Chapter 9: Have you kissed an actor?

Chapter 9

By Friday, Norah felt like she could sink through the floor.

Every hallway, every classroom, every corner of campus had her name buzzing through it.

“She’s a model. My cousin swears she saw her in a magazine.”

“No way—she turned down a movie role in. Her mom wanted her in nursing.”

“I heard she doesn’t even wear deodorant. She just smells perfect.”

The whispers trailed her like gnats. Norah hugged her books tighter and ducked her head. This wasn’t the kind of attention she wanted—she never wanted attention at all.

She slipped into her seat in anatomy class, praying for five minutes of quiet. But the girl beside her leaned over, eyes wide.

“Is it true? You rejected a modeling contract?”

Norah blinked. “What? No. Who even says this stuff?”

From the next row: “Have you kissed an actor?”

Her mouth fell open. “What? No!”

“She’s being modest,” a blonde girl chimed, dreamy-eyed. “Ivan fought a boy over her last weekend.”

The heat crawled up Norah’s neck. Her jaw locked. Ivan? Why drag him into this? She wanted to vanish into the chair, disappear into the floor tiles, crawl out the other side of campus unseen.

Her notes blurred in front of her. She barely heard the professor’s voice. All she could hear was the hiss of whispers circling like gnats she couldn’t swat away.

~~~~

Linda, sharp-eyed and quiet, overheard enough as she walked past. Later that day, she found Mary in the cafeteria line.

“Your roommate’s getting the wrong kind of attention,” Linda said low.

Mary frowned. “Meaning?”

“I heard Rose. She’s planning something big. Expulsion big. Watch your backs.”

Mary didn’t even blink. When she told Norah later, her voice was steady, hard. “If she wants a game, fine. But she has no idea who she’s messing with.”

That night, the plan wasn’t Rose’s anymore. It was theirs.

Rose paced the corridor, heels sharp against tile. Her locker slammed shut.

“She’s stealing everything,” she spat. “The looks, the attention—my spot.”

Becca shifted uneasily. “Maybe you’re overreacting.”

Rose’s glare could’ve cut glass. “I don’t overreact. I win. Tonight, she’ll regret ever stepping foot in this school.”

Nobody argued. They’d seen what her “ideas” could do.

The library was nearly empty by evening. Fluorescent lights hummed. The air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath.

Norah sat at her desk, pen idle over her book. Her chest thudded.

Mary crouched two aisles away, phone in one hand, a small bottle gripped tight in the other.

The door creaked.

A man stepped in—broad, hood low, moving with purpose. His eyes locked on Norah.

She kept her head down, fingers digging into the edge of her desk.

Two steps. Three. His shadow stretched across her book. His hand reached—

Mary struck. Liquid splashed across his face. He cursed, stumbling back, clawing at his eyes.

Norah shoved her chair into him, hard. He crashed into a shelf, books raining down. Students at nearby tables jumped to their feet, startled.

The man reeled into the hall, half-blind, swearing. Phones lifted. Laughter burst. Cameras flashed.

Mary’s video caught it all—his hood yanked off, his face clear, his pride shredded.

By the time she posted it—Rose’s thug fails freshman job—the whole campus was buzzing.

Rose’s scream later that night rattled her dorm walls. She hurled her phone so hard the case cracked. “They humiliated me.”

Lila tried to speak. “It’s just—”

“Shut up!” Rose snapped. Her chest heaved, eyes dark and wild. “This isn’t over. If Norah wants a war, she’ll get one.”

The warehouse stank of oil and rust. A single bulb swung overhead.

The man in the chair wheezed, blood dripping from his split lip. Liam’s fist caught him again, ribs crunching.

Ivan stood nearby, sleeves rolled, face carved from stone. He didn’t need to yell. His silence was worse.

“You sent me chasing shadows,” he said at last, crouching level with the man. His hand clamped the man’s jaw. “That’s time you owe me. Time I don’t forgive.”

The man whimpered, eyes darting. “I swear—I gave you what I knew—”

Ivan let him go like he wasn’t worth the grip. He stood, smoothed his shirt. “Remind him.”

Liam moved in. Fists. Groans. The sound of breaking bone. Ivan lit a cigar, smoke curling slow. He didn’t watch. He already knew the man had nothing left.

His phone buzzed. He answered, curt. “Talk.”

“Boss… it’s about the girl. Norah. Some guy tried to grab her in the library. She and her friend flipped it. Whole campus is laughing at him now. I sent you the video.”

A chime. Ivan opened the clip. Norah’s shove. The man stumbling. Students laughing.

He replayed it. Twice. His jaw flexed, a twitch in his cheek.

From the doorway, Jay muttered, “Didn’t think she had it in her. Looks like she doesn’t need saving.”

Ivan’s voice was flat. “It’s not funny.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket. “End it,” he told Liam.

The beating stopped with a final, muffled cry. Ivan walked out into the night air, the glow of his cigar fading.

His thumb hovered over a name on his screen.

Rose.

A sharp curve touched his mouth—too thin to be a smile.

“Time for a conversation,” he murmured.