Book one | Alexa Harvey, a celebrated actress known for her fierce independence and uncompromising nature, has always steered clear of the sports world. But when her latest film role requires her to shadow Jude Bellingham, a rising football star wit...
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Alexa woke up to the blinding sting of daylight seeping through the gaps in her curtains, a harsh reminder that the world had kept turning despite the chaos of the night before.
Her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that matched the heavy weight in her chest.
She rolled over, pulling the blankets tighter around herself as if she could hide from the storm that was brewing inside her.
Everything felt wrong.
Her limbs were heavy, her mouth dry and bitter, and her thoughts kept circling back to Diego.
She couldn't believe she had let herself be so vulnerable, so careless. The memories of the night before were disjointed, flashes of Diego's hands, his breath, the awful realization that she was trapped.
With a groan, she forced herself to sit up, the room spinning briefly before settling into a sharp clarity.
She reached for the bottle of painkillers on her nightstand, swallowing two pills with a sip of water from a glass that had been sitting there since yesterday. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to pull it together.
Alexa's apartment felt like a cage, the walls closing in on her as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the half-empty bottle of painkillers in her hand.
The light filtering through the curtains was too bright, too unforgiving, and it only amplified the pounding in her head and the nausea swirling in her stomach.
But those physical pains were nothing compared to the ache in her heart, the gnawing, relentless feeling of shame and betrayal that she couldn't shake.
She felt filthy, as though Diego's touch had left an indelible mark on her skin that no amount of scrubbing could erase.
The memory of his hands on her, his breath hot and insistent, made her stomach churn. She'd been too drunk, too trusting, and now all she could think of was how easily she'd been manipulated, how he'd taken advantage of her in a moment of weakness.
The ringing in her ears from the night before was still there, a haunting reminder of her blurred, fragmented memories of the bathroom.
She didn't want to remember it, but every time she closed her eyes, she was back there, feeling powerless and violated.
This wasn't her—she was strong, she was in control. But now, she felt like everything was unraveling at the seams, and she had no idea how to stop it.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she picked it up, her fingers fumbling as she unlocked the screen. She scrolled through a mess of missed calls and texts, mostly from Lydia and some other friends asking if she was okay. She ignored them all, her heart sinking as she debated her next move.
She needed to talk to someone, someone who wouldn't judge, someone who would understand. And there was only one person who came to mind.
With trembling fingers, Alexa dialed Jobe's number. It rang twice before he picked up, his voice bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to her own misery.
