"I can explain," I said, standing at the usual spot—the same wooden bench that had witnessed more confessions and fights than a damn therapist. If these walls could talk, they'd have enough blackmail material to take down half the city.

"Please do," Harry hissed, his glare cutting through me.

"Okay, calm down—"

"Don't you dare!" he snapped, jabbing a finger in my direction.

I swallowed hard. I had seen Harry irritated before, but this wasn't just irritation. This was betrayal, frustration, humiliation—all tangled up into something dangerous.

"I can't do this here," I tried. "How about tomorrow?" Buying myself time was useless, but I needed to tread carefully. Not because I felt guilty—I didn't. But because this wasn't just about me.

"Now!" he barked, making me flinch.

"Fine!" I shouted back, my own anger bubbling to the surface.

Harry had no right to be this pissed. He didn't tell me about Natalie, and yet he was mad I found out? I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm.

"Talk!" he demanded.

"Enough with the shouting, Harry! Who the hell do you think you are?" I shot back, done with his tantrum.

He turned, slamming his palm against the heavy metal door. The sound echoed in the alley. "I'm running out of patience, Ella."

I exhaled. This was getting us nowhere. So I sat down on the cold wooden bench and tucked my hands under my thighs—an old habit when I was nervous.

"What do you want to know?" I asked, my voice finally steady.

"Everything," he snapped. "And don't leave anything out."

"Fine. First? It was Jimmy."

His brows furrowed. "Jimmy?"

"Yeah. He assumed you told me because, you know... we were friends. But I guess he was wrong," I added, making sure he knew exactly how much that stung.

Harry hesitated, his anger flickering into something else. "I knew you for five minutes, Ella. I wasn't going to dump my whole damn life on you."

"Whatever. Jimmy assumed I knew, so he told me," I continued, ignoring the pang in my chest.

"And?"

"And I told Chrys," I admitted, looking away.

He scoffed. "I could've handled it."

"By selling yourself to some rich bimbo who flaunts the fact that she's cheating on her husband?" I snapped, my own anger getting the best of me.

Harry tensed, his jaw tightening.

"Oh wait," I added bitterly. "I forgot you do that for pleasure."

His entire body stiffened. The moment the words left my lips, I regretted them.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to lower my voice. "Chrys's parents are wealthy and always help in situations like this. They have connections. They were happy to contribute. It was not a big deal."

Harry was still tense, but his expression cracked just a little.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter this time.

"I knew you'd react like this."

His eyes flashed. "And?"

I exhaled slowly. "And... I didn't want you to think I was trying to get closer to you."

His expression twisted, like my words had physically hit him. Like he hadn't realized that was even a possibility.

"You already accused me of that, remember?" I reminded him. The memory of that accusation still burned.

Harry let out a breath, shaking his head like he was trying to piece things together.

"Does Gemma know?" he asked, his voice raw.

"She does. But not at first. She figured it out at the club when she saw me there."

"So let me get this straight." He let out a humourless laugh. "Everyone knew except me?"

I hesitated. "...Yes."

"Anything else I should know?"

I swallowed. Time to rip the Band-Aid off.

"Promise you won't get mad?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Jesus, Ella. Just tell me."

I sighed. "Chrys got a job at the club... and she's been giving her salary to Gemma. And the rest of us have been pooling in our tips to help. But Gemma doesn't know. She thinks it's from Chrys's dad."

His entire body went rigid. "You did what?"

Then after a few seconds.

"Jimmy's in on it too?" I nodded.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He took a step back, like he needed actual distance from me.

"So let me get this straight," he said, voice cold. "Every single person at that club pities me?"

"No!" I stepped forward, but he stepped back. That hurt more than his words.

"You are one of us, Harry." My voice broke just a little. "And I'm sorry if we crossed a line, but there was no time for egos. We had to do something. And these people? They could help. You were breaking yourself trying to do it alone, but it was never about you not being able to take care of them. We just wanted to help."

Harry clenched his jaw, eyes stormy with too many emotions to name.

"Do you have any idea," he whispered, "how I felt walking into that office to personally thank some anonymous businessman—only to find a photo of you on his desk?"

Guilt crawled up my spine.

"Do you have any idea," he continued, voice quieter, "how stupid I felt standing there while he told me your names? Like I was some charity case that everyone tiptoed around?"

"Harry..." I whispered, hating the way he said it.

"I can't believe this," he muttered. "I can't fucking believe this."

His voice cracked just a little at the end.

I opened my mouth, but he shook his head.

"I can't do this," he said suddenly. "I can't be here."

Then he turned on his heel, disappearing inside the club without another word.

And I stood there, blinking against the sting in my eyes, hoping to God that he wouldn't take it out on Gemma. Or Jimmy. Or worse—on himself.

When I returned inside, Harry was nowhere to be found. No surprise there. But Chase was waiting in front of my station, looking curious about where I'd been.

"Had to step out for a bit," I told him casually. He didn't need to know my mess.

He seemed satisfied with that answer and we chatted between drink orders, but my energy wasn't in it. I could tell he noticed—his usual flirtatious charm was still there, but he was also considerate enough not to push. Eventually, he checked his watch and sighed.

"I should get some rest," he admitted. "Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I bet. You excited?" I asked, trying to be engaged, but my mind was elsewhere.

"More like trying not to trip on stage," he joked, grinning. "Listen, if I don't get a chance to talk to you tomorrow, I just wanted to say... I hope I see you after."

I nodded, forcing a small smile. "Good luck, Chase."

He took my hand and kissed the back of it in a playful gesture. "Hoping I won't need it."

Then he was gone. And I was left with a sinking feeling in my chest.

Because the truth was, I didn't want him to win.

I wanted Harry to win.

Even after everything, after how he had just looked at me like I was nothing, I wanted this for him. He had pushed himself for this competition, worked his ass off at the gym, booked every possible gig for exposure, and, most of all, sacrificed himself to fucking Cruella de Bitch. Even though Natalie was recovering, he still wanted this. I didn't understand why, but I knew it mattered to him—and I wanted him to have it.

And I hated myself for that.

I should have been rooting for Chase, for someone who actually wanted to be around me. But I wasn't.

God, I was a mess. And tomorrow would be even worse.

***

Thank God it was Saturday and I didn't have school. I needed the morning to burn off the chaos in my head, so I headed to the gym. Maybe running until my legs gave out would make me stop thinking about Harry, about Charlie's hands on him, about his lips on mine, about how I was letting someone who didn't care about me consume my every thought.

When I got there, I spotted Jimmy lifting weights, two female trainers openly ogling him.

"Hey, sis," he said, loud enough to ensure the girls heard, securing his 'available but definitely not to her' status. Predictable as ever.

I rolled my eyes but played along. "Still pouting over Harry finding out?" he teased, watching his reflection in the mirror as he flexed.

"I'm fine, bro," I said, emphasizing the last word to feed his act.

Jimmy smirked, unconvinced. "Has he called you?"

"No. And you?"

"Tried a few times, but no answer."

Of course. That was just perfect.

Jimmy put down his weights and sighed. "Hey, he'll get over it. We didn't do anything wrong. If he pisses me off, I'll just—" he threw a mock punch in the air.

I snorted. "Because punching him is going to fix everything."

"Hey, it's fixed worse," he grinned.

I wiped my face with my towel, suddenly feeling exhausted before even starting my workout. "I'm just gonna run for a while, clear my head."

"No need to update me on tonight's results," he said.

I gave him a questioning look.

He shrugged. "He might be a prick, but he's still my brother. I'll be there."

A genuine smile formed on my lips. "Glad to hear it."

The blonde trainer took that as her cue to interject. "Wow, Jimmy, you have such a big family," she giggled, flipping her hair.

Jimmy smirked. "Very big, love. You have no idea."

I groaned. "Catch you later, big brother."

I jogged to the treadmill, shaking my head as I laughed.

After my workout, I showered and got dressed, but Harry was still stuck in my head like someone had glued him there. Right now, he'd already be at the venue, getting ready.

I just hoped he wasn't too pissed off to focus.

Or maybe he was too busy relieving stress with Charlie.

Ugh. My brain really had to go there.

I sighed, shaking off the thought, and grabbed my phone. There was a text from Gemma saying Jimmy was picking her up later. That meant I was taking Brenda to the venue.

We were covering the event, which meant sitting in the press section, taking notes on the contestants' performances, outfits, and crowd reactions.

Brenda, of course, was ecstatic. She was dressed to the nines and wouldn't shut up about the event the entire ride there. Normally, I'd have found it annoying, but tonight I welcomed the distraction.

That was until we stepped into the venue.

The place was glamorous. Red velvet seating, spotlights bouncing off polished floors, giant banners, and a massive runway extending from the stage. The press section was already filled with reporters setting up cameras and adjusting mics.

Loud, pumping music filled the space, adding to the electric atmosphere. This was a full-scale production, and the energy in the air was undeniable.

I should have been excited, but instead, a familiar bitterness settled in my stomach.

Beauty pageants, male or female, had never sat well with me. The whole idea of parading nearly-naked people in front of an audience just to be judged? To be reduced to numbers, to perfect waistlines and rehearsed answers about world peace?

It was bullshit.

And yet, here I was, hoping that Harry—the guy who had shut me out completely—would win the whole damn thing.

I needed to get a grip.

Brenda insisted we go backstage before taking our seats, and honestly, I was glad. It gave me the excuse I needed to find Harry.

Backstage was a war zone. Assistants ran around adjusting outfits, models checked themselves in full-length mirrors, and stylists frantically tried to perfect every last detail. The controlled chaos was oddly familiar—like a high-end version of a Friday night at the club.

I let my eyes wander the room until they landed on Chase. He had just finished with a stylist and was rubbing his hands on his jeans nervously as he made his way toward me.

"Hey," he greeted with a soft smile.

"Hey, Chase. Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," he chuckled, shifting on his feet.

"Good luck," I told him.

He smirked. "I won't need it."

"Oh?" I raised a brow.

"I'm not winning this," he admitted, surprisingly nonchalant about it.

I tilted my head. "Why do you say that?"

"This isn't about who's best, Ella. It's about exposure. These contests help you book jobs, and that's why I'm here." He shrugged, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "But this one? It's already decided."

He subtly gestured behind me.

I turned and froze.

Harry was seated in an oversized chair, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor. Behind him, Charlie's hands were massaging his shoulders.

The way his posture stiffened when he saw me told me everything.

"I gotta go," Chase said, forcing me to look back at him.

"Yeah, sure," I muttered.

"See you later, yeah?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yeah," I replied, though my mind was already elsewhere.

I turned back to Harry.

He had spotted me. His jaw tightened. His shoulders squared. He leaned back in his chair, and Charlie's hands slid off him.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to move forward.

Charlie saw me first. Her lips curled in distaste. "What do you want?"

I ignored her completely. "Harry," I said softly.

He looked up at me, but his expression was unreadable.

"I just wanted to say... good luck."

Charlie scoffed. "He doesn't need your luck."

I didn't even look at her. My eyes stayed locked on his.

"I hope you get what you want," I said quietly.

And then I walked away.

Because if this is what he wanted, if this was who he wanted, then I guess it was his.

And apparently, everyone here already knew how he got it.

I walked back to my seat next to Brenda, who was practically vibrating with excitement. The energy in the venue was electric, but my own mood was much less enthusiastic. I spotted Jimmy and Gemma in the audience and waved. Gemma's smile was wide and genuine—seeing her this happy after everything she'd been through made my heart swell.

Everything was set. The presenter took the stage, announcing the line-up of events. The night kicked off with performances, an introduction of the committee, and a breakdown of how the judging would work. And then, finally, the contestants began their walk in formal wear.

One by one, they strode down the narrow catwalk, dressed in sleek designer suits, exuding confidence. It was like watching a parade of Greek gods.

First, I saw Chase. Full-on model mode. His stride was precise, his pose at the end of the stage deliberate. He was playing the game flawlessly.

And then, I saw him.

Harry.

Dressed in a black suit with a yellow flower pinned near the collar. On anyone else, it might have looked ridiculous. On him? He made it work effortlessly.

But something was off.

He didn't smile, didn't acknowledge the audience, didn't seem like he was even present. His expression was empty, like he was walking in a dream, or a nightmare. He reached the end of the runway, pausing in front of the committee.

A loud, singular applause broke through the crowd—Charlie. Her clapping was sharper, more purposeful than the rest. A clear declaration of possession. Harry barely glanced at her before turning to walk back, but then—

A sudden burst of whistling and cheers erupted from the audience.

I turned to see the source and felt my heart lift.

Jimmy. Gemma. And now Chrys, Ed, and Sylvia had joined them, yelling Harry's name like they were at a football match. The crazy bunch. I couldn't help but chuckle at their enthusiasm. They hadn't even told me they were coming—sneaky little rascals.

Harry, however, noticed.

For the first time all night, his lips curled into a faint, genuine smile. A flicker of warmth crossed his face before he disappeared behind the heavy curtains.

More performances followed. The judges filled out their score sheets. And then—the dreaded swimwear round.

Honestly? The competition should have been renamed Fever, because the temperature in the room skyrocketed the moment those contestants stepped out.

Oiled, statuesque bodies. Ripped abs. Chiselled figures walking with easy confidence.

Harry walked out again, this time shirtless, his body lean and strong, muscles flexing with each movement. As he reached the front, he ran a hand through his hair before flashing his signature dimpled grin.

And that was all it took.

His friends went wild.

I half-expected him to wave at them. Hell, he almost did.

Brenda, beside me, was scribbling furiously in her notes. Meanwhile, I hadn't written a single damn thing. I didn't need to.

I wasn't about to forget any of this. Not a chonce. (sorry, I had to)

After a short break, the five finalists were announced.

Chase didn't make the cut.

Harry did.

No surprise there.

The final round was the interview portion. Each contestant picked a random question from a glass bowl and had to answer on the spot.

Alejandro went first—his question was about the most influential person in his life. He gave a heartfelt answer about his grandfather, which earned him a solid round of applause.

The next two contestants tackled environmental issues and TV violence. They handled themselves well.

And then, only two were left.

Harry. And Liam.

Liam was up first. The presenter smiled at him, adjusting his cue cards. "Liam Payne, if you could be in charge of a ministry, which would it be and why?"

Liam didn't even hesitate. "That's easy. I'd choose the Ministry of Education. I believe education is the foundation of a strong nation. I'd work to provide better resources and ensure equal access for all students."

His answer was polished. Passionate. The audience responded with loud applause.

Then came him.

"Harry Styles," the presenter announced. "Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, taking the mic from Liam. He looked calm, but I could see the tension in his posture.

The presenter cleared his throat and read the final question.

"The winner of this competition will take home a considerable amount of money and will sign a contract with Gucci."

Harry's grip on the mic tightened.

"What would that mean for a young model such as yourself? What doors would a potential win open for you?"

The shift in his expression was immediate.

He froze.

The audience held their breath. The silence stretched, awkward and suffocating.

Harry's eyes scanned the crowd.

First, he found his sister.

Then, his friends.

Then—Charlie.

And finally... me.

I stopped breathing.

"Is he looking at you?" Brenda whispered, nudging me.

"I—" My throat felt dry. "I don't know."

He was looking at all of us. But what did that mean?

"Mr. Styles?" The presenter sounded uneasy now.

Still, Harry said nothing.

He looked back at Charlie. Her expression was unreadable.

And then—

"Could you repeat the question?" Harry finally spoke.

The tension in the room cracked.

The presenter cleared his throat again, shuffling his cue cards. "Certainly. The winner of this competition will take home a considerable amount of money and will sign a contract with Gucci. What would that mean for a young model such as yourself? What doors would a potential win open for you?"

Harry's lips parted slightly.

For a moment, I thought he was about to answer seriously.

Then—

He smiled.

A real, genuine smile. One that reached his eyes.

And he simply said—

"I guess we'll never know."

The crowd gasped.

Before anyone could react, Harry handed the mic back to Liam and walked off stage.

I sat there, stunned.

And then, just like that—

He was gone.