Page 123 of The Trophy

Blaze and I read the short note over Luca’s shoulder.

“Where is she?” Luca asks the guard.

“I have no idea, Your Highness.” The man says. “Miss Woods left in a hurry, she looked upset to the point of tears. I hope you’ll forgive me, it’s not my place to comment but I’m not surprised after that brutal post.”

Luca and Blaze look panicked. The same panic I think they might see in my own eyes.

“Why would she dump us?” Blaze asks, shell shocked. “Did that post really convince her that we wouldn’t make it?”

Luca’s eyes are dark with worry. “There’s only one thing that would convince her we wouldn’t. If she stood by the door for a few moments, she might have heard what I said. I swear to God I didn’t want to believe she betrayed me, I just didn’t know what to think.”

Luca is distraught and I feel for him. “We were all shocked. I know you didn’t really think Lakyn would betray you,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “But that doesn’t matter right now. We need to find her and make this right.”

LAKYN

My phone vibrates with a social media alert during the Dean’s never ending speech.

I resist the urge to look at it because I’m sitting in the front rows and it’s rude to check your social media while someone is speaking. I guess having two parents who are teachers made me particularly respectful of all faculty members, even when their speeches are boring as hell.

I’m one of the few people who worry about propriety though, because pretty much everyone else is looking at their phones.

Gasps of surprise, laughs and a general excited buzz invade the room and I turn to elbow Bay by my side.

My sister doesn’t share my same qualms about being rude to a professor—she’s always been the rebel twin—and has her phone already out.

“Lake…”

The look on her face gives me pause. “What? What is it?”

She grabs my wrist, trying to stop me from checking my own phone. “Lake, wait?—”

That’s when I see it. A post about me. It’s by someone obviously using a fake account, named Not Your Puck Bunny.

They’re calling me a slut and a gold digger, outing my relationship with the guys.

This could destroy everything, I think, totally oblivious to the chaos that is surrounding me and to the dozens of questions the journalists and photographers in the hotel conference room are shouting in my direction.

King Gilberto told us how important it is to keep the unconventional part of our relationship under wraps, and the guys’ agents have been saying the same thing.

I’m spiraling, upset and confused, worried about the fallout from this mess.

I’m so caught up in my panicked state, that I don’t even realize that the King’s security is practically clearing the room.

My eyes scan the conference room for Luca, catching just a fleeting glimpse of his blond head as he’s escorted out of the room by two burly bodyguards.

It looks like today I’m getting the royal treatment too, because a couple of the special security hired by the King grab me and Bay to whisk us to a “secure location.”

“Ma’am,” one of the men in black says, ushering us to a luxurious hotel suite. “Please wait here. We’ll let you know once the coast is clear and a car will be at your disposal to drive you anywhere you want.”

I nod, too confused to utter anything coherent.

“Thank you, officers.” Bay takes over, always more level headed than me when under pressure.

“Lakey-Lake,” she says softly, closing the double doors that separate the suite’s living room from the entrance. “Are you ok?”

The words tumble out of my mouth almost as if on autopilot. “No? I—I don’t know. This is bad.”

Bay agrees. “Yeah. Very bad. Did you tell anyone aside from me?”

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