It finally happens on a quiet night.
No drama. No chaos. Just you and Betty sitting on her bed, knees touching, talking about nothing and everything—college, the future, how Riverdale never really lets anyone go.
She looks at you for a long moment, eyes soft but nervous.
“I think I’ve liked you for a really long time,” she admits.
You smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
The kiss is gentle, almost careful, like you’re both afraid to break the moment. When you pull back, Betty laughs quietly, forehead resting against yours.
“I’m happy,” she says. “I really am.”
It lasts exactly one day.
Alice Cooper notices everything.
She notices the way Betty hums while doing homework. The way she checks her phone and smiles to herself. The way she defends you a little too quickly at dinner.
That evening, Alice asks you to leave early.
The next day, Betty doesn’t answer your texts.
When you finally see her at school, she looks shaken.
“She knows,” Betty whispers, pulling you aside. “She thinks you’re a distraction. She says I’m ‘losing focus.’”
Your stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“She told me I’m not allowed to see you anymore.”
You don’t speak right away. Betty watches your face, terrified you’ll pull away.
Instead, you take her hand.
“We’ll figure it out,” you say.
That night, Alice corners you on the front porch. Her smile is polite. Her tone is not.
“I think it’s best if you stop seeing my daughter,” she says. “Betty has a lot of… vulnerabilities. And you complicate things.”
You swallow. “With respect, I care about her.”
Alice’s eyes sharpen. “Caring isn’t enough.”
Later, Betty sneaks out onto the porch, furious and shaking.
“She doesn’t get to decide this,” she says. “I do.”
The next few weeks are hard. Stolen moments. Notes passed in hallways. Hands brushing when no one’s looking.
Alice tightens her rules. Betty pushes back harder.
One night, Betty shows up at your door, breathless.
“I’m tired of hiding,” she says. “I’m tired of being told who I’m allowed to love.”
You step closer. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “I choose you.”