. I'm so sorry you're going through that, Chloe. But you don't have to worry about that here. Your secrets, and your peace, are safe with me."

For the first time in a very long time, I felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of my lips. There was something so pure about Blakeley. She didn't want my clout, she didn't care about my followers, and she didn't treat me like I was the next big break for her growing social media.

"Thanks, Blakeley," I whispered. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

We ended up talking for the next hour. She told me about her English major, her absolute obsession with old books, and how she completely lost track of time when she was studying. In return, I found myself actually laughing, the heavy weight in my chest lifting more and more with every minute that passed.

For a second, I actually thought my time at Westbrook might not be a total disaster.

Then, my phone buzzed on the wooden table.

It was a text from an unknown number. I frowned, sliding my thumb across the screen to open the message.

Cute little hiding spot, princess. But you can't hide from the cameras forever. Check the internet. Vanessa isn't the only one who wants to see you burn.

My breath hitched in my throat. Attached to the text was a link to a freshly uploaded video. It was a recording of my confrontation with Vanessa from just an hour ago, but the caption underneath made my blood run entirely cold.

“LA’s favorite homewrecker Chloe Dupont brings her toxic drama to Westbrook…and wait until you see who she’s sleeping with now.”

The screen shifted, and a second picture loaded. It was a photo taken of Reid’s apartment window from last night.

It showed me standing just inches away from a shirtless Reid Vance, my face tilted up to his in what looked like an incredibly intimate, passionate embrace.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs as the realization hit me.

I was doomed…!