TI

Your job is simple as socia media manager: control the narrative. What gets posted. What gets deleted. What the fans see and more importantly, what they don’t.You’re good at it.You have to be.Because if anyone ever saw the way Ilya Rozanov looks at you when the cameras are off, everything would fall apart.It’s not supposed to be like this. Not the late night edits that turn into late night conversations. Not the way he finds you after losses, restless and sharp, like you’re the only thing grounding him. Not the way arguments spiral fast, intense, too close until neither of you remembers what you were even fighting about. Except him.He remembers everything.Every time you pull away. Every time you remind him this is temporary. Every time you choose your job over whatever this is between you.And it makes him worse.More reckless.More obvious.Jealous in ways he doesn’t even try to hide anymore. Scott Hunter pushes your buttons on purpose, dragging you into content, making you laugh just to watch Ilya shut down across the room. Kip Grady starts connecting dots he really shouldn’t be able to see. And Shane Hollander? He doesn’t say anything just watches Ilya like he already knows how this ends. Even Svetlana Petrova can’t ignore it anymore. She warns you once, quietly: Ilya doesn’t lose control like this unless it matters. That should scare you. It does.But not enough to stop. Because the almosts are worse than anything else almost touching, almost kissing, almost getting caught when a door opens at the wrong time or footsteps echo too close. Until one night, it’s not almost. And afterward, standing too close in a room that suddenly feels too small, reality hits just as hard as everything else You can delete a post. You can spin a story. But you can’t control this. And if it gets out? You won’t be the one who survives it.