Ballerina’s Confession：Seduced by My Twin Coaches - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
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That snake Isabella Laurent actually had the nerve to hook up with Warren behind my back!
As I pieced everything together, it all made sense—she hadn't been talking to Michael Lowell at all.
Warren and Michael looked so similar that when the video leaked, the entire Royal Ballet Academy assumed my "best friend" had gotten cozy with Michael. And of course, by some twisted luck, he happened to be on an extended vacation.
The rumors exploded. The school board suspended Michael immediately, and I didn't lift a finger to clear his name. Let those trashy people destroy each other.
The video went viral for weeks. Maybe scared of the backlash, Warren blew up my phone—dozens of calls, endless texts—but I didn't even glance at them.
Straight to block.
Those two disgusting cheaters—just being near them was bad juju.
I couldn't wait for my so-called best friend to crawl back from her little getaway and face the fallout.
After all, she'd just been crowned the school's #1 "Campus Slut."
I smirked. She'd underestimated me so badly she'd even posted her own scandalous pics.
She thought I wouldn't dare expose her, but she forgot—even a cornered mouse will fight back.
A week passed, smug satisfaction settling in, but my "best friend" never returned.
"Whore. Probably too busy getting passed around overseas to even think about coming home," I muttered.
Another month slipped by. Just as I started wondering if those two had set up shop abroad, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
Isabella's parents.
Turns out, she hadn't contacted them in a month. But her credit card? Maxed out—hundreds of thousands—in Thailand, Laos, Myanmar.
I rolled my eyes. "Your precious daughter's probably too busy riding some guy's wallet to call home."
I slammed the phone down.
Whatever. Isabella had always thrown money around like confetti.
But the next day, another call left me frozen.
This time—it was her.
"Sophia, please… I need fifty grand!"
Her voice was ragged, desperate. "If you don't send it, I can't come home. They'll harvest my organs!"
"Please… I'm stuck in the Special Economic Zone… If I don't pay, they'll kill me… or worse…"
Ice shot through my veins.
Had she been trafficked into some scam hellhole?
I didn't know if this was real or some twisted prank.
Before I could respond, shouts erupted in the background—then a piercing scream.
The line went dead.
Knock knock.
The dorm door rattled—right on cue.
As I pieced everything together, it all made sense—she hadn't been talking to Michael Lowell at all.
Warren and Michael looked so similar that when the video leaked, the entire Royal Ballet Academy assumed my "best friend" had gotten cozy with Michael. And of course, by some twisted luck, he happened to be on an extended vacation.
The rumors exploded. The school board suspended Michael immediately, and I didn't lift a finger to clear his name. Let those trashy people destroy each other.
The video went viral for weeks. Maybe scared of the backlash, Warren blew up my phone—dozens of calls, endless texts—but I didn't even glance at them.
Straight to block.
Those two disgusting cheaters—just being near them was bad juju.
I couldn't wait for my so-called best friend to crawl back from her little getaway and face the fallout.
After all, she'd just been crowned the school's #1 "Campus Slut."
I smirked. She'd underestimated me so badly she'd even posted her own scandalous pics.
She thought I wouldn't dare expose her, but she forgot—even a cornered mouse will fight back.
A week passed, smug satisfaction settling in, but my "best friend" never returned.
"Whore. Probably too busy getting passed around overseas to even think about coming home," I muttered.
Another month slipped by. Just as I started wondering if those two had set up shop abroad, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
Isabella's parents.
Turns out, she hadn't contacted them in a month. But her credit card? Maxed out—hundreds of thousands—in Thailand, Laos, Myanmar.
I rolled my eyes. "Your precious daughter's probably too busy riding some guy's wallet to call home."
I slammed the phone down.
Whatever. Isabella had always thrown money around like confetti.
But the next day, another call left me frozen.
This time—it was her.
"Sophia, please… I need fifty grand!"
Her voice was ragged, desperate. "If you don't send it, I can't come home. They'll harvest my organs!"
"Please… I'm stuck in the Special Economic Zone… If I don't pay, they'll kill me… or worse…"
Ice shot through my veins.
Had she been trafficked into some scam hellhole?
I didn't know if this was real or some twisted prank.
Before I could respond, shouts erupted in the background—then a piercing scream.
The line went dead.
Knock knock.
The dorm door rattled—right on cue.
End of Ballerina’s Confession：Seduced by My Twin Coaches Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to Ballerina’s Confession：Seduced by My Twin Coaches book page.