Page 32 of Guarding the Star

“Iris, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. Find out which son of a bitch sold me to a sports website for a handful of dollars or just to screw me over,” she growls, and disappears toward the bathroom.

***

The tension in the club's conference room could be cut with a butter knife.

Alexandra Drummond sits at the head. Gray suit. Her usual poker face has turned to pure fury. I'm certain it wasn't her. Hades sits to her left, arms crossed, jaw locked. It wasn't her either.

“How the hell did this get out?” the coach asks. The vein in her neck visible. “How many people knew the details of the contract?”

“Inside the club, you two, the head of security, and Iris. At my firm, my boss and me.”

“Someone talked,” Hades insists.

“I think it's more likely someone hacked a club computer or a phone to access the files. There are too few of us for someone on the inside to have leaked it.”

Alexandra Drummond takes notes while Hades clenches her teeth and slams a hand on the table.

“Is anyone going to ask me what I want?” Iris says.

We all turn to look at her.

“Because I've spent weeks living with a cover story you built without even asking me. You assigned me a bodyguard I didn't ask for. You told me to fake a relationship without giving me another option. And now that the cover's blown, here we are, the four of us deciding what to do, and you're still not including me in any of it. Just a reminder: this is my life. My safety. My so-called girlfriend. Does anyone want to know what I think? Or are you going to keep pretending I don't exist?”

She says it calm. Zero jokes. Alexandra and Hades glance at each other.

“What do you want to do?” the club director asks at last.

“I want to talk.”

“To who?”

“To everyone. On Instagram. A live video. No script. No filter. Nobody telling me what I can or can't say.”

“Iris, I don't think that's wise—” Hades starts.

“I'm not asking permission. I'm informing you. Because it's my life, not yours, or Alex's.”

“A video could make things worse,” the coach insists. “If you confirm the bodyguard, the stalker knows you felt threatened, and that emboldens him. If you deny it, they'll catch you lying in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I'm not going to confirm or deny. I'm going to say exactly what I want to say and nothing more. That usually works for me, right? Remember preseason last year when they attacked Zoe, calling her a bad mother?”

“That worked because it was spontaneous and because you had a ton of photos and videos showing the truth,” Alexandra Drummond cuts in. “This is a response to a crisis. It's different.”

“It's not different. Last time I was pissed too. The only thing that's changed is now I'm even more pissed,” Iris says.

I look at her. She's furious. But underneath that fury, there's control. Iris Vance, who does everything on impulse, is choosing her words with a precision I haven't seen before.

“Do it,” I say. “Go ahead.”

All three of them stare at me.

“It's her image. Her life. Her call. And it worked last time. Not because it was spontaneous, but because it was true. Iris telling the truth is more powerful than any official club statement,” I explain.

Iris holds my gaze, and I can see gratitude in her eyes. Not just because I'm backing her decision. Because I'm seeing the real Iris.

“I want to see it before you post. Don't do anything without approval,” the club director demands.