THE ULTIMATUM

(The next morning)

“Do you understand how serious what you’ve done is, Ms. Callahan?”

I sat frozen in the leather chair, fingernails digging into the strap of my bag. Athletic Director Howard Park stared at me from across his massive desk.

My throat went dry. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t think you do.”

I’d barely slept all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, the anger, the shaky hands when he told me I’d ruined his life.

‘They’re not going to expel you for one article.’ Demi had said this morning.

But sitting here, looking directly at Mr. Park’s expression, I wasn’t so sure.

”Half a million views, Ms. Callahan.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your article has been picked up by national sports media, ESPN and scouts are starting to ask questions.”

My stomach twisted in knots. “I-I’ve created a retraction—“

”Whatever you publish now doesn’t undo the damage.” His voice was sharp. “You didn’t verify your source which means you violated every basic principle of journalism.”

I swallowed hard, tears burning at the back of my eyes.

”I know, sir. And I take full responsibility o—“

”Do you?” Zane’s coach, Coach Maddox cut in from his seat beside the desk. “Because it seems to me you were more interested in getting views.”

I shifted to the edge of my seat. “I made a mistake.” I said quietly. “A huge one, but I want to fix it. Pl—“

The door opened behind me. I turned in my seat.

Zane walked in.

And every ounce of oxygen left the room.

He was dressed in slacks and a button-down, Harlow varsity jacket over it. Hair still damp like he’d just showered, curling slightly at the ends.

A dark purple bruise spread across his left cheekbone, angry and fresh. His bottom lip was split down the middle, the cut crusted over but still raw.

Someone had hit him—hard too.

His dark eyes landed on me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, then he looked away.

An older man in an expensive suit followed him in—mid forties with a sharp jawline.

”Mr. Ashford.” Mr. Park clasped his hand over his desk. “Thank you for coming. This is your agent, I assume?”

“Derek Morrison.” Derek gave a curt nod.

I looked over at Zane, and he was trying so hard not to even look at me. He had taken a seat at the opposite side of the desk, as far away from me as possible.

When did that happen—the bruise. Who’d hit him? Was it because of what I posted?

”Now that we’re all here,” Mr. Park faced me again. “Let’s discuss the situation fully.”

“The situation," Derek cut in. “Is that Zane has been suspended based on a four second video clip that lacks critical context.”

“We’ve seen the video, Mr. Morrison.”Mr. Park scoffed.

“All you saw was a four-second clip.“ Derek continued. “I don’t think Zane was assaulting the lady. He was trying to help her. It was nothing like what Ms. Callahan chose to publish.”

The guilt wrapped around my ribcage like barbed wire, tightening with every breath.

“And where is the lady now?” Mr Park asked. “If she can come as a witness then—“

”She left the scene. Zane doesn’t know her.” Derek’s voice remained leveled. “The bar’s security cameras were also non-functional that evening.”

”How convenient.” Mr. Park remarked.

”It’s the truth.” Zane spoke for the first time. His voice was low, but I heard the edge underneath. “I helped someone who needed help. That’s all”

Mr. Park studied him for a long moment. “Here’s what I know.” His gaze flickered to me for a split second. “This is the third time we’d be having an issue or as he’d call it, ‘a misunderstanding’ with Zane. And an assault case is where I draw the line.”

Zane had been here not once but twice? He was exactly as I thought.

Each word made his jaw clench tighter.

“Which is why we need to address this proactively.” Derek cut in. “This situation affects both parties. And there’s a chance he didn’t do it.”

Mr. Park’s eyebrow arched. “Both?”

”There are two sides to this story,” Derek gestured between us. “Right now, only one is being told. That needs to change.”

Mr. Park turned to me. “Ms. Callahan, do you understand that your article didn’t just affect him? It affected the university's image.”

“Yes, sir.” I mouthed.

”And yet you published it anyway.”

”I didn’t kn—“

”You didn’t know? Or are you just a shitty journalist?” Zane snapped.

The words hit like a slap, my palms went slick against the bag strap.

“Zane—“ Derek warned quietly. He went silent, but his eyes burned into me.

Mr. Park looked between us. “Because the university takes issues like these seriously. Mr. Ashford remains suspended, and you Ms. Callahan would face expulsion from the journalism program.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “E—Expulsion?”

”Your editor has distanced himself from the article. He said you published it without oversight. So the university has grounds to terminate your enrollment.”

No…God no.

”Please.” I heard myself say, my heart hammering against my chest. “I’ll do anything. I’ll take it back publicly. I’l—I’ll even write a formal apology. Just p—“

“The damage has been done.” Mr Park continued. “However, there may be an alternative.”

Tears burned behind my eyes but I blinked them back furiously. I wouldn’t cry—not here and not in front of him again.

My head snapped up, holding the tears. “What?”

Mr. Park stood, walking toward the door. “There’s someone I’d like you both to meet.”

He opened the door, and a woman walked in.

She looked in her late—thirties, dressed in a slate blazer, with her dark hair wrapped in a perfect bun.

”This is Priya Dass,” He gestured. “Executive producer of the show Campus connection.”

I’d heard of it. It’s all people talked about on campus. A reality dating show with drama and millions of views.

My stomach dropped instantly.

No.

No. No. No.

“Campus connection has approached us about filming their next season here at Harlow,” Mr. Park continued. “And given the recent events we believe this could be mutually beneficial.”

Priya’s lips curled in a small smile, stepping forward. “This show’s format is quite simple. We need ten couples to film over six weeks on campus.”

She looked between me and Zane.

”But every season needs an anchor couple. That one pair everyone watches. The story everyone’s invested in.”

My fingernails dug deeper into my bag strap—i was sure they’d start to bleed.

”And you two,” Her smile widened, “are perfect.”

I stared at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

”Think of it this way. The journalist who exposed him.” She gestured to me. “And the athlete she nearly destroyed.” She gestured back to Zane .

”That sort of tension is what makes television compelling.”

”What exactly are you saying?” Zane’s voice was rising again.

Priya’s eyes gleamed. “You two are going to date on camera for six weeks.”

The room went completely silent.

I couldn’t move.

I looked at Zane, and he looked at me.

For the first time since he’d walked into this room, we were on the same side.

”You want us to what!?” we both said.