“My ex-trainer, Rusty. I fired him three months ago for leaking my game-day schedule to a betting ring. He said this is just ‘a taste.’ He wants two million by tomorrow or he sends the whole set to Barstool, TMZ, and my girlfriend’s father.”
The final photo was the dagger. A mirror selfie. Cassian, fresh off a loss, chest heaving, his hand pressed against the wall. And carved into the drywall behind him, in sloppy, sharpie scrawl: “I ruin everything.” bravo bodycheck pics
“You’re Cassian Bravo. You have sixteen million followers. In one hour, you’re going to post a picture of yourself right now. No makeup, no filter, sitting on your sad beige couch in that ratty hoodie. And the caption is going to be: ‘Bodycheck pics? Here’s a real one. Yeah, I’ve been messy. Yeah, I’ve been sad. But I’m still here. And nobody—nobody—extorts my family.’ ” “My ex-trainer, Rusty
“We’re not denying it,” Lena cut him off. “Denying makes it real. We’re going to flood the zone.” A mirror selfie