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Episode 4: Shadows Converge
Tuesday morning crept into Riverside High with whispers still clinging to the air like glitter that refused to fade. The weekend had ended, but Prom Night was still the topic on everyone's lips.
Layla Wellington felt it before she heard it — the weight of a hundred curious glances as she walked into the hallway. Her braids shimmered under the fluorescent lights, each strand reflecting a calm confidence she didn't fully feel. Behind every smile, someone was whispering her name — Layla and Ethan, Prom couple goals, the dance, the photos.
She'd woken early, determined to start the week right. Her mother had teased her at breakfast — "Our Miss Prom Queen, don't forget your books while chasing your crown," — and Layla had laughed, but she'd caught the underlying truth. Prom might have ended, but its aftershocks were just beginning.
In Advanced Literature, Professor Adewumi's lecture on Postmodern Narratives went half-unheard. Layla doodled a sketch of the Prom stage in her notebook, replaying how Ethan's hand had steadied her when she'd almost slipped. That one touch — simple, fleeting — had left an imprint she couldn't shake.
When the bell rang, her phone vibrated with a message.
> Ethan: "Café Nova again today? 5 PM. Need to sync."
Her lips curved faintly.
> Layla: "Confirmed. 5 PM. Bring updates."
She didn't even need to think twice.
The rest of her classes drifted by in a blur. By lunchtime, #LaylaEthanPromCouple had climbed into the school's local trends. Someone had posted a slow-motion clip of their dance — the way he'd looked at her mid-spin. The comments were divided between 'They're perfect!' and 'Tiffany Larson's not done yet.'
Tiffany.
Layla didn't have to scroll far to see what Tiffany had been doing. The girl had turned social media into a chessboard. Her latest tweet read:
> "Prom alliances hide truths… follow #RiversideUndercurrents."
That single line was enough to stir gossip like wildfire. The Cyber Club group chat exploded, debating what it meant. "She's hinting at scandals," someone wrote. "It's probably about Ethan."
Layla's chest tightened, though she told herself she didn't care.
She did, though.
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Across town, Ethan Marshall sat at the long glass table of the Riverside Tech Innovation Hub, surrounded by prototypes and alumni investors. His presentation — a pitch for a student-driven app incubator — had gone better than expected. Still, his mind wasn't entirely on numbers.
He kept thinking about Layla. The way she'd looked under the ballroom lights, the fierce intelligence in her eyes. He knew people were talking — they always did — but he wanted to control the narrative before gossip got out of hand.
By late afternoon, he drove to Café Nova, the same spot where everything between them seemed to evolve.
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The café buzzed with its usual energy — indie music humming softly, the scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup filling the air.
Layla was already there, sitting near the window, fingers curled around a mug of caramel latte. The sunlight hit her skin just right, catching the silver of her earrings. When Ethan walked in, she looked up, a half-smile playing on her lips.
"You're punctual," she teased.
"Habit," he replied, sliding into the seat opposite. "I've got updates. Alumni investors are interested… if I partner with the right people."
Layla tilted her head slightly. "Right people, as in business… or personal?"
Her tone was casual, but the question beneath it wasn't.
Ethan's gaze didn't waver. "Business-wise, there's Olivia Reyes — tech mogul, Riverside alum. She could take this project global. But personal…" His voice softened. "That depends on us, Layla."
Her heart gave an uninvited flutter. "Tell me about her," she said, steadying herself.
He nodded. "Olivia's sharp. We've worked together before. Nothing personal. She's just… intense. Some say she plays hardball."
Layla arched a brow. "Then I guess we'll play smart."
Their eyes held for a moment too long, and for a brief second, it wasn't about projects or investors — it was about them.
Just then, Madeline stormed in, breathless, holding her phone. "Guys! You need to see this. Tiffany just posted pictures."
Layla's stomach dropped. "Pictures of what?"
Madeline flipped the screen toward them — old photos, grainy but recognizable. Ethan at a university party, arm around a girl with honey-blonde curls. The caption read:
> "Some people forget their history. #RiversideUndercurrents"
Ethan froze. "Naomi," he muttered. "She's… from my freshman year. We were friends. That's it."
Layla didn't say anything. She just watched him — not accusing, not forgiving — waiting.
"I should've told you," Ethan said finally, his voice low. "I didn't think it mattered anymore."
Layla exhaled. "It's not the past that scares me, Ethan. It's silence."
He nodded, looking guilty. "You're right. No more secrets."
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed again — Olivia Reyes.
He excused himself, stepping outside. Through the glass, Layla could see his tense posture as he answered.
"Ethan," Olivia's voice came through crisp and confident. "I reviewed your proposal. Let's meet tomorrow. Privately. Bring Layla Wellington, if you think she's worth the strategy."
He hesitated. "She's worth more than that."
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Wednesday.
Olivia Reyes's penthouse overlooked Riverside like it owned the city — all glass, steel, and cold elegance. When Layla and Ethan arrived, a woman in her early thirties greeted them with a practiced smile and eyes that missed nothing.
"Welcome," Olivia said, shaking their hands. "Ethan, I see your presentation skills haven't faded. And Layla… you're quite the creative. Your Prom project was impressive."
Layla returned the smile. "Thank you. I believe creativity and innovation are twins — one inspires the other."
Olivia's lips curved slightly. "Smart answer. Let's get to business."
They discussed app designs, launch strategies, marketing models. But underneath the corporate talk, Layla could sense something else — a subtle competition. Olivia's tone was polished, but her gaze occasionally flicked between them, measuring dynamics.
"Partnerships," Olivia said finally, "require alignment. I'm willing to back this, but only if the foundation is… steady."
Layla caught the implication. "Trust and transparency are our priorities."
Ethan nodded beside her, fingers brushing hers under the table. Olivia noticed — and smirked faintly.
After an hour, she stood, extending her hand. "I'll draft the partnership terms. In the meantime… keep an eye on the #RiversideUndercurrents mess. It's starting to affect reputations. Even investors notice those things."
Layla forced a polite nod, but unease coiled in her stomach.
As they walked out of the glass doors, her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
> "Don't trust Olivia fully. Watch Ethan's real moves."
She froze mid-step.
Ethan turned. "Everything okay?"
Layla pocketed her phone. "Yeah. Just spam. Let's go."
But it wasn't just spam.
---
That evening, the drive home was quiet, headlights slicing through the dim streets. The city looked softer at night — but nothing about her thoughts felt soft.
"You've been quiet," Ethan said gently.
"I'm thinking," Layla murmured. "About how fast everything's moving. Prom one day, business meetings the next. Rumours. Partnerships. It's… a lot."
Ethan glanced at her. "We'll handle it. Together."
She turned toward him, searching his face. "Promise me something, Ethan."
"Anything."
"No more half-truths. Not about Olivia, not about Tiffany, not about anyone. If I'm standing beside you, I need to know the whole picture."
He pulled into her driveway and parked. The silence between them stretched — heavy but not cold.
Then he nodded. "You will. I promise."
Their eyes met — quiet, magnetic, uncertain. The air felt charged, as if the world had paused around them.
Layla's hand lingered on the door handle before she finally stepped out. "Goodnight, Ethan."
"Night, Layla."
As she walked toward her house, he stayed in the car for a moment, watching her disappear behind the gate. His phone buzzed again — another message.
> Unknown: "You can't protect her from everything, Ethan. Some truths always surface."
He stared at the text, jaw tightening.
Inside, Layla hung her silver Prom dress back in her wardrobe. Its shimmer caught the lamplight, reminding her of how everything had started — innocent, bright, full of hope.
Now, shadows were converging.
And she couldn't tell who was pulling the strings.
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