The front door slammed shut behind them with a dull, heavy thud.
Bella stepped inside, trailing behind her mother like a ghost—wet egg still clinging to her scalp, the stink of shame bleeding from her every pore.
Her eyes fell on the brown workshop boots by the door.
Her heart lurched.
He was home already. And he was waiting.
For the umpteenth time in the past three days, Bella wished she could reverse the hands of the clock.
"About time," her father's voice boomed from the living room.
She flinched, and her mother froze for half a second before stepping into the room.
Jonathan was already standing. His lips pressed together into a bitter line. He wasn't even watching the news, though the TV was playing behind him. Just standing there. Waiting. Waiting to pounce on her.
Bella didn't want to go in. Her legs wouldn't move. She wanted to disappear, crawl into a shadow and live there until the world forgot her name.
"Come in here!" he barked.
She stepped into the room, stiff and shaking.
Her father's eyes locked onto her face—red, raw, cracked from dried yolk. His gaze moved to her hair, her uniform. The shame she wore like a second skin.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "They weren't exaggerating."
Her mother turned slightly. "Jonathan, don't—"
"What the hell happened to her?" he asked, disbelief twisting his tone.
"Some girl threw an egg at her," Carla said. Her voice was tired.
"She's covered in it!" he shouted. "Egg! Like some bloody street animal! Do you know how humiliating it is that I didn't hear this from you two? No, I had to hear it from Angela."
Bella's breath hitched.
Angela. Their family friend. Also a teacher at her school. She'd known Bella since she was a child—used to braid her hair since she was six.
"She called me today," Jonathan went on, "to say she was sorry. That she didn't want me to be blindsided. That my daughter had been expelled—for sending nude pictures of herself around school."
He spat the last words like venom, and Bella's knees buckled slightly.
"I didn't—" she tried.
"You did!" he roared. "You took those pictures. You sent them to some little bastard with no home training. And you ruined yourself. You ruined us. Brought this scandal to my family."
Bella dropped her eyes.
"She made a mistake," Carla said, gently.
"Mistake?" Jonathan wheeled on her. "This wasn't forgetting to lock the front door. She's all over the school group chats, Carla! There are pictures, teachers have seen it. The whole school! Do you understand how this looks?"
Carla sighed, brushing her hand down her face. "I know."
"No, I don't think you do. Do you know what Angela said? She said students were laughing in the class room. That Bella's being called names. 'Porn girl.' 'Nasty Bella.' 'Nude Bella.' Your daughter!"
Bella felt like her skin was melting off.
She wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse—but nothing came. She stood frozen. Small. Ashamed. Humiliated beyond what her body could contain.
"She's seventeen," Carla murmured, eyes flicking to Bella. "She's a child."
Jonathan's face twisted. "A child? Children don't spread their legs for the camera. Or did you forget what Angela said? Posing. With no clothes on like some hooker on a billboard!"
Bella gasped like he'd slapped her. Her eyes flicked to her mother, who had gone pale.
"I didn't mean for anyone to see it," Bella choked out. "It wasn't supposed to be—public. It was… Liam. He told me to. I thought—" her voice cracked, "I thought he liked me."
Jonathan scoffed bitterly. "And you thought spreading your legs would prove it?"
"Jonathan!" Carla snapped.
He turned on Bella again. "You want to play grown-up? Now you'll live with grown-up consequences. No school will take you now. No university. No scholarship. Nothing. You've branded yourself a pornstar."
"I didn't know he'd share it," Bella cried.
"Of course, you didn't. Because you're stupid." His voice hitched with disgust. "Always walking around with your nose in the air like you're really smart. And I thought you were. Look at you now. Nothing but a cheap little slut on WhatsApp."
"Stop it!" Carla shouted suddenly, her voice sharp and trembling. "That's your daughter!"
Jonathan pointed at Bella, face red. "No, that is not the daughter I raised!"
Carla pressed her fingers into her temples. "She was manipulated. Don't you see that?"
He let out a dry, ugly laugh. "Manipulated? That's what you're going with? She's been walking around with that girl Mira, that one always on fake lashes and tight skirts. God knows what else they've been doing."
Bella's eyes widened. "Mira helped me take the photo. She told me it was okay. She—she said Liam was into me. She planned it."
Jonathan looked at her like she was speaking another language. "You think that makes it better?"
"I'm telling you it was a setup!" Bella cried. "They humiliated me. They used me. And no one cares!"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
No one moved.
The silence that followed was brutal. So loud in its stillness it hurt her ears.
Then Carla took a breath and stood. "Go wash up," she said, her voice soft and strained. "You need to clean yourself. You can't sit in this… anymore."
Bella stared between them. Her mother's face was blank now. Her father's was twisted into disgust.
And she nodded.
Slowly, shamefacedly, she walked away, each step feeling like she was walking through mud.
She closed the bathroom door gently. Pressed her back to it and slid down to the floor.
She let out a breath so long, so broken, it felt like it emptied her soul.
She didn't cry.
She couldn't anymore.
She just sat there, her father's words replaying like a cruel movie.
"Nothing but a cheap little slut on WhatsApp."
Her mind was a mess of voices—her father's disgust, her mother's silence, Liam's smirk, Mira's lies. It was all too loud.
Then, a sound broke through it.
Buzz.
Her phone.
It was still tucked in her blazer pocket.
She pulled it out slowly. It was a message from an unknown number.
She stared at her screen.
Unknown: You thought this was bad? We're just getting started.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Buzz.
Another message came in. An image this time.
It loaded slowly.
Her blood ran cold.
It was a screenshot.
A new photo.
Of her.
Completely nude.
Not any of the ones she'd sent to Liam.
A different one.
She didn't even remember taking it.
Below the image, there was a message:
"Send money or everyone gets this. Tomorrow morning. 8AM."
Bella dropped the phone.
Her hands shook.
She'd been set up—again.
But by who?
And then she saw it.
At the very bottom of the message…
"—M."
Her heart stopped.
Was it Mira?
Or someone else entirely?
Bella stared at the cracked phone screen, her fingers trembling over the keypad. Her thumb hovered above the contacts. She mindlessly scrolled through. Then she stopped at a name:
Auntie Angie.
She hadn't spoken to her since last week, before the humiliation broke out.
Bella hesitated.
Then she pressed Call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
"Hello?"
Angela's voice came through—warm, and a little distracted.
"Auntie?" Bella's voice cracked. "It's… it's me. Bella."
Silence for a beat.
Then, "Bella. Oh." The warmth in Angela's voice dimmed slightly, guarded now. "I wasn't expecting… How are you?"
"I need your help," Bella whispered, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling. "Please. I didn't know who else to call."
Angela's sigh echoed down the line. "Bella, I heard what happened. I'm so sorry. I really am. But I think it might be best for you to speak to a counselor—or your parents."
"My parents?" Bella's laugh was small and bitter. "You needed to hear how he spoke to me. He said I ruined myself. That I was… branded. He called me a pornstar." She choked on her tears.
"Oh my God, Bella," Angela said quietly.
"So no, I can't go to them. You need to help me." Bella's voice cracked. "Please. I don't know what to do. Someone just sent me another photo. One I didn't take. And they're asking for money."
There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line.
"You're being blackmailed?" Angela asked, tone suddenly sharp and alert.
Bella nodded, then realized Angela couldn't see her and croaked, "Yes."
"Okay." Angela's voice changed—steadier, more focused. "Do you still have the messages?"
"Yes. They came from a number I don't recognize. And at the bottom… they signed it '—M.'" Bella swallowed hard. "I think it might be Mira."
Angela went quiet. "That girl again."
"She was there when I took the first picture," Bella admitted, guilt rising like bile. "She told me it was no big deal. Said Liam would think I was confident. That he liked girls who weren't afraid to show off."
Angela's voice was calm but firm. "Bella, that's not friendship. That's manipulation. You do realize that, don't you?"
"I didn't," Bella said. "Not then. I just… I just wanted him to approve of me."
Bella gripped the phone tighter. "I don't know what to do. If this photo gets out… it's worse than the first. It's everything. And I don't even remember taking it."
"Someone may have taken it without your consent," Angela said, her voice tight. "Bella, this is serious. I need you to forward those messages to me. Right now. We need to go to the authorities."
"No," Bella said quickly. "Please, don't tell anyone yet. Not until we know who it is."
Angela paused. "Bella, you could be in real danger. This person—whoever they are—they're escalating. If we wait too long, they could send that photo out anyway. You can't fight this alone."
Bella wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater. "I'm not trying to fight it alone. I'm asking you. Just you."
Angela's voice softened again. "Okay. For now. But only because you asked me. Send me everything. The number. The photo. All the messages. I'll see what I can find out on my end."
Bella nodded, her throat too tight for words.
Angela hesitated. "And Bella?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I saw your name in that report, and I thought… maybe it was all true. I shouldn't have assumed. That's on me."
Bella blinked, surprised. "It was true. The first part. But not the story people told about it."
Then she whispered, "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, Bels," Angela said firmly. "No matter what your father says, or anyone else, I'm here for you, okay? Don't believe anything negative anyone says about you."
Feeling an emotional connection to Angela for using her pet name, she replied gratefully, "Thank you, Auntie Angie."
The call ended.
Bella sat there, still holding the phone, still trembling, but no longer quite as hollow as before.
Angela believed her.
And that meant someone was still on her side.