Page 94 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

Did I do something wrong?

Please talk to me

I promise I won’t eat your cereal again

She didn’t reply for hours until finally, at midnight, I got her reply.

Deepika: I’m fine. Talk later.

And that was it.

I should have driven to San Diego and demanded answers. But then my phone exploded with notifications, and suddenly Deepika’s distance became the least of my problems.

Because the next morning, I was part of yet another scandal.

I rolled my eyes and clicked on the article.

Olympic Swimmer’s Dark Secret: Liam James Involved in Teammate’s Career-Ending Injury

Bull-fucking-shit!

I almost threw my phone at the wall and paused. I didn’t want to miss a call or text from Deepika.

So I read the article, my coffee going cold in my hand and trying to make sense of words that couldn’t possibly be real.

George Brown was my teammate from two years ago. The article claimed I had sabotaged him during training and pushed him off the starting block, causing the shoulder injury that ended his Olympic career.

There were witness statements, photos of us arguing poolside, and text messages that looked damning out of context.

All of it was fabricated, of course.

But it was convincing enough that by noon, two sponsors had pulled out. The Olympic committee had opened an investigation, and Twitter was a war-zone of people calling for my head.

Xavier called, his voice panicking, “We need damage control. Now.”

“It’s not true,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “None of it.”

“I know that, but perception is reality, and right now, you look guilty as hell.”

My phone buzzed, and I saw the text from George himself.

George: Dude, what the fuck? I never said any of this shit!

Relief flooded through me. “George didn’t give those statements, so someone’s setting me up.”

“Sofia,” Xavier said, his voice grim. “It has to be her. She’s been quiet since that last article, so I guess she was planning this.”

I thought about the Portuguese swimmer I had rejected two years ago and the lies she had told.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Can we prove it?”

“I’m working on it. But in the meantime, you need to lie low. No statements, no social media, and for God’s sake, don’t do anything that gives them more ammunition.”

I hung up and immediately called Deepika.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Finally, she answered. “Liam.”