Page 29 of The Prime-Time Experiment

“Good.”

“And if those conditions are not met—”

“You’ll leave,” he finished.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The lack of argument shouldn’t have been disarming, and yet it was. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Riley. I’ll text you the address.”

Her name, composed, reverberated cleanly in her ears. Her shoulders lowered, just slightly, the shift so minimal it barely registered. The line stayed open a fraction longer than necessary.

“…Night, Riles.” The call ended.

Riley stared at the phone for a moment, her expression tightening into something more complicated than confusion and quieter than frustration. It settled somewhere between the two, unresolved, holding her attention longer than necessary as she tried to categorise it.

Across from her, Dee lifted her mug again, watching Riley over the rim with quiet, deliberate interest. “Huh.”

Riley’s gaze shifted toward her, faintly narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dee said easily, taking a slow sip. A beat passed, like she was deciding whether to say it. “You don’t have to worry about him doing that to you again,” she added.

Riley frowned. “That is not a reliable assumption.”

Dee lowered her mug slightly. “You don’t think so?”

“No,” Riley said. “His behaviour today demonstrated a consistent pattern of intentional disruption. There is no evidence to suggest that will not continue.”

Dee hummed softly, like she didn’t quite agree. “He pushed,” she said simply. “You didn’t give him what he wanted.”

Riley’s attention sharpened. “That is not an accurate interpretation of the interaction.”

“Maybe not yours,” Dee said. “But his?” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “Feels pretty clear.”

Riley’s brow furrowed. “On what basis?”

Dee smiled faintly. “You’ve never seen kids in primary school?”

Riley blinked once. “He is not a child,” she said.

“No,” Dee agreed easily. “But people don’t get that much more original than resorting to childhood tendencies, unfortunately. Take it from the children’s psychologist.”

Riley didn’t respond. Because he had changed his approach. Her fingers stilled against the wool again. If that were true, then his shift in behaviour during the call… Her attention flicked back to Dee. “…What else would you call it?”

Dee didn’t answer immediately. She just watched her for a second, something knowing sitting just beneath the surface. Then she shook her head lightly, like she was letting it go.

“Nothing,” she said again. But she was still smiling, and Riley still couldn’t identify why.

Chapter 7

Declan

The footage had looked different on the screen.

Declan sat back into the couch, the remote loose in his hand as the TV cast shifting light across the room, shadows dragging long across the floor with every cut of movement. The clip replayed again, familiar now in a way that had nothing to do with repetition and everything to do with what he had missed the first time.

His phone buzzed beside him, lighting up with notifications; comments, tags, messages stacking faster than he could ever clear them, but he didn’t feel any need to look. His focus stayed fixed on her.

The attention no longer felt unusual. It had stopped feeling personal a long time ago. Declan never intended to become whatever the internet turned him into. Originally, he’d just been a personal trainer working out of their local gym building programs, helping clients, staying largely invisible outside of that. The online side of things had only started because of Tyler. Or more specifically, because mocking Tyler’s growing public profile had become entertaining enough to post.