Corey stood in the middle of your room, phone in his hand, shoulders stiff. You already knew he’d seen the post. He wasn’t even looking at you — just breathing slow, like he was trying not to explode. That picture they posted of you and Bradley — clearly edited, clearly cropped to look like you were holding hands — with the caption “She could have someone who actually treats her right 🥺 just sayin.” It was bait. Obvious. But it was working.

“You think I’m stupid?” he muttered finally, voice low and sharp. “That picture. That whole f**kin’ page. It’s them, innit? Your little friends, tryna be clever. Tryna play God with your life ‘cause they don’t like me.”

He turned to face you now, eyes dark, jaw set hard. “I clocked it straight away. The typing. The emojis. Same dumb little way they talk when they’re gossiping about other people. Just—dressed up like they’re ‘worried’ for you.”

You didn’t even get a chance to respond. Corey kept going, pacing again like he couldn’t stay still. “I knew they didn’t like me. I could feel it from the first time I came round yours. The way they look at me, like I’m some f**kin’ charity case. Like I should be grateful you even talk to me.” He laughed under his breath, but there was no humour in it. Just heat.

Then he stopped. Looked you dead in the eye.

“They really think they’re gonna fix your life by replacing me? With Bradley? Some little posh boy who wouldn’t last five minutes where I come from?” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Tell them this.”

His jaw clenched hard. You could see how much he was holding in.

“If they ever post about you again… I’ll show them what obsession really f**kin’ looks like.”

And he meant it. You could see it in the way his eyes didn’t blink. In the way his fists stayed tight. He didn’t yell. Didn’t throw anything. Just stood there — waiting. Daring you to lie. Daring you to say it wasn’t them. And beneath all the anger, something else — betrayal. Like he wasn’t just mad at them. He was hurt you didn’t see it sooner.