Chapter 3 Chapter 3

⋅ ₊ ⋅ ALISSON RIVERA (P.O.V) ⋅ ₊ ⋅

I didn’t really know Tristan. I’d hear about him whenever Logan came home exhausted after a long day at work, and I knew it was a good thing because, just as Logan had discovered him, McKenna had also opened many doors for my brother.

And that’s all.

I didn’t care much. I wasn’t curious about him, and honestly, I had no interest in wasting my time on another ice hockey star.

But if I’d paid a little more attention, things might have turned out differently—that night, that moment, that connection… none of it would’ve happened at all.

If I’d paid a little more attention, I could’ve spent my entire first year blissfully unaware that Tristan McKenna is a complete asshole.

Until yesterday, of course.

Somehow, he managed to make an even worse impression.

But of course, I can’t tell Logan that. I’d have to explain where my dislike for Tristan really began—and why seeing him punch the captain in the face wasn’t exactly surprising.

Logan would probably take my word for it, but at what cost?

He lets out another heavy sigh, probably tired of trying to think of a way out, and I’m standing here, pretending I don’t know exactly how much worse his day could get if I opened my mouth.

“The higher-ups are pressuring the producer, and now he’s pressuring me.” He braces both hands on the kitchen island. “Tristan was supposed to spend thirty days at her place. Now I must find someone else, and I don’t have time to go through interviews.”

I stare at Logan for a few seconds, feeling a pang of sympathy.

Tristan McKenna really is the source of all our problems, isn’t he?

Logan’s shoulders look heavier than usual, tight with a pressure I’m not used to seeing on him. Because he doesn’t fold, he negotiates, solves things, and makes three phone calls before anyone else can start panicking. Seeing him stuck like this makes something twist beneath my skin, soft, guilty, and very, very stupid.

“How much were they paying for this?” I ask before my survival instincts can throw themselves over my mouth.

He takes his eyes off the laptop screen, narrowing them just enough to make me straighten. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason.” I tuck a loose strand of hair back behind my ear, then immediately hate myself for looking nervous. “I’m just curious. Maybe the money wasn’t enough to deal with McKenna.”

“That’s not the case.” Logan’s voice comes too fast, too flat, as he pushes away from the island, as if wanting to finish the subject quickly. “It was enough.”

“Enough as in someone should check if that girl was kidnapped because no sane person walks away from it?”

“Enough as in more money than a student makes in a year.”

“T-That much?” My chin drops. My mouth literally hangs open for a beat longer. “For one month?”

“For thirty days of filming, yes.” Logan drags a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Logan’s words echo in my mind, filling in exactly the gaps where I’m running out of ideas—where I need to pay back five hundred dollars for a single lens.

“It’s a well-paying job.” Logan drags a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, I don’t know whether she backed out because of the rumors or something else, but everything’s screwed now.”

I stare at the emptiness, hating myself for the brief thought that crossed my mind. The sheer interest in this is absurd. First, I don’t like Tristan McKenna. I already knew he wasn’t exactly a good person. By now, it’s clear he’s nuts.

Second, I hate this kind of thing… reality shows and cameras capturing me from any angle. I simply hate being in the spotlight, vulnerable to other people’s eyes. Yet. My bank account is basically dead, and I never dreamed of so much money.

… No, I can’t do this again…

“So, hypothetically…” I start, and Logan’s head lifts so fast I almost lose my nerve. I clear my throat and pretend not to notice how suspicious his expression grows. “How desperate are we talking?”

Desperate enough to walk straight into a reality show that might as well be called Where It All Went Wrong? Because there’s no way we can make this out alive.

But the buts are convincing enough to make me forget that, less than twenty-four hours ago, McKenna was busy knocking out the team captain’s teeth and that, six months ago, I saw his true colors with my own eyes.

“Alisson.” The full-name warning comes out slowly, his agent voice giving way to that of a protective older brother who used to split the last waffle with me and pretend he wasn’t hungry. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“I tripped and broke Leah’s camera lens yesterday,” I confess, pressing my lips together, gripping the edges of the counter to steady myself before I lose my courage. “You need someone fast, right? You said so yourself. And I need money fast.”

The second my words land between us, the kitchen seems to grow quieter. Logan’s firmness cracks just enough for concern to show through, soft and immediate, and I know he’s about to step in, solve it, and make it easy for me, as always.

“Ally… If you need money, I can give you.”

I bite my lip, once again feeling like a helpless child who can’t do a single thing to ease my brother’s burden. This ache makes me clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms—an old habit that always grounds me.

“I’m the best option you have, Logan,” I say, firmly, suddenly aware that this isn’t only about me anymore. My brother’s whole career also depends on this, and even if I can’t stand Tristan McKenna… It’s only thirty days. One month. Four weeks… It can’t be that much… right?

“Even if I were desperate enough to consider this…” Logan says, slowly, too cautiously. “Alisson, after everything you’ve been through…”

Once again, I feel a sharp ache in my chest. My eyes sting as if he’s pressed on a wound that still hasn’t fully healed, even though I’ve moved past it, left high school behind, and convinced myself that things would be better in college.

Before I saw those green eyes inches from mine.

Before I saw those same eyes flash with violence.

Before I found myself about to volunteer to spend thirty days with a maniac because I can’t afford to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

Because the money is good. Logan keeps his job and the sponsors. Tristan gets a chance to clean up his image.

Everybody wins.

At least, that’s how I disguise the ugly shape of my own fear.

I pull in a slow breath through my nose and force my fingers to uncurl from the counter before Logan can look down and see it.

“Don’t,” I say, but it comes out quieter than I want, so I lift my chin and try again, steadier. “Don’t bring that up right now. It’s not the same.”

“It may not be the same, Ally, but I’m not sure if you’re thinking this through.” Logan’s voice drops, growing more careful. He doesn’t look angry, not exactly… but he tightens his jaw before adding, “That would mean putting cameras in our home, the comments—”

He stops himself and takes a deep breath.

“Allow me to at least worry, Alisson. You’re my sister. I can’t see you like that again.”

The words hit harder than they should, and my throat tightens. For one stupid second I almost fold… almost let Logan take this from me, fix all the problems, fix me.

But then I see the exhaustion beneath his eyes. I see the open laptop, the missed calls, the comments, headlines that remind me that Tristan is unstable… and I know I can’t back out.

“So stop acting like a big brother and go back to being an agent. Because I’m not seventeen anymore, and that’s what I want, Logan. I want to do this.”