The midnight air bit through my thin winter coat. The campus was dead and silent. The victory parties had finally died down. The only sound was the crunch of my boots on the frozen gravel.

I stood outside the towering concrete structure of the State University ice arena.

The building looked like a massive fortress. The tall walls cast long and intimidating shadows across the empty parking lot. My fingers were numb. I gripped the thick manila folder so tightly my knuckles ached.

Thirty pages of damning evidence rested inside that folder.

I took a shaky breath. A white cloud of fog plumed from my lips into the freezing night air. I was a pre law student. I was supposed to be logical. I was supposed to follow the rules and report any violations to the proper authorities.

Instead, I was hunting a criminal in the dark.

I pulled open the heavy side door. The rusty metal hinges groaned loudly in the quiet night. I slipped inside and let the door click shut behind me.

The immediate drop in temperature hit my face like a physical slap. The thick smell of frozen water, pine tape, and sharp ammonia flooded my senses.

The stadium was a cavern of deep shadows. The main overhead lights were turned off. Only the emergency backup bulbs illuminated the massive sheet of white ice in the center of the arena.

I walked down the concrete tunnel. My heartbeat hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Then I heard it.

The violent, echoing crack of dense rubber hitting fiberglass.

I stepped up to the edge of the bleachers. I hid behind the thick safety netting and peered down at the dimly lit rink.

Leo Kincaid was alone on the ice.

He was not running graceful offensive drills tonight. He was punishing himself.

He stood at the center red line with a massive pile of black pucks scattered at his skates. He was not wearing his bulky shoulder pads or his protective helmet. He wore fitted black track pants and a tight, sweat soaked gray t shirt that clung to his broad chest.

He pulled a puck back with the blade of his composite stick. He wound up his muscular body. The torque in his hips was terrifying. He unleashed a brutal slap shot.

The puck became a deadly blur. It slammed into the crossbar of the empty net with a deafening metallic clang.

He did not pause. He dragged another puck into position. He fired again.

Crack.

The sound echoed through the fifty rows of empty plastic seats. It sounded like a gunshot. It sounded like raw, unfiltered rage.

I watched him from the shadows. My breath hitched in my throat.

This was not a man who was thrilled about a massive offshore payout. A greedy athlete would be out at the clubs right now. A greedy athlete would be celebrating a flawless financial crime.

Leo looked like a man trying to shatter his own bones.

He fired another puck. The force behind his swing was so violent his back skate lifted high off the ice. The rubber disc missed the net and slammed into the heavy plexiglass wall directly below my hiding spot.

I flinched backward.

Leo stopped. His chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths. Sweat dripped from his dark, messy hair down his sharp jawline. He rested his gloved hands on his knees. He stared at the scratched surface of the ice.

He looked broken.

My chest tightened with a strange, uncomfortable ache. The strict legal boundaries in my mind began to blur. The prosecutor inside my head demanded justice. But the human part of me saw a boy drowning in a frozen ocean.

I stepped out from behind the safety netting.

My heavy boots hit the metal bleachers with a loud thud.

Leo snapped his head up. His dark eyes locked onto my figure in the dim emergency lighting. The exhaustion vanished from his posture instantly. He straightened to his full, towering height. The dangerous, coiled energy returned to his massive frame.

I walked down the steep metal stairs. My legs felt like lead. The sound of my footsteps echoed in the silent arena. I did not look away from him.

I reached the bottom row. I stepped onto the thick rubber matting that surrounded the outer edge of the rink. The thick wall of scuffed plexiglass was the only thing separating us.

Leo glided slowly across the ice toward me.

He did not break eye contact. His gaze was lethal. He moved with a silent, predatory grace. The scrape of his steel blades was the only sound in the massive room.

He stopped on the other side of the glass. He was standing less than two feet away from me.

Up close, the sheer size of him was overwhelming. His broad shoulders blocked out the dim stadium lights. His dark eyes burned into mine.

"You are a long way from the library, Caroline," he said. His voice was a low, rough rumble. It vibrated right through the thick glass.

My name sounded different coming from him. It sounded like a warning.

I swallowed hard to wet my dry throat. I forced myself to stand tall. I refused to let him see my terror.

"I brought some reading material with me," I replied. My voice shook slightly, but I kept my chin held high.

I lifted the heavy manila folder. I slammed it down onto the narrow ledge of the boards.

Leo looked at the folder. A muscle feathered in his tight jaw. He looked back up at my face.

"What is that?" he asked softly. The quiet tone of his voice was far more terrifying than a shout.

"It is a detailed compliance report," I stated. I channeled every ounce of professional detachment I possessed. "It outlines three highly uncharacteristic hooking penalties. Four blown defensive assignments. Seven missed cross ice passes."

Leo did not blink. He stared at me with an unreadable expression.

I took a deep breath and delivered the fatal blow.

"It also contains a detailed financial audit. I tracked the digital footprints. Your statistical anomalies are perfectly synchronized with high risk betting spreads originating from a series of anonymous shell companies in the Cayman Islands."

Silence fell over the arena. It was a thick, suffocating silence.

I waited for the denial. I waited for him to call me crazy. I waited for him to laugh and tell me my data was flawed.

Leo did none of those things.

He gripped the top of the plexiglass wall with his large, gloved hands. He leaned his face closer to the barrier. His dark eyes searched my face with a terrifying intensity.

"Who else has seen this file?" he demanded. The calm facade was cracking. The raw panic was bleeding into his rough voice.

"Just me," I lied. I needed him to think I held all the cards. I needed to control the interrogation. "But if I slide this folder under the door of the athletic director tomorrow morning, your career is over. You will be facing federal fraud charges by the end of the week."

I wanted to see him sweat. I wanted to see if the threat of prison would break him.

"You are throwing games for cash, Leo. You are selling out your own team so a syndicate can line their pockets." I let the harsh accusation hang in the freezing air.

Leo let go of the glass.

He spun around. He slammed his stick against the ice with a brutal, deafening crack. The composite shaft snapped in half. The violent sound made me jump backward.

He threw the broken pieces across the rink.

He skated hard toward the heavy rink door located a few feet to my left. He unlatched the heavy metal latch with a violent thrust of his arm.

He stepped off the ice.

He was wearing his steel blades on the thick rubber matting. The skates made him several inches taller. He towered over me like a furious giant.

The plexiglass was no longer protecting me.

My survival instincts screamed at me to run. I took a panicked step backward. I wanted to bolt toward the exit tunnel.

I was too slow.

Leo moved with terrifying, lethal speed. He crossed the short distance between us in a single stride.

He did not hit me. He did not hurt me. But he used his massive body to cage me.

He stepped directly into my personal space. He slammed his large hands onto the cold cinderblock wall behind my head, trapping me between his muscular arms.

I gasped. My back hit the hard concrete.

The scent of him wrapped around me. It was a dizzying mix of mint body wash, fresh sweat, and pure, burning adrenaline. His chest brushed against my winter coat as he leaned in.

I stared up at his face. We were inches apart.

His eyes were wild. The calculated captain was gone. The golden boy was dead. He was a desperate man fighting for his life.

"You think this is about cash?" he hissed. His hot breath brushed against my cold cheeks. "You think I want to do this? You think I am getting rich while I watch my team lose?"

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Then why are you doing it?" I whispered.

Leo leaned closer. His dark hair brushed against my forehead. The proximity was intoxicating and terrifying. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Because if I score a goal tomorrow night, they are going to put my father in a hospital," he said. His voice broke on the last word. The raw agony in his tone shattered the remaining walls of my professional detachment.

I stared up into his tortured eyes. The air vanished from my lungs.

He was being blackmailed. My terrifying theory was correct. He was sacrificing his own future to save his family from physical violence.

"Oh my god," I breathed. My hands shook. The manila folder slipped from my numb fingers. It hit the rubber matting with a dull thud.

Leo looked down at the fallen folder. Then he looked back down at my pale, terrified face.

The panic in his eyes suddenly shifted into something much darker. It was a fierce, lethal possessiveness. He shifted his weight, pressing his solid frame closer to mine. He caged me tighter against the concrete wall.

"Do you have any idea what you just did, Caroline?" he whispered. His rough voice sent a violent shiver down my spine.

"I was just trying to find the truth," I stammered.

Leo raised his hand. He slowly pulled the blue crocheted beanie off my head. He tossed it onto the floor. He ran his thick fingers through my messy hair, gripping a fistful of strands to tilt my face up toward his.

His touch was rough, but his thumb brushed softly across my cheekbone. It was a terrifying mixture of dominance and unexpected care.

"The truth gets people killed in this game," Leo murmured. His dark eyes burned with a dangerous fire. "Those men watching the game footage. They track the network logins. They know someone accessed the backend financial files tonight."

A fresh wave of terror crashed over me. The syndicate had digital watchers.

"They know about me?" I whispered.

"They will soon," Leo said. He leaned his face down until his lips were a fraction of an inch from my ear. "You just painted a massive target on your own back. You stepped right into my nightmare. And now I am the only thing standing between you and the men who want to bury us both."

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! The secret is finally out. Did you expect Leo to react that way? Now that Caroline is dragged into his dangerous world, what do you think he will do to keep her safe? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. Don't forget to like and share if you loved this dramatic chapter!

"You just painted a massive target on your own back."

His words echoed in my ears. They bounced off the hard concrete wall behind me and shattered the last remnants of my safe, predictable world.

The scent of mint and raw adrenaline wrapped around my senses. Leo Kincaid was too close. His massive frame blocked out the dim stadium lights. He held me caged against the cold cinderblock wall of the arena tunnel. The heavy silence of the ice rink pressed down on my shoulders like a physical weight.

My legal training urged me to stay rational. I tried to analyze the situation. I tried to find a logical exit. But logic was useless when a furious, desperate man was staring down at me with eyes full of lethal promise.

"I can fix this," I stammered. My voice trembled. I hated how weak I sounded. "I will delete the files. I will shred the physical copies. No one else has to know."

Leo let out a harsh, bitter breath. He leaned closer. His dark hair brushed against my forehead.

"You do not understand how these people operate, Caroline," he said. His voice was a low, terrifying rumble. "They do not care about your apologies. They do not care about your deleted files. You accessed their offshore financial data on a university server. They have digital watchers. They already know someone breached their system."

My stomach plummeted. A wave of nausea washed over me.

"They know it was me?" I whispered.

"They know an analyst from the athletic department bypassed their security," Leo corrected grimly. "It will take them less than twenty four hours to trace the login credentials back to your specific laptop. Once they have your name, they will not send a polite warning letter. They will send men."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I tried to block out the horrifying reality.

I was a pre law student. I studied case files and corporate statutes. I prepared mock trial briefs in the safety of the campus library. I did not deal with violent underground syndicates. I did not know how to survive in this dark water.

The imaginary ice above my head suddenly froze solid. I was trapped in the deep water. I had no air left.

"I should go to the police," I said. I opened my eyes and pushed my hands against his solid chest. I needed space. I needed to breathe. "I will go to the local authorities right now. I will request protective custody."

Leo did not budge. His muscles felt like carved granite beneath my palms.

"The police cannot protect you," he stated bluntly. "The local authorities are slow. They require subpoenas and formal warrants. The syndicate moves in the shadows. By the time a judge signs a protective order, you will already be gone."

The raw certainty in his voice chilled my blood.

"So what do I do?" The question slipped past my lips before I could stop it. It was a plea for help.

Leo looked down at my terrified face. The fierce anger in his eyes slowly shifted into a dark, intense possessiveness. It was the look of a predator claiming its territory.

"You do exactly what I tell you to do," he commanded softly.

He stepped back just enough to give me a fraction of an inch of breathing room. But he did not release me from his trap. He kept his large hands planted firmly on the concrete wall on either side of my head.

"Where is your phone?" he demanded.

I blinked. The sudden change of topic threw me off balance. "It is in my coat pocket. Why?"

"Give it to me."

"No," I replied instantly. It was a reflex. My phone was my only lifeline to the outside world. It was my only way to call my mother or campus security.

Leo dropped his left hand from the wall. He reached down and gripped my wrist.

His bare skin was burning hot against my freezing flesh. His grip was not painful, but it was undeniable. It was a physical manifestation of pure control. He squeezed my wrist just enough to send a warning thrill up my arm.

"This is not a negotiation, Caroline," he warned. His voice was dangerously soft. "The syndicate tracks cellular data. They track location services. Give me the phone."

I stared up at him. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knew he was right. My digital footprint was a glowing beacon for the men hunting us.

With trembling fingers, I reached into my coat pocket. I pulled out my silver smartphone.

Leo took it from my hand. He did not break eye contact with me as he pressed the side button. The screen illuminated his sharp jawline in a pale, artificial glow.

"Unlock it," he ordered.

I hesitated. The device contained my daily schedule. It held my emails, my academic notes, and the digital backups of the very files that had just ruined my life.

"Caroline." His voice deepened. It was a command that demanded immediate obedience.

I typed in my six digit passcode. The screen unlocked.

Leo took a step back. He finally gave me the physical space I desperately needed. I slumped against the concrete wall. I watched him tap rapidly on the glass screen.

"What are you doing?" I asked. My voice was breathless.

"I am severing your digital connection to the files," he explained. His eyes were locked on the small screen. "I am wiping the cloud backup. I am deleting the browser history from your university portal."

"You are destroying my evidence," I realized with a fresh spike of panic. "If you delete that, I have nothing to take to the dean. I have no proof that I am innocent of the compliance fraud."

Leo looked up. His dark eyes were ruthless.

"You do not need proof for the dean," he said coldly. "You need to survive the weekend. Your precious grade point average does not matter if you are found at the bottom of the campus lake."

The brutal honesty of his words hit me like a physical blow.

He was right. I was clinging to the rules of my old life. But my old life was gone. I had shattered it the moment I decided to confront the dangerous captain in the dark.

Leo finished tapping on the screen. He pressed one final button.

A soft chime echoed in the silent tunnel.

"Done," he announced.

He did not hand the phone back to me. Instead, he dropped it onto the hard concrete floor.

Before I could gasp, he raised his heavy steel skate. He brought his foot down with crushing force. The sickening crunch of shattering glass and snapping metal echoed through the freezing arena.

"What did you just do?" I shrieked. I stared in horror at the destroyed pieces of my phone. The silver casing was bent in half. The screen was reduced to sparkling dust.

"I just saved your life," Leo replied calmly.

He kicked the broken pieces into the dark shadows beneath the metal bleachers.

"They cannot track a dead signal," he continued. His voice was smooth and detached, as if he had not just destroyed a thousand dollar piece of technology. "They cannot hack a device that no longer exists."

I pressed my hands against my face. My mind was spinning out of control.

"I have to call my mother tomorrow," I whispered through my fingers. "She expects me to call her every Sunday. If I do not call her, she will panic. She will call the campus police."

"You can use my device," Leo said.

I dropped my hands and stared at him. The sheer arrogance of his statement sparked a sudden, fiery anger in my chest.

"I do not want to use your device," I snapped. The fear was slowly morphing into fury. "I want to go back to my dorm room. I want to lock my door. I want to wake up tomorrow and pretend none of this ever happened."

Leo took a slow, deliberate step toward me. The predatory grace returned to his movements. He closed the distance between us until the toes of my boots touched the edges of his skates.

The anger in my chest died instantly. It was replaced by that familiar, suffocating tension.

"You cannot go back to your dorm room," he said softly.

"Why not?" I challenged, though my voice wavered.

"Because your dorm is the first place they will look," he explained. His dark eyes locked onto mine. "It is a predictable target. The security cameras in the freshman quad are blind spots. The locks on those doors are a joke."

I swallowed hard. My throat burned.

"Then where am I supposed to go?" I asked.

Leo reached out. He did not grab my wrist this time. Instead, he gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from my cold cheek. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture sent a massive shockwave through my nervous system.

"You are coming with me," he stated.

I shook my head. Panic flared hot and bright in my veins. "No. I am not going anywhere with you. You are the reason I am in danger."

"And I am the only reason you are going to survive," he countered smoothly.

He let his hand trail down the side of my neck. His thumb rested against my pulse point. He could undoubtedly feel my heart racing beneath his touch.

"I am pulling you out of the shadows, Caroline," Leo murmured. His voice was a dangerous, seductive whisper. "The syndicate expects you to hide. They expect you to cower in your room. So we are going to do the exact opposite."

I stared up into his face. The dim light cast sharp shadows across his features. He looked like a fallen angel. He looked like ruin.

"What does that mean?" I breathed.

"It means you are mine now," Leo declared. The raw authority in his tone left no room for argument. "You do not leave my sight. You do not walk across campus alone. You do not eat in the dining hall without me. Starting tomorrow, everyone at State University is going to know that the invisible compliance analyst belongs to the captain."

A shiver ran down my spine. It was a terrifying mixture of pure dread and a dark, twisted thrill.

"They will ask questions," I whispered. "The team. The coaches. The whole campus."

"Let them ask," Leo replied. He dropped his hand from my neck and stepped back. The sudden loss of his body heat left me shivering in the freezing air.

He bent down and picked up the heavy manila folder from the rubber matting. He held onto the physical evidence.

"We are going to give them a very convincing show," he said over his shoulder.

He turned back to face me. His dark eyes were hard and resolute. The desperate, panicked boy from ten minutes ago was gone. The ruthless, untouchable captain had returned.

"Grab your things," Leo ordered. He gestured toward the heavy metal exit door at the end of the tunnel.

"Where are we going?" I asked. My voice felt incredibly small in the massive, echoing arena.

Leo Kincaid walked toward the door. He did not look back.

"To my apartment," he answered. "You are moving in."

I had spent the darkest hours of the morning curled into a tight, shivering ball on a massive leather sofa.

Leo Kincaid lived in a high security building on the wealthy edge of town. His apartment was stark, minimalist, and smelled faintly of expensive cedar and pure ice. I did not sleep a single wink. Every time I closed my exhausted eyes, I saw his heavy steel skate crushing my only lifeline. I heard the terrifying certainty in his voice when he told me the syndicate would hunt me down.

Now, the morning sun was blinding. It offered no warmth.

The official summons had arrived in my student email inbox at exactly eight o'clock. It was a mandatory meeting request from Director Miller. He was the head of the State University athletic department. He was the man who controlled my compliance job and my pre law scholarship.

I stood outside his frosted glass door. My stomach churned with violent anxiety.

The low, constant hum of the central air conditioning unit vibrated through the thin soles of my boots. I smoothed my damp palms down the sides of my professional black trousers. I took a shaky breath and pushed the heavy wooden door open.

The smell of lemon furniture polish and faint cigar smoke hit my nose instantly.

Director Miller sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He was a red faced, imposing man who treated the athletic program like his own personal kingdom.

But he was not the most intimidating person in the room.

Leo Kincaid was already there.

He was lounging in one of the plush leather guest chairs. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He wore his dark blue team jacket. His broad shoulders seemed to take up half the available space in the cramped office. He did not look like a man who was being hunted by an underground betting syndicate. He looked like a king holding court.

When I walked in, his dark eyes locked onto mine. A silent, terrifying warning flashed in his gaze.

"Miss Reed," Director Miller barked. He did not offer me a seat. "You are exactly four minutes late."

"I apologize, sir," I said softly. My voice sounded thin in the tense room. "The morning campus shuttles were delayed."

"I do not care about the shuttles," Miller dismissed my excuse with a wave of his meaty hand. He picked up a printed file from his desk. "We have a critical situation on our hands. And you are going to fix it."

I swallowed hard. My heart hammered against my ribs. For one terrifying second, I thought the director had found the offshore financial data. I thought the syndicate had tipped him off. I braced myself for the devastating loss of my scholarship.

"Leo is struggling," Miller announced gravely.

I blinked. The sheer absurdity of the statement knocked the breath out of my lungs. I looked at the star captain.

Leo sat perfectly still. His jaw was clenched tight, but his face remained a blank, unreadable mask.

"Struggling?" I repeated the word slowly. I was a compliance analyst. I reviewed his academic files every semester. Leo Kincaid maintained a solid three point eight grade average. He was exceptionally smart.

"His midterms are approaching, and his focus is slipping," Miller lied smoothly. He did not even look at the physical papers in his hand. This was a rehearsed script. "The playoffs are two weeks away. If our captain falls below the academic eligibility threshold, the entire university suffers. We cannot risk losing our golden ticket to the national championships."

I stared at the director in stunned silence. Then, the horrific reality of the trap began to dawn on me.

This was Leo's plan. He had orchestrated this entire meeting. He had used his elite, untouchable status to fabricate an academic crisis.

"I need a dedicated academic manager," Leo said. His rough, deep voice filled the room. It sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "I need someone to monitor my schedule. Someone to enforce my study hours. I need someone who knows the athletic compliance rules inside and out."

He turned his head slowly. He fixed his burning, intense gaze directly onto my face.

"I want her," Leo stated.

The demand hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Director Miller nodded eagerly. He was desperate to keep his star player happy. "Miss Reed is our top student analyst. She is incredibly meticulous. She will be reassigned to you effective immediately."

"Wait," I gasped. Panic flared hot and bright in my chest. I could not do this. I could not be tethered to this dangerous boy twenty four hours a day. "Sir, I have my own heavy academic load. I have a mock trial brief due on Monday. I cannot manage the schedule of a star athlete. It is a full time job."

Miller slammed his thick hand down on the mahogany desk. The sudden, violent noise made me flinch backward.

"Your job is whatever I say it is, Miss Reed," the director growled. His face turned a dark, angry red. "Your pre law scholarship is funded directly by the athletic department budget. You serve at my discretion. If you refuse this assignment, I will revoke your funding by noon today. You will be packing your dorm room bags by dinner."

The threat was absolute. It left no room for negotiation. My legal mind scrambled for a loophole, but there was none. They held all the power. I was just an invisible pawn on their frozen chessboard.

I looked at Leo.

He was watching me with a calculated, predatory stillness. He had warned me last night. He had promised to pull me out of the shadows and force me into his spotlight to protect me from the syndicate. He was keeping his dark promise. He was locking the golden cage around me.

"Do we have an understanding, Miss Reed?" Miller demanded.

I dug my fingernails into the soft flesh of my palms. I fought back the hot, humiliating tears burning behind my eyes. I thought of my mother working endless double shifts at the diner. I thought of her tired, proud smile when I showed her my acceptance letter. I could not let her down. I had to survive this.

"Yes, sir," I whispered. Defeat tasted like bitter ash on my tongue. "We have an understanding."

"Excellent." Miller leaned back in his expensive leather chair. He looked highly smug. "Kincaid, she is yours. Make sure she keeps you eligible to play."

Leo stood up. He moved with that terrifying, fluid grace. He reached into the dark duffel bag resting by his chair.

He pulled out a heavy piece of fabric. He tossed it through the air.

I caught it on pure reflex.

It was a dark blue State University hockey jersey. The thick material was incredibly soft. The heavy white numbers were stitched flawlessly into the back. Number seventeen. His number.

"Put it on," Leo ordered softly.

I stared at the jersey in my trembling hands. It felt like a branding iron. If I wore this out of the office, every single student on this massive campus would know I belonged to him. The invisible girl would cease to exist. I would become public property. I would become his property.

"Leo, I do not need to wear this," I pleaded quietly. I tried to keep my voice steady. "I have my own coat."

He closed the distance between us in two long strides. He stood so close I could feel the heat radiating from his massive chest. He leaned down. The faint scent of mint body wash wrapped around my senses, momentarily blocking out the smell of the director's cigar smoke.

"You put the jersey on, Caroline," he whispered. His tone was a lethal mixture of velvet and crushed glass. Only I could hear him. "Or I will dress you myself right here in front of the director. The syndicate is watching. We give them a show, or we die. Choose."

My breath caught in my throat. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the heavy fabric.

I slowly pulled the oversized blue jersey over my head. It dwarfed my small frame. The hem fell past my hips. The sleeves swallowed my hands. I felt ridiculous. I felt claimed.

Leo reached out. His large fingers brushed against my neck as he gently pulled my long hair out from beneath the thick collar. His touch was burning hot. It sent a wild, uncontrolled spark of electricity straight down my spine.

He stared down at me. A dark, possessive satisfaction flared in his eyes.

"Let's go," he said.

He turned and pushed the heavy wooden door open. We stepped out of the quiet, air conditioned office and into the chaotic reality of the main athletic building.

It was nine in the morning. The massive concrete hallway was packed with hundreds of students changing classes.

The noise was deafening. The harsh overhead fluorescent lights glared down on us.

The moment Leo Kincaid stepped into the corridor, the sea of students parted. The chaotic chatter died down instantly. Every eye in the hallway snapped toward the towering star captain.

And then, they looked at me.

They looked at the quiet, invisible girl wearing the captain's oversized jersey.

The burning stares felt like physical blows. I could hear the hushed, frantic whispers erupting around us. I wanted the concrete floor to open up and swallow me whole. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the scuffed linoleum tiles. I hugged my arms around my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I felt a sudden, massive presence step directly behind me.

Leo closed the gap between us. He moved so close his solid chest brushed against my back.

He reached out. He placed his large, heavy hand squarely on the small of my back. His long fingers splayed across the thick fabric of the jersey. His grip was firm. It was a clear, undeniable statement of ownership and protection.

He guided me forward through the parted crowd. His touch sent a terrifying, addictive heat blooming through my veins. The forced proximity had officially begun.

I was no longer just the compliance analyst.

I was the bait.

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! The trap is officially closed and Caroline is now in the spotlight! How do you feel about Leo forcing her to wear his jersey in front of the whole campus? Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Please like and share this chapter if you are enjoying the story!