Chapter 2
I checked Matthew's X and saw that he hadn't posted anything since his livestream yesterday. His fans were flooding the comments, begging him to post again, desperate for any sign of him.
I hesitated. Should I go? Or just stay away? If he really showed up at my school, my secret identity as his hater would totally be exposed.
I took a deep breath. Alright, I would go. Let's see what he could actually do to me.
I messaged the studio: [Fine, I'll meet you. When and where?]
They replied with an address—a private club. The meeting was set for 2 PM today.
I stared at my phone, my stomach in knots. I had no idea what was waiting for me.
At 1:30 PM, I stood outside the club. It was a members-only spot, and just looking at it screamed "expensive." I was dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, making sure I looked totally out of place.
As I walked in, a man in a suit came up to greet me.
"Alice Wilkinson?" he asked.
I nodded.
He led me down a long hallway to a closed door. He pushed it open and gestured for me to go in.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, with only a floor lamp casting a soft glow. Matthew was sitting on the couch, his back to me.
He was wearing a black shirt, sitting upright and looking strong. I couldn't explain it, but a sudden wave of nervousness hit me.
"You're here," he said quietly, his voice low.
I didn't say a word, just stood there.
He slowly turned around. His face was blank, but his eyes were so sharp they felt like they could cut right through me.
A chill ran down my spine. 'He's really pissed.'
"Sit," he said, gesturing at the couch across from him.
I didn't budge.
"What, too scared to sit?" He arched an eyebrow.
I snorted, dragged out a chair instead, and sat down.
"So, what do you want with me?" I asked, my voice laced with provocation.
He ignored my question and instead picked up a file from the table.
"I've got your info down to a T," he said, his voice calm, but I could feel the weight of his words pressing in on me.
My stomach dropped. He really did investigate me.
"Alice Wilkinson, sophomore in the journalism department at Trinity University," he read from the file.
My face went pale. How did he know all these details?
"You've been roasting me every single day for two years," he said, setting the file down and locking eyes with me again.
My throat tightened.
"What's your deal?" he asked.
I let out a cold laugh. "Deal? Please. I just can't stand you."
He didn't get mad. Instead, he smiled, with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Can't stand me?" he echoed, his tone teasing.
I nodded. "Yeah, you can't sing in tune, your acting is cringe, and you're always faking your image. Honestly, it's gross."
He stood up and walked toward me, slow and deliberate. I instinctively leaned back, pressing myself against the couch.
He stopped right in front of me, looming over me.
"Did you really think I didn't know who you were?" His voice was soft, but his words struck me like a bolt of lightning.
I stared at him, totally floored. He knew? Had he known this whole time?
Matthew caught the shock on my face, and a sly smile played at his lips.
"You really thought you could hide from me?" he said softly.
My mind went blank. He had known I was "Is Matt Lagging" this whole time?
"What... what do you mean?" I stammered.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, his fingertips lightly grazing my cheek. I recoiled as if I'd touched a live wire.
"Don't touch me," I growled.
He withdrew his hand, his gaze suddenly complicated.
"I'm just curious—why is it you?" he said.
I felt a wave of humiliation. What did he take me for? Just some weird curiosity?
"I'm just a hater. What's there to be curious about?" I shot back, my tone sharp.
He sat back down on the couch, his eyes deep and unreadable.
"Every insult, every roast—you think I missed any? I saw them all," Matthew said.
A chill ran down my spine. He actually read the hate comments? Wasn't he supposed to be too cool to care?
"Go ahead and read, it's all true anyway," I shot back, trying to sound tough.
He laughed, but this time, there was a hint of resignation in his smile.
"Honestly, your comments understand me better than my own manager," he suddenly said.
I was stunned. 'What does he mean by that?'
He said, "You roast me for being out of tune, and even my vocal coach says the same thing.
"You roast me for my awkward acting, and even my acting coach says the same thing.
"You even call out where I'm falling short in my daily routine."
With every word, my heart sank a little more. He was not mad. He was actually analyzing me?
"You're not a hater," he suddenly declared, like he'd just figured it out.