𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The second I stepped into the hallway, I felt it. The shift. The way conversations dipped in volume, how heads turned, and whispers rippled through the crowd. I hugged my backpack closer to my chest, keeping my head down as I walked to my locker.

My phone buzzed in my pocket for what felt like the hundredth time that day. I knew without looking that it was another notification, probably another link or screenshot, someone else sharing the latest article or post about Y/n and Madelyn. It never stopped.

I spun the combination on my lock, focusing on the clicking of the numbers, anything to drown out the murmurs around me.

"Did you see the pictures from the set?" A girl to my left whispered, not as quietly as she probably thought. "Her sister was in the background. They're everywhere."

I bit my lip, willing my hands not to shake.

"Yeah, and people are saying she's, like, living with Madelyn Cline. Can you imagine?"

"Dude, she's so lucky. I'd kill to be in her position."

I clenched my jaw, forcing the door of my locker open with more force than necessary. Books clattered against metal, but I barely heard them. It was like a constant hum in my ears, this low, gnawing noise that wouldn't go away.

Every day. Every. Single. Day.

I grabbed my notebook, shoving it into my backpack. I needed to get to class. I needed to focus. I needed—

"Storm, right?"

I flinched, my backpack slipping from my shoulder. I turned to see a girl from my math class—Kayla? Katie? I wasn't sure. She had a phone in her hand, and I could see the bright glow of a tabloid page on the screen.

"Um, yeah?" I mumbled.

Her smile was too wide, too curious. "Is it true? Do you really live with Madelyn? Like, do you see all the Outer Banks cast? Do you know if they're filming a new season yet?"

I blinked, my mouth opening and closing. "I—uh—"

"Oh my God, you're so lucky." Another voice joined in, a boy with dark curls and an eager expression. "I saw you in the background of that set photo. Was it, like, the coolest thing ever?"

My pulse pounded in my ears. "I mean, it was—"

"Did you meet Chase Stokes?" someone else asked. "Is he as hot in real life?"

"Do you think Madelyn would sign something for me?"

"Can you ask if they're bringing Rafe back?"

The questions piled up, one over the other, a never-ending onslaught. I pressed back against my locker, the cool metal biting into my shoulder blades. My tongue felt heavy, my thoughts scrambled.

"Guys, give her a break." A softer voice. I didn't even know who said it, but I latched onto it like a lifeline. "She's not their PR manager."

I swallowed hard. "I—I need to get to class."

I slipped through the small gap they left, my feet moving on autopilot. The walls seemed to close in, the fluorescent lights too bright, the air too thin. I needed space. I needed quiet.

The bathroom. I pushed through the door, letting it swing shut behind me. The sudden silence wrapped around me, and I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles white.

My phone buzzed again.

I pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a text.

Anna:

I stared at the words until they blurred, my vision clouding with hot tears. My chest heaved, the pressure building and building until it felt like I might break.

Why couldn't they just leave us alone? Why did everything have to be a story, a headline, a piece of gossip? I wasn't a celebrity. I was just... me. And I missed being just me. But now, since the world knows my sister is dating Madelyn, people want something from me.

I slid down to the floor, my back against the cool tile wall. My breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, pulling them close. It was too much. All of it. Too much attention, too many eyes, too many voices.

I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to block it out, trying to find some piece of quiet.

But the silence was filled with the echoes of their voices, the questions, the demands, the way they looked at me like I was something to be figured out, dissected, exposed.

And I didn't know how to make it stop.

. . .

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

I was already pacing when the call from the school came in.

Lili had picked Storm up and texted me earlier saying she wasn't feeling great after school, said she'd been quieter than usual, and then sent me a photo of her curled up under a blanket at their place.

I had a bad feeling the second I saw it—not just because she looked like she'd been crying, but because she wasn't even trying to hide it.

The second I hung up with Lili, I was storming around the kitchen in sweats and a cropped hoodie, my hair still tied back from filming earlier.

The countertops were covered in unopened mail, half a coffee from this morning, and a stack of new press packets I hadn't looked at. I couldn't focus on any of it.

Because all I could think about was Storm. Sitting alone in the school bathroom, crying. Having a panic attack. Because of us.

Because of me.

I looked down at my phone again. My thumb hovered over Y/n's name. I wanted to call her. I should've called her the moment Lili texted me, but she was still at the station.

Mid-shift. I didn't want to make her panic while she was on duty. I know the school probably called her but, knowing how busy work has been as of late, she probably hasn't seen it.

But I was panicking.

I tapped out a text instead.

Madz ♡🤤:
She had a panic attack at school today. They're saying stuff. In her class. Everywhere, she's doing the best she can.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer, then locked it without sending. What was the point? Y/n was already carrying so much of the weight lately. I didn't want to add more to it—not when I could barely keep it together myself.

I grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, needing noise, needing something to ground me. The channel landed on some entertainment segment, one of those late afternoon gossip shows that always wore too much pastel and spoke in a too-chipper tone. I reached to change it—then froze.

"—and the internet is still reeling from the soft-launch romance that has fans in a frenzy. Yes, we're talking about Outer Banks star Madelyn Cline and her mystery girlfriend—now believed to be Charleston firefighter Y/n Calloway."

I dropped the remote.

The screen flashed through a series of pictures—Y/n from the firehouse fundraiser a year ago, helmet on, soot-smudged, her face serious and focused. Another clip of us walking out of that event at Netflix a few weeks ago, her hand barely visible at the small of my back.

A fan video of her holding Storm's hand outside a store, the caption above it reading: Madelyn is stepmom now fr.

I clenched my jaw, my heart sinking.

"Fans are obsessed with her tragic backstory," the host continued, all too cheerful. "Losing her parents in a devastating fire, becoming a legal guardian at just seventeen, working as a firefighter—like, she's giving total hero energy."

The other host laughed. "Seriously. She's like a real-life action movie. But I wonder what it's like for Madelyn—dating someone with that level of trauma. It can't be easy."

My stomach twisted.

"One source tells us that Y/n avoids public appearances and isn't comfortable being in the spotlight with Madelyn—which, honestly, makes you wonder if they're on the same page. Can someone like that really handle the pressure of dating an A-list actress?"

I didn't realize I was standing until I felt the blood rush from my head.

That was enough.

I grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, the silence that followed making my pulse roar in my ears.

This was bullshit. The way they spun everything like it was some tragic fairy tale. Like Y/n's life and Storm's pain were just tabloid gold. They didn't care.

Not about what we were really dealing with, not about how it affected a twelve-year-old girl who just wanted to go to school without hearing her sister's trauma recited back to her like a bedtime story.

I sank onto the couch, dragging my fingers through my hair.

I hated this.

I hated how helpless I felt. I hated that no matter how much we tried to shield Storm, it still found a way to bleed into her world. Into her classmates. Into her school. Her friendships.

And I hated that I couldn't fix it.

Y/n always carried the weight like she was built for it. Like it was just part of the job. But I saw it—how her jaw would clench when she opened Instagram.

How she'd set her phone face down after someone sent her an article. How she flinched when people asked questions about her past like it was theirs to own.

She said she was fine. She always said she was fine.

But none of us were fine.

Not anymore.

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the delay! A filler chapter ♡