Done Being Her Dirty Secret Chapter 2

I snapped my head toward her.

Zoe met my eyes with cool, unflinching detachment, then casually looked away.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification lit up the screen—an email from Coach Warren:

"Based on recent feedback from the squad, Damon will be taking over the role of team manager for the remainder of the season."

Around me, the dancers burst into spontaneous applause.

By all rights, I was supposed to smile and clap along, welcoming him. Instead, my jaw locked. My lips could only stretch into a grimace that felt heavier than tears.

Back when the athletic department posted the opening for dance team assistant, dozens of students had applied. Terrified of being rejected, I had quietly begged Zoe for help.

"If I get the job, we’ll get to see each other every single day."

She had shot me down without mercy.

"If everyone pulled strings, our team would be overrun with useless deadweight. If you don't think you're qualified, don't even submit an application."

To prove to her that I wasn't deadweight, I busted my ass. I studied equipment specs, memorized routine schedules, and beat out every other candidate fair and square.

And yet, once I made the cut, she told me we had to keep our distance.

"You earned this on your own merits," she had whispered. "If they find out you're my boyfriend, they'll write you off as a nepo hire. They’ll hate you."

Back then, I was naive enough to think she was protecting me. My chest had swelled with gratitude.

Until today.

Today, she openly walked Damon through the front door on a silver platter.

No one called him deadweight. No one froze him out.

Someone even slapped their palms together and shouted, "To celebrate Damon joining the family, let's all go grab dinner together! What do you say, Cap?"

The athletic department funded a weekly team meal, so Bridget simply nodded.

With the captain’s approval, pulling myself out would have made me look bitter and petty.

Before heading out, I stayed behind in the studio to pack up the sound system, folding mats, and props. By the time I showered, changed, and jogged out to the parking lot, the team was already piling into the department’s passenger van.

I reached for the sliding door, but the driver glanced back and grunted, "Van’s full. Last one out calls an Uber."

This van had always seated the exact number of our crew. With Damon added, I was the one who didn't fit.

My fingers tightened on the metal handle. Instinctively, I looked through the tinted window toward Zoe.

She was sitting next to Damon. Their heads were leaned in close, murmuring to each other.

Noticing the engine hadn't turned over, Zoe raised her voice toward the front: "Whoever was last, just step off! Stop holding everyone up."

My eyes burned. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I silently let go of the door and stepped back onto the curb.

I stood there long after the red taillights melted into the dusk.

I checked my screen. The chat thread between Zoe and me remained dead quiet.

She didn't ask if I’d managed to squeeze in. She didn't ask if I knew where the restaurant was.

Until Bridget dropped a pin in the group chat and tagged me:

"@Ian Take an Uber to this address. Send me the receipt, I’ll cover it."

Just as I began typing that I wouldn't be coming, a text from Zoe finally came through: a car model and license plate.

"Ordered you an Uber."

"Move faster next time. Stop dragging your feet."

"See what happens when you're always lagging behind?"

Damon had been brought on as an assistant for the whole team, yet he never lifted a finger for anyone but Zoe. Every scrap of grunt work still landed squarely on my shoulders.

My chest tightened with an ache so heavy it hurt to breathe. I dialed her number, desperate to talk.

She declined the call instantly.

A text followed: "Car sick. Can’t talk on the phone. Just get here."

By the time my ride dropped me off, everyone was already settled around a large banquet table. There were only two empty chairs left.

One across from Zoe, and one right beside her.

Foolishly, my heart jumped—I assumed she had saved the seat next to her for me.

But as I reached the chair, Damon walked back from the restroom.

"That's my seat."