~{chapter 9} Revelation~
The morning after the video went viral, I woke up to find Liya still on my couch.
She'd stayed the night, refusing to leave me alone. Now she was curled up under a throw blanket, scrolling through her phone, her face illuminated by the screen's glow.
She looked exhausted.
"Have you slept at all?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
She looked up, startled, then gave me a tired smile.
"A little. I've been monitoring the situation."
"Liya—"
"It's fine," she said quickly, sitting up and setting her phone aside. "How are you feeling?"
I sat down beside her.
"Like I'm living in a nightmare."
She reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers.
"I know. But we're going to get through this."
"How can you be so calm?"
"Because one of us has to be," she said softly. "
And I'm not going to let you fall apart. Not when this is my fault."
"It's not—"
"Maya." Her voice was firm. "Let me take responsibility for this. Please."
Before I could respond, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and her expression hardened. "It's my father."
I watched as she answered, her jaw setting with determination.
"Paw..." she said quietly.
I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I saw her face change—from determined to resigned.
"Yes, I understand," she said finally. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
She ended the call and looked at me.
"I have to go," she said. "My parents want to talk."
My stomach dropped.
"Liya—"
"It's going to be okay." She cupped my face with both hands. "I'm going to make them understand. I'm going to fix this."
She kissed me softly on the forehead.
"Stay here," she said. "Lock the door. Don't answer it for anyone. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Promise?"
"I promise." She kissed me again.
"I love you."
And then she was gone.
I waited.
An hour passed. Then two.
I tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail.
I paced my apartment, anxiety building in my chest like a storm.
Then, at around noon, there was a loud knock at my door.
"Miss Maya!" a voice called. "Open up."
I recognized the voice—it was one of my father's guards.
My blood ran cold.
"Miss Kamaya," he called again, more insistent. "Your father has sent us to bring you home."
I stared at the door, my hands going numb.
Of course he did.
"Miss, please don't make this difficult. Your father insists."
I looked around my apartment—the first place that had ever truly felt like mine, and took in a deep sigh.
I unlocked the door.
Three guards stood there, their expressions apologetic but firm.
"This way, Miss Kamaya," the lead guard said.
I nodded. And followed them.
The drive to my parents' house was silent.
I sat in the back seat, my phone clutched in my hand, watching the city pass by through the window.
When we arrived, I was escorted directly to my father's study.
He was standing by the window, his back to me.
I stood there, waiting.
He turned around.
Slowly walked towards me.
Before I could say anything,
And slapped me.
I didn't flinch. Didn't cry out. Just stood there, my cheek burning.
I'd expect nothing less.
"I warned you,"
he said, his voice cold and controlled.
"I told you not to bring shame to this family."
I was quiet. Face down. Couldn't even find my voice to say anything.
"Do you have any idea what you've done? The damage you've caused. Our investors are pulling out. Our stock has plummeted. The media is destroying us."
"I'm sorry sir."
My eyes were still on the floor.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.
"You're going to stay in your room. You're not leaving this house until this situation is resolved. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
He held out his hand. "Your phone."
I handed it over without protest.
He took it and gestured to the guards.
"Take her to her room. Make sure she doesn't leave."
"Yes sir," they answered and took me away.
My bedroom felt like a prison.
I sat on my bed, my cheek still throbbing, staring at the wall.
I'd lost everything. My phone. My freedom. Liya.
Liya.
God, where was she? Was she okay? Had her parents reacted the same way?
I needed to talk to her. To know she was safe.
But I had no way to reach her.
The next morning, I woke to voices from downstairs.
I pressed my ear against the door, trying to make out what was being said.
"—I'm sorry, Miss Naliya, but Miss Kamaya cannot have visitors at this time."
My heart leaped.
Liya was here.
"Please," Liya's voice was pleading. "I just need to see her. Just for a few minutes."
"I'm afraid that's not possible. Mr. Chantasiri's orders."
"Then let me speak to Mr. Chantasiri—"
"Miss Naliya, I must ask you to leave."
"No, please, you don't understand—"
"Miss, if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll have to call security."
There was a long pause.
Then I heard footsteps. Walking away.
I pressed my forehead against the door, my throat tight.
"Liya," I whispered. "I'm here. I'm right here."
She came back the next day.
And the day after that.
Each time, she was turned away.
Each time, I heard her voice—desperate, pleading, breaking.
Each time, I stood at my door, helpless.
On the night of the third day, I heard a soft knock at my bedroom door.
"Miss Maya?" Mrs. Nam's voice was
gentle.
I stood up from my bed and walked toward the door as I heard the lock click open from the outside. The door opened just enough for Mrs. Nam to slip inside, holding a folded piece of paper.
"This is for you," she said quietly, glancing back at the hallway. "From Miss Naliya."
My hands shook slightly as I took it. "When did she—"
"She gave it to me at the gate this morning," Mrs. Nam said. "She asked me to make sure you got it."
She squeezed my hand briefly.
"I'm sorry, dear."
Then she slipped back out, and I heard the lock click shut again.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, before walking back to my bed and unfolding the letter with trembling hands.
Maya,
I'm leaving. My parents are sending me back to the United States tomorrow morning—early, before sunrise.
I wanted to see you. To tell you in person. But they won't let me near you.
I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know what happens next.
I just needed you to know.
I'm sorry.
Liya
The letter slipped from my hands.
Tomorrow morning.
She was leaving tomorrow morning.
I looked at the clock. 11:47 PM.
I had hours. Maybe less.
I ran to my window and looked down. The drop was significant—maybe fifteen feet to the garden below.
But I didn't care.
I had to see her.
I grabbed my jacket and opened the window as quietly as I could.
The night air was cold against my face.
I climbed onto the windowsill, my heart pounding.
Don't look down. Just go.
I shut my eyes, took and deep breath, then jumped.
For a moment, I was flying.
Then I hit the ground.
Pain exploded through my ankle, shooting up my leg. I gasped, biting back a scream.
I tried to stand, but my vision swam.
The world tilted.
And everything went black.
When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through my bedroom window.
I was back in my bed.
My ankle was wrapped. My head was pounding.
And Mrs. Nam was sitting beside me, her expression sad.
"You're awake," she said softly.
"What—" My voice was hoarse. "What happened?"
"You fell," she said. "One of the security guards found you in the garden around midnight. You'd passed out."
My heart dropped.
"What time is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She hesitated. "It's past noon, dear."
No.
"Liya," I said quietly. "I need to go see Liya—"
"Miss Naliya left this morning," Mrs. Nam said gently. "Her flight departed at 6 AM."
The world stopped.
I stared at her, my chest constricting, unable to breathe.
She was gone.
Liya was gone.
And I hadn't gotten to say goodbye.
_____
I spent the next three days in bed, barely moving, barely eating.
My ankle healed slowly. My heart didn't heal at all.
My phone remained confiscated. I had no way to contact her. No way to know if she was okay, if she was thinking of me, if she still loved me.
All I had was her letter.
I read it so many times the paper began to wear at the creases.
I'm leaving.
I'm sorry.
So I waited.
Because what else could I do?
Three weeks later.
The door to my room finally unlocked.
Not because my father had forgiven me. Not because the scandal had died down.
But because keeping me locked up was starting to look worse than letting me out.
"You may return to your classes,"
My father said when I was summoned to his study.
"But you will go straight to your condo afterward. No detours. No socializing. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
He reached into his desk drawer and slid a phone across the table.
It wasn't mine.
"Your mother and I will be monitoring your activities," he said calmly. "One more mistake, Kamaya, and there won't be a third chance."
I picked it up.
It was new. Too new. No scratches on the screen. No familiar weight in my hand.
My old phone—every message, every photo, every trace of Liya—was gone.
I didn't ask where it was.
I didn't ask what they'd done with it.
I already knew the answers wouldn't matter. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, already turning back to his papers. I turned and left.
Going back to campus felt surreal.
I walked through the gates expecting whispers, stares, ridicule.
And there were whispers. There were stares.
But they were different than I'd expected.
Some people looked at me with pity. Others with curiosity. A few with something that almost looked like... respect?
The GossipGirls Gang had posted several follow-up videos during my absence, apparently. Speculating about where I'd gone. Whether my family had sent me away. Whether Liya and I had broken up.
The narrative had shifted from scandal to sympathy.
Poor Maya Chantasiri, probably locked away by her controlling parents.
Star-crossed lovers separated by family.
It was exhausting.
I kept my head down and went to class.
At lunch, I sat alone at a corner table in the canteen, picking at my food. Someone hovered nearby.
"Hey... Maya, right?"
I looked up.
Aerin. A girl from my economics lecture. We'd spoken maybe—twice before.
"Yeah," I said cautiously.
She gestured to the chair. "Mind if I sit?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure."
She sat, lowering her voice. "People are talking again."
Of course they were.
"About what?" I asked as if I didn't know.
"About you. About Liya. About how messed up everything is." She paused. "Some people say you're... kind of brave though."
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "That's one word for it."
She shifted uncomfortably.
"For what it's worth, not everyone believes the GG Gang. Some of us think you guys were set up, by someone who actually know you."
My fingers tightened around my fork.
"Someone close," she added.
I didn't respond.
After a moment, she stood up. "Anyway. Just... welcome back."
When she left, I stared at my food, my appetite had disappeared completely.
I stepped out of class and saw Santa waiting by the campus gates. He waved immediately he saw me. I walked toward him.
"Hey," he said quietly, walking beside me.
"Hey."
"How are you holding up?"
I gave him a look. "How do you think?"
He nodded. "Fair question."
We walked in silence for a moment. Leaves crunched under our feet. The air was cold.
"I need to tell you something," he said finally. "Liya... she's gone."
I didn't look at him. I couldn't.
"I know."
He glanced at me. "Did you... did you know they were sending her away?"
"No," I said quietly. "She sent me a letter the night before."
"Me neither," he admitted. "Not until after. They didn't tell anyone."
I believed him.
"Have you heard from her?" I asked.
"No," he said. "She's not responding to my messages."
We reached his car. He opened the passenger door for me. I stepped inside.
"She'll come back," he said, standing by the door. "She's stubborn. She won't stay away forever."
I smiled sadly.
Over the next few weeks, Santa and I fell into a routine.
He'd meet me after class. We'd grab food. Sometimes we'd study together. Sometimes we'd just sit in silence.
He never asked intrusive questions. Never pushed me to talk about Liya.
He was just... there.
And I was grateful for it.
One afternoon, we were at my condo.
Santa was sprawled on my couch, flipping through Netflix options, while I made tea in the kitchen.
"Maya," he called.
"Yeah?" I carried two mugs back to the couch.
"Have you thought about... I don't know, finding out who made that video?"
I set the mugs down beside us. "It was the GossipGirls Gang. Obviously."
"Yeah, but..." He sat up, looking at me seriously. "Who gave them the footage?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Someone filmed you. Someone had access. Specifically."
My stomach turned.
"I just thought... it doesn't matter. The damage is done."
"It matters," he said firmly. "Whoever did this... they violated your privacy. They hurt you deliberately."
I sank back into the couch.
"Even if I knew who it was, what could I do? My father would never let me pursue it."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "What if you already knew who it was?"
I looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I need you to brace yourself," he said.
My heart started pounding. "For what?"
He pulled out his phone. "Just... let me show you something first."
The screen showed security footage. From my building.
The timestamp was the night of the video.
The camera zoomed to the top floor. Someone stepped into my hallway. Someone I recognized.
Ploy.
"She was in your building that night," Santa said gently.
She typed in some numbers and my door opened. She walked in.
Another clip showed her standing outside my door, staring at something on her phone. Then she left.
Santa swiped to the next video.
The screen showed a woman leaving a cyber cafe. She carried herself the same way, her gait, the tilt of her head.
He didn't say a word. He just let the footage play.
I watched, my stomach sinking.
The date stamp didn't match the night she entered my building. It was later.
He pulled up another screen. An IP address. Traced. Connected.
I couldn't breathe.
"I'm so sorry, Maya," Santa said softly. "It was her. Ploy filmed you and Liya."
The world tilted.
I stood, stumbling back. "No... she wouldn't..."
Pieces started clicking together. Her sudden distance after the video. Her texts: I hope you're okay. Not: I'm sorry. Not: I can't believe this happened. Just... I hope you're okay.
"Maya—" Santa reached for me.
"She was my friend," I whispered. "She was there for me when Liya wasn't. She..."
My voice broke.
"She had feelings for you," Santa said gently. "And you chose Liya. I'm not saying it was right. But that's probably why."
I sank back onto the couch, head in my hands.
All this time, I'd been blaming the GG Gang.
All this time, I'd felt guilty for hurting Ploy.
And she'd been the one who destroyed everything.
"What are you going to do?" Santa asked quietly.
"I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know."
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.
Everything was shaking.
Santa moved closer, not touching me, just sitting there in the silence I couldn't fill.
Outside, the city continued on. People living their lives. Unaware that mine had just shattered, again.