Chapter 4

TESSA

“What picture is this?” Sloane asked, her voice low, almost too calm to trust.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My throat felt like sandpaper.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. Her eyes scanned the screen again. “And here I thought we wouldn’t have any problems—now they’re digging out many things. And why do you have this picture? Was this injury an abuse from someone? In high school or at home?”

I nodded slightly, barely. My eyes stung, but I didn’t blink.

“Listen, nodding your head won’t help us right now, it wouldn’t answer all the questions the public are about to throw at us.” Sloane yelled at me, her voice cracking.

“Hold on, it’s been long, so I am trying to remember what happened. But this picture…” I whispered, shaking my head, “I didn’t take this picture myself, I was turning back to the camera so obviously this picture didn’t come from me. And I don’t even know who took it.”

Sloane looked at me, really looked. For the first time, her tone wasn’t icy, it wasn’t calculating. It was human. “So you admitted that it was you? Okay fine, who hit you? I mean who gave you all this injury?”

I raised my hand then I took a step back to the window. “I think it’s better if we keep my private life out of all this mess.”

Sloane scoffed. “Miss Tessa, you are now the fake girlfriend of a famous football striker. So you have to put up with things like this.”

“So I should put up with people digging out my traumatic past?” I asked my voice low.

Sloane sighed.

Leo’s voice cut through the air like a blade. Low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“You never answer questions at the right time, Miss Tessa. We asked you a question. Who did this to you?” he repeated.

I opened my mouth to answer—

But the door slammed open with a heavy thud.

Everyone jumped.

A security guy popped his head in, confused. “They said to unlock it now.”

Sloane waved him off like a mosquito.

Leo didn’t wait.

“Sort it out, Sloane. I’m going home,” he said, grabbing his phone from the side table.

“You can’t leave her in the hotel,” Sloane said, marching after him. “She has to follow you. I don’t know, maybe start acting now? You either drive her home or do anything. She can’t stay in the suite alone while the paparazzi watch you leave.”

Leo froze mid-step. Then turned back slowly, jaw ticking.

“You have been my problem since high school,” he muttered, glaring at me.

I blinked.

“Huh? What did you say?” Sloane asked, voice sharp now.

I tilted my head. “I really want to know what he said too.”

Leo looked between the two of us. His face went blank.

“I said nothing. Come on. Let’s go.”

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it at me. Then held out a champagne glass like we were casually heading to a red carpet.

“Wear that. Hold this. Act like we just celebrated.”

I was still standing there like a stunned fish when he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and started pulling me toward the hallway.

“Wait—Mr Leo, slow down. I’m not—”

“You are now,” he said. No emotion. Just annoyance.

We stepped into the hallway. Cameras were already flashing through the hotel lobby glass.

Sloane called after us. “Try not to look like you’re being dragged to a crime scene, Tessa! Smile like he bought you something expensive!”

“He bought me a breakdown,” I muttered under my breath.

Leo didn’t even flinch. He just pushed the elevator button like he was opening the gates of hell.

Inside the elevator, it was silent. Uncomfortably silent.

I adjusted the jacket he threw on me. It smelled like mint and sweat and trouble.

“Why did you say I’ve been your problem since high school?” I asked, voice low.

His eyes didn’t leave the elevator doors.

“Forget it.”

“No. I want to know.”

His jaw tensed. He was quiet for too long.

Then—

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said suddenly.

I frowned.

“What?”

The elevator dinged.

He walked out first. Didn’t look back.

“Let’s go, Mystery reporter. We have a show to put on.”

But my legs weren’t moving.

My chest felt tight.

You don’t remember me, do you?

What the hell did that mean?

I stepped out slowly, heart racing, eyes scanning the crowd just outside the hotel’s main glass doors.

Dozens of reporters. Phones up. Paparazzi yelling Leo’s name like he was royalty.

And me.

The girl in his jacket.

Holding his glass.

The girl trending worldwide with a mystery bruise on her shoulder and a past she didn’t even know someone else remembered.

Then Leo leaned in. Not smiling. Not faking. Just low enough for me to feel his breath against my ear.

“Three months, right? Try to keep up, Tessa.”

He placed a hand lightly on the small of my back—fake boyfriend move number one—and pushed the door open.

Flashes. Screams.

The world waited.

And just before we stepped outside—

I remembered him.

And my whole world shifted.

“Leo—” I whispered.

But it was too late.

Because someone in the crowd screamed—

“IS IT TRUE SHE’S YOUR CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART?!”

I froze.

Leo’s hand stiffened on my back.

“What?” he said under his breath.

But it was already out there.

“We also found old pictures from senior year!”

“Is that picture taken when you were bullied in school?”

“Is she the same girl you wrote the letter to?”

“Leo, is it true you were in love with her back then?!”

I turned, this people were saying different things and asking different questions that even Leo couldn’t answer.

I turned so fast my heel slipped.

Leo caught me. Just like before.

Only this time—he didn’t let go immediately.

He just stared at me. Like he was seeing something I forgot I’d given him.

And I realized—

I wasn’t the mystery.

He was.

And now, the whole world wanted answers.