Accidental Photo sent.

INT. DECKER'S BEDROOM – NIGHT

The world outside is silent. Just the soft hum of a city asleep, distant traffic, a siren in the far-off dark.

Inside, Decker’s room glows with curated chaos — lavender LED lights lining the ceiling, a messy vanity cluttered with perfume bottles and gold jewelry, open textbooks buried under silk bras.

Decker sits on her bed, knees up, phone in hand, dressed in next to nothing — barely-there black lace and the quiet confidence of someone who knows she looks dangerous.

Her eyes scan the mirror across the room. She angles her body just right — curve of the hip, tousled hair, one hand in her hair like she just doesn’t care.

Snap.

One photo. She checks it. Tilts her head. Smirks.

Perfect.

She opens her messages.

“David ❤️”

She doesn't hesitate. Just taps the thread, attaches the photo, and hits—

Send.

The screen flashes. The photo zips upward, into the digital ether.

Decker drops her phone beside her with a victorious little sigh. A long, slow stretch.

"That’ll shut him up."

But something scratches at the edge of her attention. That didn’t feel right.

She reaches for the phone again, slowly, absently.

And then—

Her heart drops.

“Robert Ellison – MEDIA 202” A plain name. No emoji. No heart. No reason he should’ve been that high up in her recent chats.

She stares.

The photo is there. Sent.

Her eyes widen.

“No. No. No—”

She clicks into the thread. The image is still there. Full-screen. Her. And beneath it…

✔✔ Blue.

He saw it.

She freezes.

Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just stares.

Time cracks open. He saw it. He saw everything. I just sent the hottest, most explicit photo I’ve ever taken to the quietest guy in my class. The one I’ve never even spoken to. The one who doesn’t even look at me. What the hell is he thinking right now?

She stands up too fast, pacing the room, phone clenched in both hands like it's a live grenade.

“Okay,” she whispers, staring at the screen. “Fix it. Spin it. Own it. Something. Say something.”

But before she can type…

“Robert is typing…”

She stops breathing.