Chapter 9: Broken Trust
It started as a quiet morning.
No alarms, no rush. Just sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains and the low hum of the espresso machine downstairs. For a moment, I let myself stretch into the warmth of the sheets and breathe.
This house—Jace's house—had started to feel like something close to home. Familiar. Safe.
I didn't know everything was already unraveling.
I noticed it around third period.
Students were whispering more than usual. Phones were open under desks. A few people were snickering. I caught someone pointing at me as I passed in the hallway.
My stomach tightened.
At first, I thought it was just more of the usual Crestnet gossip. But then Nina caught up to me, her face pale, brows drawn.
"Elena," she said, holding her phone out. "Did you post this?"
It took me a second to process what I was looking at.
A photo.
Of Jace.
Asleep. His hair rumpled. A sliver of his hospital underwear visible under the sheet. His chest bare, his arm thrown lazily over his face.
My heart stopped.
It was the picture I had taken. Playfully. Quietly. Days ago. A dumb joke I'd never meant to show anyone.
But it had been posted.
From my account.
With a caption I didn't write.
"Crestmore's MVP caught in bed. Artist's masterpiece, I guess. #sleepingbeauty"
I stared at the screen.
"I—I didn't post this."
Nina's voice was gentle, but firm. "Someone did. From your profile."
My fingers scrambled to unlock my phone. The app was open. The post live. Comments were already piling up.
Some laughing.
Some shocked.
Some… angry.
By lunch, the entire school had seen it.
I walked into the courtyard and felt it immediately—like being shoved underwater. Conversations stalled when I passed. People glanced up, then quickly looked away. Phones buzzed. Camera clicks. Low murmurs.
I spotted Jace sitting at our usual bench, a bottle of water in his hand. I moved toward him cautiously, my heart in my throat.
"Jace—"
He stood. His face was unreadable, but his voice was cold.
"You took that picture."
"Yes, but—"
"You posted it."
"No! I swear to you—I didn't. I don't know how—"
He stepped closer. Not aggressively. But the sharpness in his eyes made me shrink.
"Don't lie to me, Elena."
"I'm not. I wouldn't do that. Someone took my phone—"
"Oh, come on." His voice rose. Students turned. "How convenient. Someone just happened to steal your phone, post that picture, and then give it back?"
He was loud now. People were watching. Phones were filming. I saw the little red dots—recording lights—staring at me from every angle.
"I trusted you," he said. "You knew what that photo meant. And you posted it anyway—for likes? For laughs?"
My vision blurred. "Jace, please—"
"I defended you," he snapped. "Against everyone. And this is what I get?"
The courtyard had gone silent.
I couldn't feel my legs.
"I didn't mean—"
He cut me off with a sharp shake of his head. "Don't talk to me again."
He turned and walked away.
And just like that, everything shattered.
The principal called me in an hour later.
The evidence was "clear," he said. The post came from my account. It disrupted the school environment. It violated student privacy. It "threatened the dignity of Crestmore's reputation."
I tried to speak, but my throat was tight.
"I didn't—" I managed. "I never meant for it to be public—"
"But you took the photo, didn't you?"
"Yes. But I didn't post—"
"Miss Velazquez," the principal interrupted, "you are hereby expelled, effective immediately. You'll be escorted to gather your belongings."
My ears rang.
"Expelled?"
The word felt foreign. Like something happening to someone else.
"I'm not a danger," I said softly. "I didn't mean—"
"This isn't about intention. It's about perception."
I left his office with numb feet and blurry eyes.
By the time I got back to Jace's house, he was gone.
Good.
Because if I had to see his face again—if I had to watch him look away from me again—I would have broken all over again.
I packed slowly. Everything suddenly felt foreign. My toothbrush on the counter. My slippers by the bed. The drawing I'd made of his piano keys tucked in my sketchpad.
I saw the moon necklace resting on the dresser. I stared at it for a long time. Then left it there.
It didn't belong to me anymore.
I took the bus home.
It felt surreal, stepping off at my old stop again. The streets were the same, but I wasn't. I felt hollow. Lighter. Like someone had scooped something out of me.
My mother opened the door in her usual robe, hair tied up with a pencil.
"Elena?" she asked, surprised. "What are you—"
She saw my face.
And that was all it took.
She pulled me into her arms, no questions asked. Held me until the shaking stopped.
"Do you want to talk?" she asked gently.
I shook my head.
She didn't push.
I didn't tell her what happened. I didn't tell her what Jace said. I didn't say a word about the photo, or the school, or the thousands of eyes that saw me fall apart.
I just crawled into bed and let the silence wrap around me like a cold blanket.
That night, I lay staring at the ceiling, the ache in my chest pulsing like a second heartbeat.
My phone vibrated beside me.
A new message.
Jace:
"I can't trust you anymore."
I stared at it.
Typed a reply.
Deleted it.
Then I put the phone facedown and let the tears come. Soft. Quiet. Endless.
I didn't know what hurt more.
That he didn't believe me…
Or that I still wanted him to.