The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat, extinguishing the loud bass of the Hockey House party in an instant.

Suddenly, I wasn’t eighteen anymore. Terrifying flashes of drowning as a kid filled my head, the suffocating memory of struggling helplessly against a weightless monster. My deep-seated phobia kicked in with a vengeance. My breath became more labored under the surface, panic draining the oxygen from my lungs as my body began sinking like a stone into the dark depths of the pool.

Just as the blackness started edging into my vision, a powerful grip yanked my upper body upward.

I felt myself break the surface, gasping into the cool night air, but I couldn't seem to respond. My limbs felt heavy, paralyzed by pure terror.

"Brianna, wake up… open your eyes!"

Mikel's voice pierced through the ringing in my ears, rough and stripped of its usual lazy arrogance. I could hear him desperately calling out to me, but my body just wasn’t responding.

"Shit!" Mikel cursed loudly.

He swam with powerful, frantic strokes toward the shallow end, dragging me with him until he reached the shore of the pool. Slowly and carefully, he rested my shivering body on the hard concrete floor. Without wasting a single second, he placed two hands firmly on the center of my chest and began pumping, desperate to clear my lungs.

I jolted upward, violently coughing up a mouthful of chlorinated water, before dropping weakly back to the floor.

My vision was still swimming, but suddenly, I felt his fingers on my nose, pinching it shut. My breath hitched in my throat, knowing exactly what was coming up next. He was going to give me mouth-to-mouth.

Every panicked nerve in my body wanted to scream ‘no’. I could already feel his warm breath ghosting over my lips. I didn't know where I found the strength or the sheer willpower, but I forced my eyes open, snapped my hand up, and pressed my palm directly against his lips, effectively blocking his kiss.

We stared at each other, both panting, my hand still plastered over his mouth.

I weakly pushed myself up to sit. The moment I did, Mikel immediately grabbed a large, dry towel from nearby and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. As he hovered over me, the raw, unfiltered worry blazing in his green eyes made my chest clench painfully.

*Don't fall for it,* I fiercely reminded myself. He was an elite player, a master of control. He was probably just pretending to care for the sake of the audience, maintaining the doting boyfriend act so nothing messed up his pristine image.

"Are you fine?" he breathed, his hands still hovering near my arms.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and offered a small nod. "Yes," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Satisfied that I was breathing, the worry in Mikel's face vanished, instantly replaced by a terrifying, dark rage. He suddenly rose to his feet and whirled around toward the crowd, his eyes locking onto a stunned Imogen.

"How dare you touch her?!" Mikel yelled, his voice echoing fiercely over the quieted party. "You could have killed her, you sick fool!"

Imogen, though momentarily startled by his fury, quickly recovered and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms, crossing her ankles casually. "At least she didn't die," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "Stop overexaggerating, Mikel."

Seeing that cold, unapologetic smirk on her lips made my blood boil. I wanted nothing more than to watch Mikel tear her apart, but seeing how red his face was from pure anger, a sudden wave of panic hit me. If Mikel laid a hand on her, or if a violent scandal broke out at a team house, it would get back to the athletic department. He could really be benched or completely expelled from playing hockey—and his scout reports would go up in smoke, destroying the very deal we made. I had to stop him first.

Slowly, my legs shaking like jelly, I stood up, still shivering violently from the cold water. I stepped close to him and placed my small, damp hand on Mikel’s tense forearm.

Mikel snapped his head down to look at me. My breath caught, and I swallowed hard because, despite the absolute chaos of the moment, I couldn't understand why he looked so incredibly hot when he was angry. The absolute intensity in his eyes was dizzying.

"Can you take me somewhere to change?" I whispered, pulling the towel tighter around my hot pink swimsuit. "It's getting really cold."

Mikel’s rigid posture melted slightly, his eyes softening instantly as he looked at my shivering frame. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly swept me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest.

My eyes widened in genuine shock at the sudden movement, but the sheer exhaustion took over. I felt myself leaning into his solid frame, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. I tried to tell myself it wasn't personal; I just desperately craved warmth, and his linen shirt was radiating heat. I offered Mikel a small, grateful smile and dunked my head into the crook of his neck as he began to walk off.

But before I could fully dwell on how safe I felt in his embrace, Mikel paused. With a swift, brutal movement of his leg, he kicked Imogen squarely in the back, sending her flying straight into the swimming pool.

A shrill, undignified scream echoed through the backyard as she hit the water with a massive splash.

A burst of laughter bubbled up in my chest. I bit my lip hard, trying to contain it, but a satisfied chuckle escaped me anyway. She entirely deserved it.

As Mikel turned back toward the house to carry me inside, my eyes casually swept over the remaining crowd—and froze.

Standing by the left side of the patio was Kenneth. He was standing completely still, but what caught my attention was that he was completely drenched, water dripping from his clothes and hair onto the concrete.

My brows furrowed in deep confusion. *Did he… did he also jump in to save me?*

I immediately shook the thought from my head. No, he wouldn't. Kenneth had made his disgust perfectly clear in the cafeteria, and he didn't care about me anymore. Not to mention, Kenneth had a well-known phobia of deep water himself; he would never risk jumping into a pool. He probably just took a clumsy shower or someone spilled a drink on him.

I tightened my grip around Mikel's neck, forcing myself to look away from my stepbrother. I really, desperately needed to get my mind off Kenneth and focus on surviving the boy currently carrying me.

*Click.*

The sharp, heavy sound of the door lock snapping into place echoed through the quiet space, cutting off the distant, muffled bass of the party downstairs. My head snapped up instantly at the sound.

My chest tightened in a sudden, suffocating grip—not just because Mikel had pushed the door open and shut it behind us, but because of exactly where he had taken me. When I whispered for him to take me somewhere to change, I expected a guest bathroom, a communal locker room, or maybe a disorganized laundry area. Instead, we were standing in a massive, lavishly decorated bedroom suite.

And right in the center of the room sat a massive king-sized bed, complete with silk sheets and an elaborate arrangement of dark red rose petals meticulously shaped into a giant heart.

"Mikel, what is this?" I breathed, my voice trembling as my eyes darted around the room.

He didn’t answer right away. He slowly walked over to the bed and carefully placed me down on the edge of the mattress. The velvet-like petals crinkled beneath my weight, and my mind immediately went completely bonkers.

Why is there a heart on the bed?

Is this his room?

Did he set this up beforehand?

Panic, mixed with a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline, surged through my veins. Was he trying to have sex with me? I mean, I couldn't deny the obvious: he was breathtakingly handsome, all sharp jawlines, messy blonde hair, and broad shoulders that practically radiated heat. A part of my treacherous brain even whispered that the friction and warmth of his body could definitely help soothe the deep, shivering cold rattling my bones. But I wasn’t ready for that. We had rules. We had a strictly professional arrangement.

I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry as I watched him step closer, towering over me.

Mikel leaned down, his green eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. Then, his large, warm hand slipped behind me, gliding slowly and deliberately up my bare back where the sheer kimono had parted.

My breathing became incredibly labored. The heat of his palm sent a violent shiver straight up my spine, completely unrelated to the cold water. My gaze instinctively shifted downward, locking onto his lips. They were parted slightly, just inches away from mine. For a fraction of a second, the temptation to just lean in and let the current pull me under was overwhelming.

No. No, I couldn’t do this! I couldn't let myself become another conquest, another temporary fix in his playboy lifestyle, no matter how much my heart was hammering against my ribs.

Suddenly, a jolt of panic gave me a burst of strength. I planted both of my palms firmly against his solid chest and pushed him off with everything I had, scrambling backward and getting frantically onto my feet.

"What is wrong with you?!" I yelled, my voice cracking with emotion as I pointed a shaking finger at him. "Stay away from me!"

Mikel stumbled backward a few steps from the unexpected force of my shove, but managed to get a firm grip on his balance before he actually fell, straightening his spine to his full, imposing height.

His brows furrowed in deep, utter confusion as he looked at me, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. "Why did you push me off?" he asked, his voice low and genuinely baffled.

"I-I don't know what you're thinking," I stuttered, my hands gripping the edges of the oversized towel to cover as much of my hot pink swimsuit as humanly possible. "But I am not one of those girls you can have so easily! I won't let you use me or take advantage of me just because I'm wet and freezing. I won't let you!"

The confusion in his brow crept even lower, his eyes scanning my defensive posture and my flushed, panicked face. For a long, agonizing second, the room was completely silent.

Then, his chest began to heave and without another word, he burst out laughing.

It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a rich, deep, genuine chuckle that vibrated right through the quiet suite. He shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. "You really have such interesting thoughts, Ghost Writer," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"What is so funny?" I snapped, crossing my arms defensively.

"Brianna, I only brought you in here because this is the team captain’s private suite, and it's the only room with a lock where people wouldn't barge in on you," he explained, his laughter finally dying down into a low rumble. "And as for my hand on your back... I was only trying to help you dust away the loose rose flowers that got stuck to your skin when I carried you in. You had petals glued to your back when I placed you on the bed."

My jaw dropped. The heat in my face instantly amplified, turning from a blush of anger into a scorching wave of absolute mortification. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. He hadn't been trying to make a move; he was literally just cleaning debris off me.

Before I could even attempt to stammer out an apology, the laughter completely vanished from Mikel's face. A slow, dangerous, and incredibly wicked smirk appeared on his lips.

His green eyes darkened as they slowly scanned my body, tracing the lines of the damp towel, the peek of vibrant pink fabric, and my long, bare legs.

The air in the room suddenly turned thick, heavy with a completely different kind of tension. He walked deliberately back toward the bed, stopping right where I had been sitting.

Slowly, sinfully, he placed one knee on the mattress, leaning his weight forward so he was closer to my level.

"But..." he muttered, his voice dropping into a deep, incredibly sexy register that sent a thrill straight to my core. "If you want something else, Brianna... I'm always down. I wouldn't want to keep my fake girlfriend from getting satisfied. If you're craving some warmth, all you have to do is ask."

The sheer boldness of his words made me swallow hard. For a wild, reckless second, my overactive writer's imagination took the bait visualizing his large hands gripping my waist, pulling me against his burning skin, his lips completely devouring mine without any rules or boundaries to hold us back.

The mental image was so vivid, so spicy, that it made my heart do a dangerous flip.

I violently shook my head, snapping myself back to reality before he could read the desire clear across my face.

"In your dreams!" I yelled, though my voice lacked any real bite. "You wish, Mikel!"

Without waiting for his response, I whirled around, pushed him away from my path, and ran toward the nearest door in the suite. I grabbed the handle and shoved it open, praying to whatever deity was listening that it wasn't a closet. Thankfully, a beautifully lit, modern bathroom greeted me.

As I rushed inside, I could hear Mikel’s deep, triumphant laughter echoing behind me before the door clicked shut.

I ran straight to the marble sink, gripped the edges, and stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed a violent, dark red, and my eyes looked wide and wild.

What on earth was wrong with me?

Why did he have this much power to rattle me?

My heart was beating so incredibly fast against my ribs that I could feel the pulse in my throat, and no matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn't control it.

Turning on the cold tap, I cupped the refreshing water in my hands and splashed it directly onto my face, trying to wash away the memory of his smirk and the intoxicating weight of his presence.

I rested my forehead against the cool mirror, shivering out a long, ragged breath. He was dangerous. Writing about fictional male leads was one thing, but dealing with a real-life, living breathing alpha hockey captain who knew exactly how to push my buttons was a completely different story.

“Knock. Knock,” The sharp rap on the wooden door made me jump.

"Get lost, Mikel!" I yelled at the door, my voice muffled by the towel I was using to dry my face.

"I would," Mikel's smooth, amused voice drifted through the wood panels. "But I'm currently holding a pair of fresh, dry clothes for you. Of course, if you don't want them, I don't mind. But I'm pretty sure you're not ready to wear those soaking wet clothes again. And unless you're planning on showing me your nakedness when you walk out... which, by the way, I wouldn't be complaining about at all..."

"Shut up!" I shouted, cutting him off before he could get any more descriptive.

How shameless could one person possibly be? He was entirely impossible. Yet, despite my internal scolding, my cheeks were already betraying me again, burning hotter than before.

Realizing I couldn't stay locked in the bathroom forever in a damp swimsuit, I walked over to the door. I unlocked it, snapped it open just a few inches, and thrust my hand through the gap. Mikel was standing right there, holding a neatly folded, thick grey hoodie and a pair of matching sweatpants.

Before he could say another word or flash that maddening smirk, I forcefully dragged the clothes right out of his hands and snapped the heavy door shut directly in his face, locking it with a loud, definitive thud.

"You're welcome, sweetheart!" his muffled voice called out from the bedroom, dripping with satisfaction.

After soaking in the warmth of a quick, steaming bath to rid my skin of the pool's lingering chill, I had finally pulled Mikel’s oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants over my skin. The thick fabric engulfed me completely, swallowing my small frame, but the instant warmth it provided was a welcome relief to my aching muscles.

Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I unlocked the door and stepped back out into the bedroom suite.

To my immediate surprise, Mikel wasn’t in the room anymore. Even more surprising was the state of the room itself; the entire space had been meticulously rearranged in the short time I was gone. The romantic, elaborate heart-shaped rose petal arrangement that had triggered my massive panic attack just minutes ago was completely gone. The silk sheets had been smoothed over, the loose flowers cleared away, and the room had been restored to a clean, deceptively normal state.

I walked over to the massive king-sized bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long, weary sigh. I mindlessly kicked my bare legs back and forth, listening to the muffled, heavy vibrations of the bass still pounding through the floorboards from the backyard below. The party was clearly still raging.

‘He probably went back down to join them,’ I thought, a sudden, unexpected pang of emptiness squeezing my chest. It made sense. He was the star hockey captain, the king of the campus, and the man of the hour after a spectacular 4-1 victory. He shouldn't have to wait around for me. After all, in the grand scheme of his high-status social life, I was completely irrelevant. I was just a temporary GPA fix, a ghostwriter hiding behind rules and a fake relationship.

I sighed again, running a hand through my damp hair. I didn’t want to go back outside. The mere thought of stepping back onto that patio made my stomach knot with anxiety. More than anything, I desperately didn’t want to face Kenneth. I couldn't bear the thought of dissecting why he had been standing there completely drenched, or worse, dealing with the cold, cutting disgust he so easily threw my way.

Desperate to escape my own suffocating thoughts, I dropped my back flat onto the plush bed, staring up at the ceiling.

*Click.*

The sharp sound of the door mechanism breaking the silence made me freeze. My gaze moved instantly toward the entrance.

When the door swung open and Mikel walked back into the room, an involuntary, completely unbidden smile bloomed across my face. The sudden wave of relief that washed over me was terrifying, but I couldn't stop it.

As Mikel walked toward the study table in the corner of the suite, I finally noticed the heavy black backpack he was clutching in his right hand. He hoisted it up, placing the backpack firmly on the table with a dull thud, before turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. His eyes locked onto mine, his expression unreadable but intense.

"Come over here, Brianna," he said, his deep voice cutting through the distant drone of the music.

I pushed myself up, sliding off the bed, and walked across the hardwood floor toward him. The oversized sweatpants bunched around my ankles, making me feel incredibly small under his towering gaze.

When I reached the table, Mikel reached out and smoothly pulled a heavy wooden chair back for me. I offered a quiet murmur of thanks and sat down.

Instead of moving away, Mikel dragged the opposite chair out and sat down directly across from me. He unzipped the heavy backpack, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled out a thick British History textbook and a fresh notebook, placing them squarely on the table between us.

I stared at the pristine pages, a incredulous laugh bubbling in my throat. I almost rolled my eyes right then and there. Mikel was truly an enigma, a beautiful, confusing contradiction of a person. Who on earth brings academic textbooks to a wild, alcohol-fueled team victory house party just to study in a locked upstairs bedroom? Anyone who saw the ferocious, ruthless captain on the ice would never believe he was secretly a serious freak when it came to his eligibility.

Mikel adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly as he appraised my expression. "Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked.

I instinctively shook my head, my lips forming a silent ‘no’ before I could even think about it. But almost instantly, as if on cue to betray me, my stomach let out a loud, aggressive, and incredibly hollow churn that echoed clearly in the quiet space of the room.

The corners of Mikel's mouth twitched, and that familiar, devastatingly wicked smirk carved its way onto his lips.

I felt a scorching wave of heat rush straight to my cheeks, flushing with absolute embarrassment. I pressed a hand against my traitorous stomach, glaring at the textbook to avoid his amused green eyes.

Without teasing me out loud, Mikel simply bent down, reaching back into the depths of the large backpack. When his hand reemerged, he pulled out an insulated leather bag. He unzipped it and carefully extracted two large containers of aromatic, high-end takeout. He placed one container directly in front of me, sliding a pair of chopsticks across the wood, before setting the second one down for himself.

"Thank you," I muttered under my breath, my voice quiet as the mouth-watering scent of savory chicken and fried rice hit my nose.

I picked up the utensils and began eating, trying to focus entirely on the food. But if only it were that simple. The space between us felt impossibly small, and I could feel his heavy, unwavering stare constantly burning into me. Mikel wasn't even hiding it; he ate with a slow, casual grace, his eyes locked onto my face, tracking every single movement I made. The sheer weight of his undivided attention made me incredibly uncomfortable, my heart fluttering erratically against my ribs.

Distracted by the intense heat of his gaze and trying to swallow too quickly to break the tension, the food caught in the back of my throat.

I violently choked, a harsh cough racking my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.

Mikel’s amused aura vanished in a fraction of a second. He instantly rushed to his feet, abandoning his food as his athletic reflexes kicked in. He bounded across the small space to the bedside table, grabbing the glass jug of water. He poured a full glass with practiced speed and rushed right back to my side.

"Drink. Slowly, Brianna," he commanded softly, hovering over me as he gently guided the rim of the glass to my lips.

I drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing the burning in my throat. Once I could finally breathe normally again, Mikel placed the remaining glass down on the edge of the table. His large, warm hand came to rest against my back, his palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of his own hoodie, patting me gently to ensure I was truly alright.

I looked up, my eyes instantly colliding with his. The raw, unfiltered worry etched into his handsome features was so striking, so heartbreakingly genuine, that it made my heart clench in a dangerous rhythm.

I quickly looked away, tearing my gaze from his lips before my wild, romantic thoughts could feast on the dangerous illusion that he actually cared about me beyond our high-stakes deal.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice a breathy whisper as I gently pulled my body away from his touch, reestablishing the boundary between us.

Mikel gave a slow, understanding nod, though his hand lingered in the air for a second before he dropped it. He walked back to his side of the table and slid into his seat. We said absolutely nothing after that, a heavy but surprisingly peaceful silence settling over the room. For the rest of the meal, the suffocating pressure eased; I couldn't feel his intense stare on me anymore, as if he was intentionally giving me the space I needed to breathe.

Soon, we were both done eating. Mikel efficiently stacked the empty takeout containers, packing the plates off the table and sealing them back into the leather bag. To do my part, I reached over, tore a few clean sheets of paper from the back of the notebook, and used them to carefully wipe down the table surface, clearing away any stray crumbs.

With the table cleared, I pulled the thick British History textbook closer to my side, flipping open the pages to the designated chapter on wartime politics. I tapped the paper with my pen, adopting my most professional tutoring voice, and began teaching him the core concepts, breaking down the complex timelines into digestible pieces.

To my absolute amazement, Mikel was an incredible student. Despite what his failing grades suggested, he understood everything perfectly.

Whenever I paused to explain a difficult concept, his sharp mind picked it up instantly. To test him, I scribbled down three separate mock quizzes in the notebook, watching closely as his large hand moved steadily across the paper. He aced every single test I gave him, delivering flawless, highly intelligent answers without a moment of hesitation.

I stared at the perfect marks on the paper, my mind spinning. I finally cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair as I leveled a questioning look at him.

"If you're so inherently good at this, Mikel... why did you pretend to fail in the first place?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine suspicion. "You clearly don't need a tutor to pass this class."

Mikel leaned back, crossing his brawny arms over his chest. A slow, incredibly charming smile spread across his face, his green eyes flashing with a playful, dangerous light.

"I never pretend, Ghost Writer," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head. "But if you think I'm doing too well... maybe it's just because I wanted an excuse to have you tutor me. Maybe I just wanted a reason to keep you close as my fake girlfriend."

My face erupted into a furious blush at his blatant confession. Without thinking, I grabbed the lightweight notebook from the table, reached across the space, and slapped his muscular hand with it.

"Stop flirting and focus!" I yelled, trying desperately to mask my racing heart with an angry scowl.

Mikel instantly threw his hands up, wincing in dramatic, entirely false pain as he rubbed his arm. "Ouch. You're vicious, Brianna," he teased, his deep chest rumbling.

Seeing his ridiculous, over-the-top reaction broke through my defenses. A genuine laugh escaped my lips, joining his rich chuckle. as the lingering tension from the pool completely melted away into the warm, locked room.