Chapter 10: Burn List

Ms. Carter wasn’t exaggerating. My dad was always showing up in Forbes, running the state’s biggest entertainment company and schmoozing with everyone from film producers to NBA owners. Someone like Kayla Lin wouldn’t even make our guest list.

But I wanted to handle it myself—not send Ms. Carter in to nuke her career. That felt like overkill.

I switched my phone to Do Not Disturb, exhaled, and gave myself a sarcastic thumbs up in the mirror. Look at you, Riley. Such a big heart.

But that afternoon, Ms. Carter texted Kayla’s number before I could even finish my snack. I called, and a breathy, high-pitched voice answered:

“Hello? Who is this?”

I kept it cool. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Riley, the Miss Fortune you matched with during your livestreamed game.”

“……”

A long, tense silence. Then Kayla exploded:

“This is my private number. How did you get it? Did you use illegal means? You want me to call the cops? What do you want? Isn’t this over? Why are you still pestering me?”

I rolled my eyes, too tired to play. “Who said it’s over? You deliberately incited your fans to cyberbully me, flamed me in-game and on Twitter. Now they’ve even taken over my school’s forum and seriously affected my life. You started it in-game. I want you to clarify things, and you and your fans must apologize to me.”

She laughed, ugly and sharp: “Seriously, are you okay? Apologize? I’m a public figure, why should I apologize to some broke student? If you want to leech off my fame, just start a livestream. Maybe you’ll even get some hate-fame.”

She hung up mid-rant. No remorse. Not even a pause.

Fury boiled up, making my hands shake. I called back—three times, no answer. On the fourth try, she blocked me outright.

I stared at my phone, seething. For a second, I thought about asking Ms. Carter to handle it after all—maybe blacklist her from every talent agency in the state.

But before I could act, my phone buzzed. Maya: “Riley, check Twitter. Kayla is dragging you again.”

My eyelid twitched.

I re-downloaded Twitter, ignoring the hate, and scrolled straight to Kayla’s page. Just two minutes ago, a fresh update: a screenshot of our call log.

“So scary. People are so vindictive these days. I don’t know what I did wrong, but she managed to get my phone number and kept harassing and threatening me. Fans, protect your privacy. Don’t follow in my footsteps.”

My number was masked in the screenshot, but it didn’t take long for the internet to figure it out. Within minutes, my phone was flooded with calls and texts from unknown numbers—just more hate.

“Bully, you dare threaten Kay-Kay? Go die!”

“How disgusting are you? You did something dirty and still have the nerve to harass Kay-Kay!”

“If you dare call Kay-Kay again, I’ll find your address and beat you at your door!”

“……”

I didn’t even flinch. Stone-faced, I popped out my SIM card and watched the plastic disappear into the trash, wishing I could toss my whole week in after it.

Perfect.

Kayla Lin.

Let that fake empathy rot in hell.