CHAPTER FOUR

MIKEL'S POV

I’ve spent three years watching Brianna from the edges of my vision.

To the rest of the school, she was a ghost in a chunky sweater, but I’d noticed her back in freshman year—the way her nose crinkled when she was thinking, that sharp, dry wit she’d whisper to herself in the back of the class, and, yeah, the fact that she was undeniably cute in a way that didn't require three layers of foundation.

I’d played it cool, but the cafeteria disaster had handed me the perfect opening.

Leaning back in my chair as she agreed to my terms, I felt a surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with hockey.

Coach had been breathing down my neck all morning, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple as he waved my mid-term grades in my face. “One more D, Mikel, and you’re watching the playoffs from the bleachers.” Failing wasn't an option, but neither was letting Brianna slip back into Kenneth's grip.

Now, having her in my arms was a test to my self-control. My gaze moved from those beautiful blue eyes of hers to her lips. And Oh fuck, how I wanted to kiss them until she was breathless and aching into my touch.

“I think someone has to keep to her rules" I mumbled, forcing a sly smile, trying to steady my racing heart.

She stumbled to stand upright as if snapping out of her daze. She looked away immediately but I could see the blush on her cheek clearly and that was enough to tell me, I've got a chance.

"Okay, we meet by 6pm. But for now if you don't want to miss class, let's go, girlfriend,'" I said, offering my hand.

She stared at it like it was a coiled snake before slowly placing her smaller, colder hand in mine. We walked out like that—hand in hand.

As we walked out of the library and into the main hall, every head turned, every conversation died and all their gaze were fixed on us.

I swallowed hard trying to not leap for joy. Only I know how much I've waited for this day, waiting to walk hand-in-hand with her as my girlfriend.

I laced my fingers through hers, pulling her slightly closer to my side. I could feel her trembling, but I leaned into the silent brag.

Every jealous glare from the guys and every shocked gasp from the girls was a hit of pure dopamine.

As we turned the corner, Brianna’s steps suddenly slowed, her gaze fixed forward. I traced it and there stood—Kenneth.

He was there flanked by his teammates, looking like some kind of king. Imogen was tucked under his arm, her eyes narrowed into slits.

The second Kenneth saw our joined hands, his face contorted and immediately, he stepped forward, blocking our path.

"What is this, Mikel?" Kenneth spat, his voice vibrating with a fury he usually reserved for the rink. "You’re actually doing this? Using her to get to me?"

"I don't need to use anyone to get to you, Ken," I said, my grip on Brianna’s hand tightening. I felt her tense, ready to bolt, but I stepped in front of her. "Maybe I just recognized what you were too blind to see. She’s too good for your little sister box, she's better off as my girlfriend."

"Oh please, we both know she isn't your girlfriend," Imogen shrieked, her voice echoing off the lockers. "This is a pathetic show you came up with and I'm sure you two probably haven't even spoken two words to each other before today!"

A sly smile grazed my lips but instead of explaining to her— which I was pretty sure her IQ was too low to understand— I gently pulled Brianna’s palm upward and placed a soft peck on it.

She wringed but didn't push me away and that alone and the burning hurt in Kenneth's eyes was the taste of victory

Kenneth took another step closer, his fists clenched. "Let go of her."

I was ready to drop my bag and settle this right there, but suddenly, Brianna pulled back, snatching her hand off my grip

"Enough!” She yelled, her hands clenching and unclenching. “Can you two just stop this!" I gave her a curt nod.

“You heard her, she said you…”

"Stop it, Kenneth," she said, her voice surprisingly steady as she cut him off. "There's no need for you to pretend to be my overprotective brother"

“It’s fucking ironic how you only noticed me when I became a scandal and the last time I checked, you didn't care where I was or who I was with yesterday morning, so don't pretend it kills you now. It’s not fair, and… it’s too late."

The hallway went dead silent. Kenneth looked like she’d punched him in the gut. He just stared at her shocked and the warmth of satisfaction spread through me.

"I wonder what you offered him to speak to Kenneth in that manner. But let me remind you, no matter what you do, Mike is a Playboy and when he's done ruining you down there, he'll move to his next target.” Imogen's voice rang and I had to ball my fist so as to not punch her in the guts. I don't hit women.

I knew she was trying to stand up for her boyfriend and now, I was going to ruin that and put her in her place.

“You wouldn't need to worry about that but trust me the next time you send me those irritating nudes of yours, I'd upload it to the hockey platform. And trust me, you'd get more popular than you ever can.”

The color drained from her eyes immediately. Kenneth's gaze move to hers. "You send him your nudes?”

"He's lying. He's trying to slander me because…” Her voice trembled trying to sound pathetic and regaining faith.

"Really? Good thing I've got proof, I think I've got one you sent me yesternight." Before she could stop me, I pulled out my phone, typed in her name and shove the proof in her boyfriend’s face.

His face went white. “You're..

You're seducing him?"

I clenched my fist trying hard to fight a laughter that was threatening to spill through.

Kenneth looked at Imogen, then at the phone, his face a mask of dawning horror and embarrassment. He looked pathetic.

"We're done here," Brianna said. She didn't wait for me this time. She started walking, and I had to grab my phone and hurry to catch up, intertwining our hands again, even though all I wanted to do was watch the drama unfold.

Once we were around the corner and out of sight, she stopped abruptly and wrenched her hand away from mine, her eyes blazing. The shy, trembling girl from the library was gone.

She stood tall, her eyes flashing with an assertion that caught me off guard.

"New rules, Mikel," she said, pointing a finger at my chest. "You don't speak for me, you don't use my life to settle scores with Kenneth and if you ever pull a stunt like that 'evidence' thing again without telling me, the deal is off. I tutor you, we play the part in public, and that is it."

I stared at her, stunned into silence. Shouldn't she be proud and happy I did this for her?

Before I could say anything, she stormed off into the class.

CHAPTER FIVE

BRIANNA'S POV

The heavy door of my dorm room thudded shut behind me, the sound echoing the hollow thumping in my chest.

I didn’t bother flicking on the light. I didn't even have the energy to toe off my scuffed trainers. I just collapsed face-first onto the duvet, burying my burning face into the coolness of the pillow.

How had my life derailed so spectacularly in less than forty-eight hours?

On Monday, I was a ghost.

On Tuesday, I was scandalized.

And now, on Wednesday, I was the property of a boy who treated the world like his personal chessboard.

The silence of the room was oppressive, so I did the only thing that ever made the world feel manageable.

I crawled toward the foot of the bed and hauled my laptop onto my lap.

The glow of the screen washed over my tired features, and my fingers hovered over the keys, trembling.

I opened my private dashboard—the one associated with my pen name, the one that had secretly garnered thousands of views from students who had no idea the "Ghost" lived in the room next door.

I started a new draft. I titled it ‘The Wolf That Rules the Pack.’

My breath hitched as the words poured out of me. It wasn't about the game, the scores, or the technicality of the ice. It was about Mikel.

It was about the way arrogance sat on his shoulders like a royal mantle, and the way something hungry seemed to hide beneath the white-and-gold of his hockey jersey.

Writing it felt like a betrayal. It felt like playing with matches in a room full of gasoline.

If anyone ever connected these descriptions—the way he tilted his head, the specific rhythm of his walk—to the girl currently dating him, I wouldn't just be humiliated. I’d be ruined.

I was halfway through a sentence about the "calculating coldness in a striker’s eyes" when the door handle rattled violently.

I slammed the laptop shut just as my roommate’s friend, Chloe, burst in, followed by a girl in a cheerleading uniform and my roommate, Sarah.

"Oh, look who’s actually here," Sarah said, her eyes scanning me with the clinical precision of a hawk.

She didn't offer a greeting; she just leaned against the dresser, her arms crossed.

"The whole campus is literally vibrating, Brianna. My DMs are blowing up. Half the squad thinks you’ve cast a spell on Mikel, and the other half thinks you’re just a very lucky charity case."

"It’s not like that," I muttered, my stomach tightening into a hard, painful knot.

"Sure, honey. Just a word of advice?" Sarah stepped closer, her smile not reaching her eyes.

"Mikel doesn't do quiet. If you’re going to be his girl, you better start acting like you belong in the spotlight, or the school will chew you up and spit you out faster than a bad habit."

“Hmmm…” I drawled.

I didn't stay to hear the rest. I grabbed my bag, shoved my feet back into my shoes, and bolted.

I couldn't breathe in there.

I couldn't breathe anywhere where people were looking at me like I was a prize he’d won at a carnival.

It was past 6pm already and I'd planned to delay Mikel’s sorry ass. But as it seems, I wasn't even allowed to do that.

A grunt escaped my lips as I made a U-turn into the athletic wing. My sneakers squeaked against the polished tiles, the sound echoing like gunshots in the empty corridor.

I checked my watch for the tenth time. 6:35 PM.

He wasn't even here, he was still late at this time?

I bit my lip hard. I was early, and I hated myself for it. I sat on a wooden bench outside the locker rooms, my fingers twisting the strap of my bag.

Just then, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open.

Mikel walked in with a swagger that was purely instinctive.

His hair was a mess from practice, damp curls sticking to his forehead, and his gear bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder.

He looked cute—infuriatingly so—but it was the lazy, triumphant grin on his face that made my pulse spike. He dropped his bag on the bench next to me, exhaling as if he owned the very air we were breathing.

"Glad you could make it, tutor," he said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that always seemed to vibrate in my bones. "Ready to start the legend of us?"

"This isn't a legend, Mikel. It’s a transaction," I said, standing up and pulling out a notebook.

I wasn't going to let him dictate the tempo today.

"If we're doing this—this fake relationship—we need standard ground rules, not like the just stated carefree ones. And I’m going first."

He leaned back, spreading his arms across the top of the bench, his eyes tracking my every move. "Go on then, Bri. Rule the world."

"Rule one," I said, my voice gaining strength. "No sudden kisses. No physical contact that isn't absolutely necessary for the performance."

"Rule two: No sex. Not even a hint of it.”

"Rule three: No catching feelings. This is a job.”

"Rule four: Nobody finds out this is fake. If you slip up, I’m gone."

“And rule five: This ends the second Homecoming is over. We go our separate ways, and you give me back every page of my notebook."

Mikel watched me for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he stood up, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

"My turn," he whispered. "Rule one: You attend every single home game with no excuses."

“Rule two: You cheer loudly for any game of mine. I want everyone to think you’re my biggest fan."

“Rule three: You go to every party I go to. That includes the victory celebrations after the matches."

“Rule four: You wear my jersey on Fridays. And rule five..." He stepped even closer, his thigh pressing just slightly against mine.

I scooted away immediately, my heart racing. He just chuckled and scooted closer again, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Rule five," he continued, "is that you don't look at me like I’m a monster when people are watching. You look at me like you did in that story you wrote—like I’m the only thing in the room worth seeing."

I glared at him, the tension in the room becoming heavy. I didn't know what, but him up close was surely doing something to me.

"One month," I whispered. "That’s it."

"One month," he agreed, his grin widening. "A lot can happen in a month, Brianna."

I turned away, trying to hide the way my hands were shaking.

I was trapped. I was effectively being blackmailed into a starring role in a drama I never auditioned for.

I had to keep the act convincing; I had to play the part of the devoted girlfriend while secretly fixing the grades of the boy I wanted to throttle.

"Well a lot can happen, but trust me, that lot won't include me liking your ass one bit." I snarled.

“I didn't mention liking," brows arched as he scurried forward. “Did you maybe have some feeling for me Brianna?"

At the sound of those questions, my heart suddenly started racing so fast, I was scared he had hear them.

I pushed at his chest, forcing him to sit. “You wish. I don't fall for block heads, only geniuses catches my attention"

“Well I guess I have to work hard," He winked and I suddenly felt hot.

I swallowed hard and stared at him sternly, “It's tutoring time, you better listen. I'm not lenient as a tutor.”

CHAPTER SIX

The roar of the crowd was a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums until my head throbbed.

I stood just behind the plexiglass of the players’ bench, my fingers cramping as I gripped the cold metal of my clipboard.

A hot hockey match was going on. Even though I understood nothing, every time a player slammed into the boards, the vibration rattled through the soles of my shoes, making my teeth chatter.

My gaze was fixed on Mikel. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was a total god on the ice. He moved with a ruthless, predatory grace that made the other players look like they were skating through molasses.

Every time he caught the puck, the stadium erupted into a thunderous chant of his name. He was fast, spinning past defenders with an arrogance that should have been infuriating, but was somehow hypnotic.

He scored the first goal within three minutes.

As the crowd went wild, Mikel's gaze swept through the ice, he didn't look at his teammates. He didn't look at the coach.

Instead, he skated a slow, deliberate circle near the bench, his eyes locking onto mine through the cage of his helmet like a silent command: Watch me.

I felt my face heat up despite the freezing air. He was insufferable, a peacock on skates, yet I couldn't tear my eyes away.

He skated back into the game and immediately the rivalry continued. And it was then, I seemed to remember who Mikel’s opponent was… Kenneth

Kenneth moved in to block him, his jaw set in that familiar, stubborn line. The clash of their sticks sounded like a gunshot.

Kenneth tried to hold his ground, but Mikel was too quick. With a flick of his wrists and a deceptive shimmy, Mikel spun past him, leaving Kenneth grasping at empty air.

The final buzzer blared, signaling a 4-1 victory.

The team swarmed Mikel, pounding on his shoulders.

His coach was shouting praise from the sidelines, and Mikel just offered that lazy, lopsided grin—the one that said he’d known the outcome before the first whistle.

Kenneth walked over, his face a mask of suppressed rage, as he walked past me, with his team mates trailing behind.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

It should have been a team win, but Mikel had turned it into a personal dare.

Two hours later, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in my dorm, my breath hitching in my throat. I tugged at the hem of my swimsuit, feeling a surge of reckless adrenaline.

"Oh, shut up. You look absolutely lethal," Sarah said, pausing with a charcoal face mask halfway applied to her forehead.

"If you’re trying to give that hockey god a heart attack, you’re about three seconds away from success."

I looked at my reflection and barely recognized the girl staring back.

I wasn't wearing the oversized, moth-eaten sweaters I usually used as armor. Instead, I was wearing a hot pink one-piece swimsuit that hugged every curve I’d spent years trying to hide.

I’d layered a sheer, flowy kimono over it, but it did little to mask the bold statement I was making.

I knew Mikel’s preferences. I’d overheard him once telling his teammates that pink was "too loud, too girly, too distracting" and I was definitely not wearing it for that exact reason. I wasn't dressing to fit into his world; I was dressing to annoy him. I wanted to be a thorn in his side, a distraction he couldn't ignore, just he was to me.

Sarah leaned in, expertly flicking a wing of eyeliner across my lid. "You look dangerous, Brianna. Like you’re finally ready to burn the school down."

I offered a small, hesitant grin. I was damn nervous about this.

**

The "Hockey House" was a sprawling, three-story nightmare of loud bass, flashing LED strips, and the smell of cheap beer.

Even from the sidewalk, I could feel the floorboards vibrating. My palms were sweaty as I adjusted the silk of my kimono and walked toward the porch.

Mikel was there, surrounded by a circle of teammates. He was wearing red board shorts and a white linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button more than halfway.

His hair was still damp from the post-game shower, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that made my stomach flip. He was leaning back, a red cup in his hand, looking like the king of the campus.

Well…until he saw me.

The lazy smile vanished instantly. His cup halted mid-air. His gaze traveled down slowly, starting at my face—now free of the heavy glasses—and lingering on the bright pink fabric and the line of my legs. The silence that stretched between us was louder than the music.

"You’re late," he finally said, his voice lower and rougher than usual. He stepped toward me, his eyes dark with something I couldn't quite read. Anger? Shock? Or maybe just the realization that his puppet had teeth.

"I’m exactly on time," I countered, rolling my eyes and stepping past him into the house. "Try to keep up, Captain."

The moment we crossed the threshold, I regretted ever rushing forward.

Every gaze was on me. Conversations dying mid-sentence.

I saw a group of girls near the punch bowl actually gasp, their eyes darting between my pink swimsuit and Mikel’s hand, which had found its way to the small of my back.

Without my glasses and my protective layers of wool, I was a stranger to them.

Those were the reactions I avoided, that's why I always wore oversize.

We moved deeper into the party, the bass vibrating in my very bones.

Every time his fingers brushed against my skin, a spark of electricity shot up my spine.

“It was a performance,” I reminded myself. “Just an act.”

But the way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching felt terrifyingly real.

"Well, well. Look at the little mouse trying to play dress-up."

I stiffened.

Imogen was standing near the fireplace, her arms crossed, her eyes dripping with venom.

She looked me up and down, her lip curling in mock surprise. "A pink swimsuit, Brianna? Really? It’s a bit... desperate, don't you think? You don't belong here, and no amount of neon fabric is going to change the fact that you’re just a temporary fix for Mikel’s GPA."

I felt the familiar sting of shame, the urge to shrink back into the shadows. But then I felt Mikel’s grip tighten on my waist. He didn't say a word, but his presence was a solid wall at my back.

I took a breath, meeting Imogen’s gaze with a coolness I didn't know I possessed.

"I didn't dress for the house, Imogen. I dressed for myself. If you’re intimidated by a bit of color, maybe that’s something you should take up with your therapist."

The surrounding crowd "oohed," and Imogen’s face turned a mottled red anger flashing in her eyes.

Before I could say something else, she walked up to me with a growl.

Mikel tried to step in front of me but I waved him off and removed his grip from me.

I was done being controlled by Imogen.

"You…" Before I could utter any other word, she suddenly shoved me hard.

I stumbled backwards, losing my balance and fell into the swimming pool. Hard!

I struggle upward, feeling the water filling up my nostril as I gasp for her. My life flashing before my eyes.

“Help. I can't swim!" I shrieked.