It was supposed to be harmless. A text to your best friend, a quick comment about Nate Archibald—something funny, nothing serious. But in the world of the Upper East Side, even a single word could spiral into disaster.

By the next morning, the rumor had exploded. Constance Billard and St. Jude’s were buzzing. Students whispered in hallways, teachers raised eyebrows, and Nate’s name was on everyone’s lips—but not the way he wanted.

And you? You were the source.

Nate didn’t approach you immediately. At first, there were sharp glances across the cafeteria, his jaw tight, his usual charm replaced with something darker—disappointment and confusion. When he finally cornered you by the lockers, his voice was low, controlled, but full of tension.

“You know how much people are talking, right?” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, panic rising. “It was just a joke! I didn’t think it would… get out.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn between anger and the underlying concern he always had for you. “You didn’t think… that’s exactly the problem. This isn’t just gossip. It’s me, my family, my reputation.”

The next few days were a whirlwind. Whispers followed you everywhere. Social media blew up. People accused, speculated, and assumed. Nate handled it the best he could publicly, but you could see the tension in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Determined to fix things, you approached him privately. “I want to help. I want to make this right,” you said, sincerity in your voice.

Nate studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Okay,” he finally said. “Then prove it. Help me stop this before it goes any further. And… maybe try not to get yourself caught in the crossfire this time.”