Do Not Fall For The Baseball Captains (Victoria and Elijah) novel Chapter 186

How Did She Do It?

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Adele’s POV

“Ooh… this shell bracelet looks bomb,” Fallon beamed, holding up a strand of polished cowrie shells and woven thread against her wrist.

We were standing inside a spacious, open–air artisan market just off the town square.

The shop was a gorgeous, sunlit space run collaboratively by a collective of African and Caribbean crafters who lived in the area.

High wooden shelves lined the walls, stacked with hand–thrown clay pottery, intricate beadwork, rich textiles, and vibrant canvas paintings depicting coastal landscapes.

The whole place carried a comforting scent of dried lemongrass, polished cedar, and sweet coconut wax.

“It looks incredible on you,” I told Fallon, giving her a genuine smile as she turned her arm under the hanging lanterns.

Natasha walked over, holding up a beautifully glazed clay pitcher to show Victoria.

“This place is a hidden gem. Every time Miller and I come up to these mountain towns, I try to find the local craft spots. You just can’t get anything with this kind of heart in the city.”

“It’s stunning,” Victoria agreed, picking up a small, hand–carved wooden bowl.

I took a few steps deeper into the showcase room, admiring a display of hand–painted ceramic mugs, when the phone in my back pocket buzzed.

I pulled it out, expecting a casual text from Miles or maybe a notification from an app. Instead, a bold notification banner stretched across the screen.

New Email from Brenda Cooper (Management) Subject: Urgent–Prisms Talent Acquisition Update.

My heart skipped a beat, a cold spike running through my veins.

Prisms. It was the modeling agency. Signing with them meant stepping onto international runways, securing high–fashion campaigns, and finally breaking into the tier of the industry I had spent my entire youth grinding to reach.

Brenda had been negotiating with their head scout for the past three weeks.

My thumb trembled as I tapped the notification to open the email.

Hi Adele,

I just got off a call with the senior board at Prisms. They love your look, your book, and your runway tape. However, they are hesitating on extending a formal contract today. The spot is currently down to you and Carla Hollis. The board expressed concerns regarding your digital footprint and viewer’s engagement. Carla’s

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Do Not Fall For The Baseball Captains

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social platforms are currently generating significantly higher traffic (she’s sitting around 670k, with a higher interaction rate per post compared to your 320k).

Prisms wants talent with an established, active audience ecosystem to pull into their fall launches. We need to figure out a strategic pivot fast. Let’s talk when you’re back in town.

Brenda.

I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my chest.

No. No, no, no.

The text began to blur as tears instantly pooled in my eyes. It felt as if the floor beneath my sandals had suddenly split open.

I gripped my phone so tightly the plastic case groaned. I couldn’t even bring myself to type a reply to Brenda right now.

My hands were shaking too violently, my chest tight as panic began to crowd out every other thought.

I looked up across the warm, sunlit shop. At the front counter, Nova, Maya, Victoria, Fallon, and Natasha were all gathered together, laughing with one of the shop owners as she wrapped a set of handmade clay mugs in brown paper.

They were having a wonderful, peaceful afternoon.

I couldn’t just stand here and break down in front of everyone.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my face into a rigid mask as I walked over to the front group.

I reached out, gently tapping Natasha’s shoulder.

“Natasha? Can I talk to you for a second?” I asked, my voice coming out tighter than I intended.

Natasha turned around, her warm smile fading slightly when she saw my face. Her brows furrowed in immediate concern.

“Adele? Is everything alright?”

“I… I actually need to head back to the cabin,” I murmured, forcing a weak, unnatural smile onto my lips. “I just realized there’s something urgent I have to handle.”

Natasha studied me closely, stepping away from the counter and leaning in a fraction closer.

She lowered her voice so the other girls wouldn’t overhear.

“Did… Aunt Flo decide to pay an unexpected visit?”

I blinked, taking a half–second to catch her meaning. She thought I had leaked through or gotten hit with sudden cramp pain and needed to rush back for supplies.

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A choked, forced laugh escaped my mouth.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just… an urgent work issue. I really have to go.”

I fought with everything in me to keep my lip from trembling.

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“Okay,” Natasha said immediately, turning toward the counter. “Let me just grab the girls so we can all walk back-”

“No!” I blurted out, a little too loudly, before softening my tone. “No, please don’t interrupt everyone’s afternoon. The cabin is only a ten–minute walk up the hill. I know the way back, I promise. You guys stay and finish shopping.”

Natasha frowned, her motherly instincts clearly kicking in.

“Adele, I don’t like the idea of you walking back alone if you’re upset-”

“Natasha, please,” I insisted, my voice cracking slightly. “I just really need a few minutes by myself.”

She looked at me for three long seconds before finally letting out a soft sigh.

“Okay. Text me the second you walk through the front door, alright?”

“I will. Thank you.”

I turned on my heel and practically hurried out the glass doors of the shop, stepping into the bright mountain sunlight.

The moment the doors closed behind me, a tear spilled over my lashes, hot against my cheek.

I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand, keeping my chin up as I walked briskly along the paved pedestrian path toward the cabin trail.

My mind was spinning out of control. Three hundred thousand followers.

I had spent years building that page from scratch, agonizing over every single detail–from the lighting in my backstage fitting clips to the exact color palette of my outfit reels.

I worked my ass off to keep my feed clean, polished, and professional.

More than that, I actually cared about the people who clicked follow.

I had lost count of how many times I had walked away from fat, five–figure paychecks simply because a brand wanted me to lie to my audience.

Skincare lines that burned your skin, sketchy tea fads, fast–fashion labels using toxic dyes–I rejected every single one of them.

Brands had literally laid stacks of cash on the table to get me to sell a fake narrative or hype up garbage products, but I refused to endanger people just for a payout.

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I treated my platform with integrity. I kept it real, kept it safe, and protected the trust I’d built with my followers.

And Carla? Carla came into the scene out of nowhere just last year, and suddenly she was sitting at nearly seven hundred thousand.

How?

I hated being that girl, the bitter hypocrite who tears down another woman’s hustle, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t stalked Carla’s page late at night.

If I were just a casual user scrolling through my feed on a lazy afternoon–not a model, not her rival, just an average stranger looking for something interesting–I wouldn’t even hit follow. Nothing about her layout would catch my eye.

Was she buying followers? Were half those accounts just mindless bots sitting in her metrics to pad her

numbers?

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