Chapter 7 #7

{Ace's P.O.V}

She didn't know when to give up, and right now, watching her push past absolute exhaustion on my court was making my chest burn in a way that had nothing to do with cardio.

The last ball bounced off the rim and rattled through the net. Game over. I won the final one-on-one set by two points, backing her down into the paint until she couldn't match my reach.

I snatched my towel off the bench, slinging it over my neck to wipe the sweat soaking through my collarbone. Breathing heavy, I turned on my heel toward the kitchen counter where I’d left my phone resting face down.

"One more round, Ace! Come on, best out of three!"

Her voice hit my back, ragged and uneven. I stopped and turned around. Mel was standing in the middle of the polished hardwood, hands resting on her knees, bent double as her chest heaved for air.

Her hair was pulled into a messy knot that was falling apart, damp strands clinging to the back of her neck. She was drenched in sweat, her gray tank top sticking to her skin, her breath coming in fast, sharp pants.

Even completely spent, her eyes burned with that stubborn, relentless fire that made it impossible to look away from her.

"Take a shower, Mel," I said, my voice flat as I tossed the end of the towel over my shoulder. "You're stinking up my court."

"I am not stinking!" she shot back immediately, straightening up with a scowl and taking three fast steps toward me, her sneakers squeaking loudly against the floor. "I’m not done yet. You got lucky on that last drive. Give me ten minutes and—"

"Take a shower," I repeated, turning away from her defiance to grab my phone.

I flipped the screen over and pressed the power button. The moment the display lit up, my lock screen went wild.

Notifications flooded the glass in an endless, rapid-fire blur—blog mentions, sports forum alerts, and thousands of direct tags.

My eyes scanned the top headline from the local sports outlet, and my grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white.

“RAVENS NATION DIVIDED: Is Mel Sanders Dragging Down Ace Waters, or Is She the Star Guard’s New Girl?”

I stood completely still, staring at the screen. The initial post exposing her at Ken’s apartment was still circulating, but beneath it, the narrative was violently splitting in two.

"Ace?"

Her voice dropped the competitive edge, replaced by a soft, sudden hesitation. I didn't answer right away. I slowly raised my head, my eyes moving from the glowing screen in my palm to where she stood a few feet away.

The fire in her face was completely gone. Her lips were parted, her wide eyes darting from my face down to the phone in my hand. She looked smaller, fragile, and utterly terrified.

"What is it?" she whispered, her throat working hard as she swallowed. "Is it... is it getting worse?"

She took a slow, timid step forward, wrapping her arms around her ribs in that protective stance she used whenever her world started caving in.

"Ace, I'm... I'm really sorry," she choked out, her voice trembling as she looked at the floor between us. "I never wanted to drag you into this mess. I know your career is everything to you, and now my drama is touching your name. I can call Coach. I can tell him I'm moving out today, I can tell the media that we aren't—"

I stepped forward, cutting her off in one smooth motion, and flicked my index finger sharply against the middle of her forehead.

"Ow!" She flinched, her hand flying up to cover her brow as she glared at me through sudden, angry tears. "What was that for?"

"For talking too much," I growled, flipping the phone around and shoving the screen directly into her face. "Read.

Mel blinked, her brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the top comment threads underneath the viral post.

@RavensNation_99: “Y’all are calling her a traitor, but look at Ace’s story. Ace doesn't let ANYONE into his space. If he’s standing by her, she’s innocent. Period.”

@HoopsCentral: “Y’all disrespected Ace’s girl without knowing the full facts. If Ace says she’s on our team, then she’s on our team. Back off.”

@AceWaltersFanClub: “We don’t tolerate slander against Ace OR the people he chooses. Leave Mel alone until the real story comes out!”

My loyal fanbase had stepped up. The sports community knew I didn't tolerate bullshit, and my fans refused to watch anyone disrespect my choices.

The moment the fake-dating narrative hit the press, my core supporters rallied, turning their shields outward to fight off the toxic trolls attacking her.

Mel stared at the screen, her chest rising and falling in shallow hitches. The angry color drained from her face, replaced by pure shock.

A single tear escaped her eye, tracking a clean line through the flush on her cheek, followed by another.

"They're... they're defending me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with disbelief.

"They're defending us," I corrected, pulling the phone back and shoving it into my sweatpants pocket. "Now stop standing on my floor dripping sweat and crying like a baby. Go take a shower."

I didn't wait for her reply.

I turned around and walked out of the home gym, heading down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

The second I crossed the threshold into my room, the mask slipped. The icy composure melted away, replaced by a cold, murderous focus that turned my blood into ice.

I pulled my phone back out, tapped my contacts, and dialed a private, unlisted number. It picked up on the second ring.

"Walters," a sharp, professional voice answered on the other end. "What do you need?"

"The blog post that leaked the 4th Street photo of Mel," I said, my voice dropping into a low, lethal register that left no room for error. "I want the IP address, the original submission timestamp, and the name of the person who sent it in."

"I'll have to bypass a few sports forum proxies," the voice replied calmly. "Give me an hour."

"You have thirty minutes," I commanded, staring out the window into the dark driveway. "Send everything straight to my encrypted line."

I hung up, gripping the frame of the window as the sound of running water echoing from the guest bathroom down the hall reached my ears.

They fucking had no idea who they were playing with.