REYNA

<><><>

EVANDER GABRIEL is kissing me!

Not figuratively. Literally!

And the worst part?

I think he knows exactly who I am.

~~~

A few minutes ago...

The dormitory hallway buzzed with the sound of gossip, hushed yet loud enough to make my blood boil over with anger.

Two girls were huddled in a corner.

The shorter one whispered, "I heard Varna tried to seduce one of the professors to get him to boost her grades... but he rejected her, and that's why she dropped out."

The other girl burst into a ripple of cruel giggles.

I froze mid-step. My grip on my dorm key tightened until the metal edges dug into my palm, creating marks.

My hands shook. My heart squeezed into my ribs.

They didn't know her. Not the real her.

Not the girl who stayed up all night watching Gilmore Girls, the girl who loved paal cake to death.

And now they had reduced her to a filthy rumor?

By the time I reached my door, my chest burned with fury. I just wanted to get inside, slam it shut, and scream into my pillow.

But the key just wouldn't fit.

I shoved it again. And again. But each time, it scraped uselessly against the lock.

Then, out of nowhere, a deep, gravelly voice came from behind me:

"Funny..." he said, "...I've heard things about you."

I spun around.

Evander Gabriel stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, hood shadowing that stupidly magnetic face.

My pulse jumped.

Did he know?

"Th... things?" My voice cracked. "What things?"

He gave me a lopsided smile, the kind that said he was holding cards I couldn't see.

"I won't tell," he murmured as he shook his hood off. "But on top of that, you're trying to break in now, sweetie."

The word "sweetie" landed in my stomach. Badly.

"What do you want?" I asked in a voice so steely, it could have ripped his charming face right off.

He grinned. "Aside from trying to get into my room..." His eyes skimmed over me, shameless. "...maybe your number."

My stomach twisted with disgust.

If he knew my real reason for being here and was still flirting, then he was trying to play me.

And if he didn't... then he was still the same snake who thrived on power games and using women.

For a flicker of a second, I saw Varna again, brown eyes sparkling, feet propped on the cafeteria chair, laughing so hard she snorted.

I blinked, and the image went away.

Evander's words registered fully in my head.

"Wait, you said your room?"

"Yes love."

"Don't call me that." I hissed, turned around, and tried to open the door, but it still wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, I felt warmth and big hands on mine. Evander's.

"Baby," he said, "...if you want us to move to the bedroom, I have the keys."

I snatched my hands away like his touch was a match that had burned to the tip.

A chuckle left his lips. Throaty and attractive, but for the monster he is.

He slipped a key into the lock and opened it in one clean turn.

"This is 32, my room. That," he said, pointing across the hall, "is 23, your room."

My eyes widened, realizing my mistake and worse, my fate.

A groan rose in my chest, eventually coming out as a mutter. "Great. They gave me the room directly across from you, of all people."

His smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. "You knew me before."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement that made my eyes go wide and my heart double over in my chest.

Shit. Slip up.

As quickly as I could, I cleared my throat, calmed my breathing, and looked him in the eye.

"Your reputation precedes you, Evander Gabriel," I said calmly.

His mouth curved into an amused smile. "And so does your beauty, Reyna Davidson."

I narrowed my eyes, filing away his tone, his posture, and the way his gaze lingered like he was mapping me.

Fine. If he wanted to play, I'd make him think he was winning.

I stepped closer, tilted my head, and lowered my voice like a twenty-first-century Marilyn Monroe.

"Don't you think it's too early in the season to be asking around about a girl, Captain?"

His eyes sharpened, studying me the way a wolf sizes up whether the prey will run or bite back.

I let my wavy ginger hair fall over my shoulders, close enough for him to smell the faint trace of my perfume.

My looks are the one good thing I got from my parents. My mother's amber eyes that shine almost golden in the sun. My father's ginger hair with a blonde streak in the front. And both their freckles, dusting my nose and cheeks.

I'll be damned if I don't use all these to milk Evander Gabriel in.

Inch by inch, I leaned in to him, our breaths mingling, our noses almost touching.

Letting him think something sweet was coming. Letting him relax, let down his guard, and lean in, his ice-blue eyes dilating in anticipation.

Just when he tilted his head, about to go in for the kill, I pulled back with a calm sigh. "Not every girl wants to kiss you, Evander."

He smirked, like I'd set him up for his own punchline. "Oh, but deep down, you know you do."

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."

Immediately those words left my lips, I knew I'd hit him in the guts.

For a split second, something dark flickered in his eyes. My words were a bruise to his ego.

I smiled internally.

But just as fast, he masked it under a smug grin.

"I am everybody's type."

As I was about to reply, a singsong, female voice called from around the corner: "Evander...?"

A girl my age appeared wearing very revealing clothes.

Immediately he saw her, Evander's hand grabbed my waist and his body closed the space between us.

His lips were on mine, before I could react.

~~~

Now.

I gasp, stumbling back into the wall as his lips press firmly into mine.

His scent-clean, expensive, masculine-crashes into me. His mouth moves, slowly but with deliberacy, not romance. Like this too, is a move on his chessboard.

No. I can't let this happen.

But then his arms slip fully around my waist, pulling me in, deepening the kiss. Heat licks at my skin.

Reyna! What are you doing?!

He pauses, just enough for his lips to brush mine as he murmurs huskily, "You're a good liar, Reyna. But not better than me."

My eyes go wide. The words hit harder than the kiss.

Then, without giving me space to breathe, he claims my mouth again.

My brain screams at me to shove him away.

But my body betrays me, cataloguing the warmth, the press, the rhythm-

And I have no idea if I have already botched my plans before they even began.

REYNA

<><><>

SLAP!

I regain my senses, and my hand flies before I can stop it.

The sharp slap echoes in the hallway, ringing louder than the blood rushing to my cheeks.

Evander freezes, his head snapping to the side, a red mark blooming across his perfect cheekbone.

I feel my heart hammering, my breath panting.

He holds his cheek.

My own hand stings. But my chest stings worse. Because damn it-I kissed him back.

For half a second, I had wanted it.

That second was betrayal enough.

And that made me hate him-and myself-even more.

"You... You think this is a game?" My voice cracks.

Evander straightens slowly. His hand falls down to his side, his eyes glinting like winter glass. For once, the smug smile is gone.

He exhales. "That wasn't-" His jaw tightens. "That wasn't about you."

I scoff. "Excuse me?"

"She was watching." He jerks his chin toward the corner where the girl with the sing-song voice and revealing clothes had stormed off angrily in the middle of our kiss.

"She's been following me around like a ghost all week. I wanted her to back off."

"You used me."

He flinches, like I burned him, then steadies. "I didn't think it would hurt you... not like that."

A rumble stirs in my chest. "You don't know me."

He gulps, glancing down, then up at me again.

In a quiet voice, he says, "I'm sorry, Reyna."

He apologizes, yet the air between us is tight, tense, like a hell that has frozen over all of a sudden. I know I should walk away.

But instead, I blurt, "What have you heard about me?"

Evander's gaze sharpens. His fingers drum against his thighs once, then go still. Like he's studying me, like he's reading moves on a chessboard.

He finally speaks, in a serious tone. "That the new girl with the ginger hair and blonde streak doesn't blend in. People notice you whether you try or not, Reyna. Your features stand out."

His eyes are locked on mine. There's no tilted head, no smirk, no lowered voice.

He's not flirting. He's been honest. And for some reason, it feels... unsettling.

"And during the kiss," I press, "when you said I'm a good liar but not better than you?"

He shrugs, a ghost of a smirk curling his lip. "I meant the kiss. You pretended not to want it. I called your bluff."

I feel heat crawl up my neck. My fists clench as relief and humiliation settle inside me.

He doesn't know my real motive. Phew!

I turn to leave, when out of the blue, he catches a few strands of my hair between his fingers.

My eyes bulge. My feet freeze in place.

His voice dips low.

"Reyna," he says, "I'm sorry."

I clamp my teeth on my lower lip. The way he says my name... it shouldn't matter.

But it rattles me more than the kiss.

I yank my hair free and bolt.

~~~

The next morning, golden sunlight stabs my eyes, instantly jolting me awake.

I reach for my phone. The screen mocks me: 8:32 AM

Cac!

That's "shit" in Irish Gaelic and exactly what I'm in right now.

I tumble out of bed, my hair a wild mess of ginger and blonde, legs tangling in my blanket, and somehow remembering my Irish roots at this dire time.

My stomach churns with panic.

I dive for the bathroom. Turn on the faucet. Nothing.

A dhiabhail! There's no water.

I slam the tap shut, my chest heaving, my heart threatening to spill forth. "You've got to be kidding me."

Quickly, I yank on jeans and a crumpled shirt, drench myself in perfume, and shove random notebooks into my tote bag.

My phone buzzes.

Professor Willard's group chat: "Paper due 9 AM."

The air leaves my lungs. The room tilts. I bite my lips to stop another curse from escaping.

I never finished the paper.

My heartbeat drums like thunder in my ears. This isn't just undone assignment.

This is Professor Willard's. The human equivalent of an angry pot of boiling oil.

Basically academic suicide for a second-year transfer student.

If I mess this up, I risk probation.

Images flash through my head: Varna. Her strapped wrist. Her screams. The way she smelled of disinfectant and drugs.

I have to stay to make that bastard pay. I can't lose this chance. I can't fail her.

Swiftly, I get on my knees and dig through old folders, my hands shaking as I scatter my sketches and notes across the floor.

My fingers brush a stapled pile. An old paper. The same topic as the assignment. But not mine.

I freeze as guilt tears at my chest. What I'm thinking of doing is wrong. Plagiarism is wrong.

But Varna's screams flood my head, and I give in.

Survival doesn't wait for morals.

I rip the front page with the original name and shove the rest into my bag.

My eyes fall on the tattoo inked on the inside of my left wrist.

A small tat in cursive. Survive.

"Yes," I whisper. "Survive."

I sprint out the door.

And on impulse, I pound on Evander's. "Hey, do you have running water-"

The door swings open.

A girl leans against the frame, holding a handbag in one hand and a pair of heels in the other.

Her hair is a tangled mess, lips swollen, lipstick smudged, and she's wearing nothing but Evander's hoodie.

My stomach drops. My chest feels tight. Why does my chest feel tight?

Behind her, Evander appears. Bare-chested, jeans unzipped, and belt unbuckled and hanging loose.

Oblivious to my presence, he holds up a big, white, lacy bra, smirking. "You forgot this."

The girl and I look at the bra, then down at her small boobs.

Her voice is flat. "That's not mine."

A beat passes.

Evander freezes.

The bra dangles in his hand, absurdly oversized.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Oh, uh... laundry?"

Then he spots me. And freezes again.

He hurriedly shoves the bra behind his back.

The girl struts out.

Disgust twists on my face before I can hide it. After ruining my best friend's life, here he is, half naked with a woman, like she doesn't exist.

He notices my expression. And of course, he grins.

"Good morning to you too, my sweet neighbor."

I mutter under my breath. "Amadán!"

That's Gaelic for "idiot."

"What was that?" His grin widens as he steps closer.

Then he sniffs. Actually sniffs me.

My jaw drops. Rude!

"Wait. Did you shower?" He says.

"I... what... no!" My hands fly up defensively. "The water isn't running, and I'm late, so-"

His laughter cuts me off, deep and obnoxiously rude. "So you went with hide-and-scent."

I feel my cheeks burn. I want to strangle him.

"At least I'm not sleeping with a different girl every night," I snap.

His grin sharpens. "Jealous much?"

"Ha! You wish. The day I'm jealous of your bench rotation is the day pigs ice-skate."

With that, I turn around, holding back the exasperated groan bubbling in my chest, and storm down the hall.

"Use more perfume next time!" he calls after me, guffawing in laughter.

Amadán!

~~~

One Week Later.

Every eye in the room zeroes in on me, and I regret ever being born on Earth.

Mars sounds way better than this conference room filled with disciplinary officials who want to bite my head off and, worse, revoke my admission.

The paper I turned in for Professor Willard's assignment sits on the long table, damning me.

Words like "plagiarism" and "academic dishonesty" fall out of their lips and slice through the air.

I want to disappear. Turn into an ant, crawl into a hole, and hide.

My palms are moist with sweat. My ears ring like highschool bells.

If they revoke my admission, it's over. My revenge. My promise to Varna. All of it.

Survive, I remind myself, as my fingers tremble against my inner wrist.

The door creaks open, and my eyes snap to it.

Evander strides in confidently. Composed. Ice-blue eyes scanning the room like he's the puppet master.

What is he doing here?

He shakes the dean's hand, that golden-boy, pearly-white smile dazzling.

The officials shower him with praises. Words ripple around me. Words like Grentwood's pride. Captain of the Icewolves. Exceptional character.

I almost scoff out loud. Exceptional character, my left foot.

But then the next group of words is absolute betrayal.

They say I should be grateful to Evander. It was his idea.

Instead of expulsion, I'll work on a probationary project.

Of course. The golden boy saves the troubled girl. Story of his life.

Professor Willard's stern, deep voice booms through the room, as he strokes his long, white beards.

"Reyna Mae Davidson, in order to keep your admission, you must conduct a field research project on group behavior and team dynamics. Case study assigned to... the hockey team."

Assigned to him?!

"But Sir-"

Professor Willard raises a hand, immediately shutting me down. "No buts."

My stomach twists into a pit of fire.

Evander's done this. He's trapped me.

My gaze finds his. His is calm, calculated and... smug.

Mine is livid, burning, and murderous.

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.

A slow smirk curves his lips.

The boardroom dissolves into buzzing voices. But all I see are his eyes and the cold war that has just begun.

Fine, Evander Gabriel. You want a game? Then I'll play.

On my own terms.

EVANDER

<><><>

THWACK!

The puck slams against the wall, missing the post by several inches.

The ice cracks under its force.

My breath catches as headlights flash through the empty rink, blinding me for a second.

I don't have my helmet on, and the midnight cold bites my skin.

A huff blows through my lips. I swear under my breath.

Twentieth shot tonight. Missed.

My fingers brush the worn chess piece in my pocket.

Hockey is supposed to be my sure thing.

I am supposed to play with strategy, precision, and control, just like I do in chess.

And yet, here I am, missing shot after shot like a rookie.

I try again.

Another bloody miss.

But worse this time.

The puck ricochets dangerously close, almost hitting me in the face.

I flinch, my heart pounding.

Frustration tightens its claws around my neck.

I slam my stick down.

My feet move as I skate back and forth, running a hand through my hair to keep myself from screaming.

I take the queen out of my pocket and tap it against my palm.

There are three things I love most in the world: hockey, chess, and women.

Life used to be simple.

One-night-stands without strings. Victories on the ice, victories on the board. Grentwood Icewolves, my teammates, my brothers. Attention from lecturers, girls, NHL.

Life was perfect.

Until she showed up.

Reyna Davidson.

The memory of the first time I set my eyes on her plays in my head. The way she frowned in response to my-usually-disarming smile, then stood up and quietly walked away.

I knew then that she was different. She is different.

That blonde streak in her ginger hair, the way her cheeks flare when she's angry, making her freckles stand out more.

I'm smiling. Dammit. Fuck.

I twist the queen.

"Every move matters, son." My father's voice booms in my head.

I drag my legs to the bench, taking a sheet of paper out of my bag. The season has started already, and I still haven't drafted the team roster, like Coach asked me to.

I scold myself. Get your head in the game, Evander.

Her words echo in my head: "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."

I scoff. Not her type? My jaw clenches.

That disciplinary board situation? I suggested the project. I knew my reputation would make the dean bend.

Not because I wanted to help her but because my ego was bruised. Because she hit it.

The sound of skates scraping the ice pulls me from my thoughts.

A figure glides across.

Tall, blonde hair, athletic build. I groan as his smirking face comes into view.

Koshen Ron, captain and lead idiot of our number one rival college team: Brookbridge Breakaways.

He holds his stick across both his shoulders.

"I saw your ten thousand missed shots, and I must say," He tilts his head, smirk widening. "Careful, Gabriel. Your crown looks loose."

"Not in the mood, Koshen," I growl, and that only edges him on.

"Funny. You play better with an audience. Or maybe just not thinking about Reyna."

At the sound of her name, my gaze locks onto his, fury blazing in my veins. I clench my fists.

He chuckles.

Then lowers his stick and flicks my puck across the rink.

It hits the goal in one effortless shot.

Bloody hell!

A vein ticks in my neck, straining against my skin.

I pick up my bag, get up, and leave before I do something that would get me benched for a week.

~~~

Slamming the door shut, I shove into my dorm and sling my bag onto the bed, harder than I mean to.

My hand reaches for my water bottle on my bedside cupboard, and I chug the water down furiously, in hopes that it will cool the burn in my chest.

But that proves to be a terrible idea when I feel the force of the water tighten and hook in my throat.

My face reddens as I cough, water splattering all over my jersey, soaking into my chest.

Fuck.

I feel my chest rise and fall in heaves.

Abruptly, my phone lights up on the bed. I look down.

It's a video call from... Eliza.

My bones freeze, and my throat tightens even more.

Letting go of the water bottle, I let my body collapse into a sitting position on the bed.

I grasp the phone with shaking hands.

It's 12:22 AM. A call from my thirteen-year-old sister at this time can only mean one thing.

My hand hovers over the accept button, trembling terribly.

Just one touch and I will be back in that world I keep buried. That world the spotlight must never see.

That world that I can't shield my little sister from.

I press the green button to find a scene that sends a knife stabbing into my chest.

My sister sits crouched on the floor of her bedroom with its pink walls and butterfly stickers that we painted and put up together.

"Vander..." she sniffles, her voice cracking in a soft whisper. "They are fighting again."

The knife twists.

My mother and her father-my stepfather-are fighting again. Their voices filter faintly through her closed door.

It's been this way since my biological father died and my mother remarried.

I go down on my knees by my bed, kneeling beside her through the screen.

"Eliza," I gulp to keep my voice from breaking. "Go lie on your bed, okay?"

She nods, moving to her bed as silent tears continue to streak her beautiful face.

She is like a female reflection of me. Same black hair and ice-blue eyes.

"You... you want me to sing the lullaby?"

Eliza nods, and in a second, my voice fills both our rooms.

Deep, gravelly, but quivering with anguish for what my beloved sister has to endure.

Pain clouds my vision. It feels like my heart is going to burst.

I gulp and try to keep it together. Eliza can't see me break. That would break her.

But my voice cracks and I forget a line.

I expect her to frown, but instead, she erupts into giggles, through her tears. "Vander, you forgot the line again"

A wry smile spreads over my lips "Your brother's not really smart"

Eliza wipes her face.

"But I love him like that." She says

Then hugs the teddy I gave her for her birthday, yawning. "I love you, Vander."

The reply almost doesn't come out, stifled by the ache and sorrow bubbling in my heart.

By the time I say "I love you too, Eliza," she is fast asleep.

I end the call.

Still on my knees, I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling moisture on my face.

A tear slips down my cheek.

Koshen's words echo in the void of my head, heavier than when he said them.

"Careful, Gabriel. Your crown looks loose."

I lied. There are four things I love most in this world.

The fourth is my sister, Eliza.

She's the only reason I fight. The only reason I breathe.

And yet... when I close my eyes, it's not just Eliza's face I see. I see hers too.

Reyna Davidson.

The one distraction I cannot afford.