Brody pulls up his own page with over ten million followers. He doesn’t comment on the thread. He makes a standalone post, pinned, with a photo of himself, direct to camera, and a caption.
@ManBaker: I will always speak up when someone is being bullied. Publicly attacking an ex online isn’t honesty. It’s harassment. When someone you once claimed to love is thriving without you, the answer isn’t to tear them down in front of millions. Claire Darling is a talented chef and the most genuine person in any room she walks into. She doesn’t need defending. But her ex commenting on a photo he wasn’t invited to be in? That’s a special kind of sad. Do better, Louis.
Jakob posts from the ManBaker business account.
@ManBakerOfficial: We don’t typically respond to comments. But when someone lies publicly about a person we care about, we make an exception. The only thing staged here is Louis’s concern. Legal counsel has been notified. We’d encourage the individual responsible to retract their statements while the option is still available.
Brody snorts. I grin, and we watch.
The tide turns in real time. Louis’s comment, which was sitting near the top with a few likes, starts drowning under replies.
Imagine being this pressed about your ex finding happiness. Therapy exists, mate.
She “tanked”? Her book has 4.8 stars and 60,000 reviews. What have you done lately?
Three gorgeous Alphas vs. one bitter ex in the comments. The universe has spoken and it’s not on your side.
More are piling in. Screenshots of Louis’s comment are spreading with reaction posts. Someone finds the original interview clip and posts it with the captionWatched the full thing. She clearly misspoke and was nervous. The internet owes her an apology.It gets fifty thousand likes in twenty minutes.
My adrenaline spikes. This is the part of social media I understand intimately—the wave, the momentum, the way a narrative can shift in minutes when the right voices push it. I refresh. Scroll. My post is climbing. Brody’s is already at a hundred thousand likes. Jakob’s polite legal threat has been screenshotted and shared withShe’s got lawyers and three Alphas, Louis. Read the roomas the caption.
“Asshole’s just deleted his comment,” Brody states with a giddy grin, watching his screen.
“Too late. The internet screengrabs everything.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” Jakob sneers.
Brody claps his hands together. “Let him drown in it.” He nods at the gym floor, the cleared space, the sunlight streaming through the high windows. “Okay, film time. I need to move, or I’m going to spend the rest of the day refreshing that thread.”
“Same.” Jakob peels his shirt over his head with the reluctance of a man removing armor. I pull off my tank top. Brody’s now bare-chested too, rolling his shoulders, queuing a track on his phone.
I grab three jump ropes from the box by the wall and toss one to each of them.
“Standard formation?” Jakob takes the center position.
“Standard.” I find my mark on his left. Brody takes the right.
Jakob hits Play on the camera and jogs back. “Okay, let’s make this fun!” Bass drops. Heavy, grinding beat, and he nods once.
We jump.
Three ropes cutting the air, the crack of rubber on tile flooring syncing with the bass, our attention on the camera, smiling, showing off. We flex our muscles at any chance we get, all while skipping. It’s all about the movement, the muscles, the sweat. And for Jakob, who clearly wore his sweatpants on purpose, it’s about the flip-flopping in his pants. I grin, knowing people are going to love this.
Jakob sets the pace, steady, exact, blond curls bouncing. Brody matches from the right with that grace that makes everything appear effortless. I take the left, faster rotations, double unders, crossovers, because my body needs the punishment and my followers expect the showmanship.
The chorus hits. We sync. Three ropes, one rhythm, and for thirty seconds, my mind goes beautifully, blissfully empty. Nothing but the slap of rope, the burn in my forearms, and the sweat forming along my spine.
Then it floods back. Claire’s mouth under mine. The gasp she made when I pulled her close, her fingers twisted in my shirt, holding on as if letting go meant falling. The tears on her face in that storage room cracked me open.
I’m going to protect that woman. Not because she needs it, but because she deserves someone who shows up and stays and doesn’t make her earn it.
The track ends, and I catch the rope. My chest is heaving and my muscles are singing, and through the window, I spot the corner of her cottage. Her kitchen window is covered by curtains.
Jakob catches me staring. “You’re addicted.”
“Yeah. And I’m not stopping.”
He shakes his head. But the corner of his mouth twitches.