Chapter 11

The real twist hit on Friday.

Asher returned from a light team session to find Vivi pacing. “Delphine just sent me a message. She has more sketches. Says she’ll release them unless I withdraw one of my centerpiece pieces. The one with the gold repair lines.”

Asher’s fists clenched. “She’s bluffing.”

But Vivi wasn’t sure. That piece held everything—her pain, her hope, and now, unspoken, pieces of Asher too.

“I won’t let her take it,” Vivi said. “But if this blows up, your name could get dragged in. The captain defending the ‘fraud.’”

He pulled her into a hug. “Let them talk. I choose you.”

That evening, the rugby boys gathered again. They made a plan: discreet watching, evidence collection, and showing up for her studio sessions. Marcus joined via video call, offering photography skills to document everything.

Vivi felt the support like a warm blanket. But fear lingered. Delphine was escalating and the exhibition was just three weeks away.

Late that night, after everyone left, Vivi stood at her easel. Asher watched from the doorway. She painted a new small piece—quick, raw. It showed two figures: one steady on the field, one at the canvas. Their shadows overlapped.

She set the brush down and turned to him. “I’m scared I’ll lose this. All of it.”

He crossed the room and held her. “You won’t. You’re not alone, remember?’’

They didn’t sleep right away. The night held more quiet closeness, hands intertwined, hearts steadying each other, fading slowly to the comfort of bodies close and breaths shared.

But as dawn approached, Vivi’s phone buzzed once more. A new post was live—her stolen sketch of Asher, blurred but recognizable, with the caption: “Rugby Star’s Secret Muse? Or Just Another Copycat Game?”

The storm had broken wide open.

Asher saw it over her shoulder. “Game on.”

Vivi nodded, jaw set. The fight was here. And for the first time, she wasn’t facing it by herself.

The leaked sketch spread like wildfire across campus by morning. Vivi’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—texts from Marcus, notifications from the art forum, even a concerned message from Professor Lang. The blurred drawing of Asher’s hands was everywhere, captioned with ugly jokes: “Rugby captain’s new muse? Or recycled drama?”

Vivi sat at the kitchen counter, staring at her cold coffee. Her stomach twisted. That sketch had been private—quick lines capturing the way his fingers flexed after a tackle, the quiet strength in them. Now it felt cheapened.

Asher walked in from practice, hair still damp. He saw her face and set his bag down. “It’s out there?”

She nodded. “Everyone’s talking. Your name too.”

He pulled her up into a hug without hesitation. She let herself lean into his chest, breathing in the familiar mix of soap and grass. “They can talk,” he said. “Doesn’t change anything here.”

But it did.

His phone rang minutes later—his coach. Asher stepped into the hallway to take it. Vivi heard the raised voice through the thin walls. “Focus on the game, Donovan. Not campus gossip. We need your head straight for Saturday.”

When he returned, his jaw was tight. “It’s fine. Just noise.”

Vivi touched his arm. “Your team comes first. I can handle this.”

“You don’t have to.” He covered her hand with his. They stood close, foreheads nearly touching. The moment stretched, warm and steady. Later that afternoon they ended up in his room, doors closed against the world. Their clothes stayed mostly on as hands moved with growing familiarity—gentle, reassuring touches that spoke more than words. They faded into each other, finding calm in shared closeness until the tension in both of them eased. Afterward, Asher held her until her breathing slowed into sleep.

Delphine didn’t wait long for her next move.

The following day Vivi went to the main gallery space to check on setup plans. Professor Lang met her there, face serious. “The committee reviewed the online posts. They’re postponing final approval for your centerpiece until after a formal statement. Gather everything—dates, witnesses, original files.”

Vivi’s heart sank. “It’s all Delphine. She stole my sketchbook. She’s dating my ex.”

“I know,” Professor Lang said. “But we need proof that holds. Keep painting. Don’t let this stop the work.”

Vivi left the meeting drained. Back at the apartment, she found the rugby boys already there. Finn and Theo had brought more supplies and were helping Asher rearrange the living room to give her better light for a new small canvas.

“Little sis!” Finn greeted. “We heard about the leak. Delphine’s got nothing on team defense.”

Theo nodded. “My sister works in admin. She’s keeping ears open.”

Vivi managed a small smile. “You don’t have to do this.”

Asher caught her eye. “They want to. So do I.”

That evening Marcus came over with his camera. He photographed every piece of evidence Vivi had—screenshots, the damaged practice canvas, timestamps on emails. “This is solid,” he said. “We’ll build a timeline. Lang can present it.”

While the guys worked, Vivi painted. Piece Fourteen was nearly done now—the gold repair lines bold and unapologetic. They reminded her of Asher’s steady presence. She added a faint outline of broad shoulders in the background, almost hidden unless you looked closely.

Asher watched from the doorway later, after the others left. “It’s strong.”

She set the brush down. “Because someone keeps showing up.”

He crossed to her and pulled her close. Their kiss started soft, then deepened with quiet need. They moved to the bedroom, losing track of time in tender exploration and whispered comforts. No rush, just the kind of closeness that made the outside noise feel farther away. They fell asleep tangled together, rain tapping the windows again.