đź’ź
The first screenshot appeared before dawn.
Kiara saw it while standing behind the counter, half-asleep, coffee dripping into a chipped mug she'd owned since high school.
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then it wouldn't stop.
She wiped her hands on her apron and looked down.
A repost.
Her K-RAP submission—highlighted, annotated, pulled apart.
But it wasn't praise this time.
THREAD TITLE:Is Torres Brew a Charity Case or a Scam?
Her breath caught.
The comments were sharp.
Cruel.
Speculative.
Who funded this?
Looks staged.
Funny how struggle becomes marketable.
Someone's being backed.
Kiara's stomach twisted.
Then she saw it.
A pinned comment from an unverified account.
@TrueLedger:
You don't get to profit from a story you can't survive.
Her hands went cold.
The café door opened.
Shane.
He took one look at her face and crossed the room instantly.
"What happened?"
She handed him the phone.
He read silently, jaw tightening with every line.
"This isn't random," he said finally.
"I know."
"They're implying sponsorship."
"I know."
"And they're escalating," he added. "Publicly."
She exhaled shakily. "I wanted visibility."
"This is exposure," he said. "There's a difference."
Another notification popped up.
A private message—sent to the K-RAP account, but visible to all contributors.
@TrueLedger:
Pull the submission. Or we pull the truth.
The café felt suddenly too small.
Too quiet.
Shane stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
"You don't have to do it alone."
She looked up at him.
Really looked.
His concern wasn't controlling.
It was protective.
And terrified.
"I didn't plan for this," she admitted. "I didn't plan for someone to… come after me."
He reached out, hesitated—then rested his hand gently on the counter between them.
"They're trying to scare you into silence," he said. "That means it's working."
Her chest tightened.
"Your mother warned me," Kiara said quietly. "She said the world would choose for me."
Shane shook his head. "No. It's testing you."
The café lights flickered softly.
Outside, the city moved on, unaware.
Inside, something fragile hovered between them.
"I'm scared," Kiara whispered.
"I know," he said.
"And if they're right?" she continued. "If people think everything I've built only exists because of you?"
He inhaled slowly.
"Then we correct the narrative," he said. "Together."
Her heart skipped.
"You'd do that?" she asked.
"Yes."
"No matter what it costs you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer—so close she could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness.
"I already crossed that line," he said softly. "I just haven't admitted it out loud."
The tension snapped—not violently, but inevitably.
Kiara's breath trembled.
"So did I," she whispered.
His hand lifted—this time not stopping.
His fingers brushed her cheek, light as a question.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She didn't.
The kiss happened quietly.
No rush.
No urgency.
Just a meeting—slow, careful, devastatingly sincere.
Her hand curled into his jacket.
His thumb traced her jaw.
The world outside disappeared.
When they pulled apart, foreheads touching, the silence felt sacred.
Then Kiara's phone buzzed again.
Reality rushed back in.
She checked the screen.
Another public post.
This time with an image attached.
A blurred photo of Shane entering the café late at night.
@TrueLedger:
Careful who you let fund your dreams.
Shane swore under his breath.
"They're watching," Kiara said.
"Yes," he agreed. "And now they've crossed a line."
Her pulse raced—but beneath the fear was something new.
Resolve.
"We don't pull the submission," she said firmly.
"No."
"We respond."
"Yes."
"Publicly."
He studied her, then nodded. "Then we do it right."
She squared her shoulders.
"They wanted truth," she said. "Let's give it to them."
Outside, the café sign glowed steadily.
Inside, two people stood closer than ever—connected not just by almosts anymore, but by choice.
The kiss lingered.
The danger sharpened.
And somewhere online, someone realized they had underestimated the girl behind the counter...
đź’–