THE OFFER

I stared at the screen. The commercial ended. My cue to go back on air.

And I realized, in that moment, that something had just shifted. Something I couldn't take back.

I'd finally named the thing I wasn't supposed to say out loud. And someone had been waiting for me to do exactly that.

I went to the administration building the next day. The administration building smelt like old money and floor polish.

I sat in a waiting room that probably cost more than my mother made in a month, my knee bouncing against the tile floor. My phone had buzzed seventeen times since I left the radio station. Seventeen. I'd stopped counting after that.

The door opened.

"Ms. George? They're ready for you."

A woman with a clipboard and a smile that didn't reach her eyes gestured me inside. I stood, smoothing down my oversized sweater even though I knew it wouldn't help. Nothing could make me look like I belonged in this room.

Dean Whitmore sat behind a desk the size of a small car. Next to him was a woman I'd never seen before. Sharp features, sharper blazer, the kind of person who'd never had to work a double shift at a café to keep the lights on. Beside her sat a man in his thirties with the kind of casual confidence that came from knowing he'd never be told no.

"Nayla," Dean Whitmore said, not standing. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Did I have a choice?" The words came out before I could stop them.

The woman's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

"This is Victoria Chen, our director of student programming," Dean Whitmore continued, ignoring my question. "And this is Marcus Delacroix, a producer with StreamPulse Entertainment."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes bright with something I couldn't name. Interest. Hunger. Something that made my skin crawl.

"We heard your broadcast today," he said. His voice was warm, casual, like we were friends discussing the weather. "You have a gift for saying what people are thinking."

"I wasn't trying to say anything people weren't already thinking," I said. "I was just—"

"Honest," Victoria finished. She pulled out a thin folder, sliding it across the desk toward me. "That's exactly what we need."

I didn't reach for it. "Need for what?"

"We're launching a new reality series," Victoria said. "Called 'Behind the Ice.' It's designed to give viewers an authentic look at student-athletes at Frostford. Their real lives. Their struggles. The pressure they're under."

My chest tightened. I knew where this was going, and I didn't want to hear it.

"Beck Ryder is at the center of a scandal," Marcus said, his tone shifting to something more serious. More calculated. "Sponsors are dropping him. His reputation is in freefall. The university loses millions if his career collapses before the NHL draft."

"So?" I said flatly.

"So we need someone to show the public that he's more than the viral video," Victoria said. "Someone authentic. Someone the audience can believe isn't just another athlete defending another athlete."

The words hit me like a slap.

"No."

"You haven't heard the offer," Marcus said.

"I don't need to hear it. The answer is no."

Dean Whitmore cleared his throat. "Nayla, this isn't really a disciplinary meeting. We're not suspending you for your broadcast. But we would like you to consider this opportunity."

"The format works best with a personal angle. Romantic angle, ideally. Dating angle. That's what gets viewers invested,” Marcus added.

"You want me to go on television and fake a relationship with the man who destroyed my brother's career," I said slowly, making sure they heard every word. "That's your idea of an opportunity?"

Victoria didn't flinch. "We want you to spend time with Beck. To film content together. To show the public a different side of him. Whether there's a relationship or not is up to you and the narrative you create."

"That's called lying," I said.

"That's called television," Marcus corrected. He wasn't smiling anymore. "And you'd be compensated generously. Five thousand dollars per episode. Guaranteed eight episodes."

My brain did the math before I could stop it. Forty thousand dollars. My mother's hospital bills were thirty-two thousand. My tuition gap was almost eight thousand. Forty thousand dollars would change everything.

But not like this.

"I'm not interested," I said, standing up.

"Wait." Victoria pulled something else from the folder. Not money. Something worse.

A letter. Official letterhead. My name at the top.

"What is that?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"The fellowship," Victoria said quietly. "The Hartwell Foundation Investigative Journalism Fellowship. Full funding for a year abroad. Industry mentorship. Internships with major publications."

The room stopped moving.

I'd been chasing that fellowship for three years. Since sophomore year. Since I realized that radio wasn't enough. That I needed to do real journalism. Real investigations. The kind that changed things and took you places.

"That's not yours to offer," I whispered.

"It is, actually," Dean Whitmore said. "The university nominates fellows. We have significant influence over the selection committee."

My fingers wouldn't stay still. I wrapped both hands around the edge of the table, holding on as if the room had suddenly tilted. A cold weight settled in my stomach.

"You can't—you can't just offer me my dream and expect me to—"

"We're not expecting anything," Marcus said smoothly. "We're offering you a choice. Participate in Behind the Ice, and you'll receive the scholarship, the fellowship nomination, and the compensation. That's forty thousand dollars plus a year-long opportunity that could launch your entire career."

I looked at the letter, the official seal,  my name printed in that prestigious font.

Everything I'd worked for. Everything I'd stayed up late studying for, every internship I'd chased, every sacrifice I'd made to keep my GPA perfect and my portfolio sharp, it was all in that folder.

"And if I say no?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"If you say no," Victoria said. She didn't sound surprised. She sounded like someone who'd already calculated exactly how long it would take me to break. "But the fellowship goes to someone else. And Beck's reputation repairs itself one way or another."