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MIA POV

I barely make it to my locker the next morning before the whispers start. Heads turn. Phones get pulled out. Someone actually snickers “virgin Mia” loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. My cheeks are still burning from yesterday’s arena nightmare.

I shove my books inside, praying I can survive until lunch without seeing him.

No such luck.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea and there he is—Ryder Vaughn, striding down the hall like he owns the school, flanked by half his hockey team. He’s wearing his letterman jacket, hair still messy from morning practice, that obnoxious grin already locked and loaded.

“Mia-Mia!” he calls out in that singsong voice that makes my skin crawl. “There’s my favorite little diary slut!”

Laughter ripples through the hallway. I slam my locker shut and try to walk the other way, but two of his teammates block my path, smirking.

Ryder jogs up and throws a heavy arm around my shoulders, yanking me against his side like we’re best friends. His cologne invades my nose—ice and citrus and pure arrogance.

“Get off me,” I hiss, trying to shrug him off. He only tightens his grip.

“Aww, don’t be like that, virgin,” he says loudly, voice carrying down the corridor. “After I made your filthy fantasies public yesterday, I figured we were closer now. Tell me, did you reread the part where you beg me to ruin you? Be honest.”

My stomach twists. People are stopping to watch. A circle is forming. Phones are recording again.

“Ryder, stop,” I whisper, voice shaking. “You’ve already humiliated me enough.”

He gasps dramatically, hand flying to his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Humiliated? Me? I was just sharing your creative writing with the world! You should thank me. Your little p**n notebook was the highlight of the entire hockey team’s night. The boys voted it better than p**n.”

His teammates burst out laughing. One of them—Jax, I think—waves my notebook in the air. My heart stops. They still have it.

“Listen to this gem!” Jax yells, flipping it open. “ ‘Ryder’s cock would probably be huge. I wonder if it would even fit—’ ”

The hallway explodes. Someone wolf-whistles. A group of senior girls point and laugh so hard one of them bends over.

Tears prick my eyes instantly. I lunge for the notebook, but Ryder grabs my waist from behind, lifting me off the ground for a second like I weigh nothing.

“Easy there, eager beaver,” he taunts right next to my ear, loud enough for everyone. “You’re not ready for the real thing yet. Virgins need training wheels first.”

He sets me down but doesn’t let go, spinning me to face him. His blue eyes sparkle with crazy delight, like tormenting me is the best part of his day.

“Ryder, please,” I choke out, tears slipping free now. “Just give it back and leave me alone.”

He pouts, that fake sympathetic look that drives me insane. “But Mia-Mia, how am I supposed to leave my number one fan alone? You wrote my name thirty-seven times! That’s commitment. That’s obsession. Honestly, it’s kind of flattering. Creepy as hell, but flattering.”

He turns to the growing crowd, arms spread wide like a ringmaster.

“Everyone, gather round! Special announcement from your captain. Mia Thompson here is still untouched at seventeen. Can you believe it? Pure as the driven snow. But don’t worry—” he winks at the audience “—I’m considering a charity case. Might take one for the team and pop that cherry just so she stops writing bad fanfiction about me.”

The laughter is deafening. My face feels like it’s on fire. I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. This is worse than yesterday. This is public, loud, and endless.

I shove at his chest with both hands. “You’re disgusting! I hate you!”

Ryder catches my wrists easily, holding them against his chest. His expression shifts for a split second—something darker, almost hungry—before the annoying mask slams back on.

“Hate me? That’s not what your diary says, baby. It says you want me to pin you down and—”

“Enough!” I scream, yanking free. My voice cracks loudly, drawing even more attention.

For a moment the hallway quiets. Ryder tilts his head, studying me with that crazy intensity. Then he grins wider.

“Feisty today. I like it.” He steps closer, voice dropping but still perfectly audible. “Keep fighting me, Mia. It only makes me want to embarrass you more. Maybe next time I’ll read the whole thing over the school intercom. Or better—post it on the team’s I*******m story. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He finally tosses the notebook at my feet. Pages scatter across the floor, my handwriting exposed for everyone to see.

I drop to my knees, scrambling to gather the pages while tears blur my vision. The crowd laughs harder. Someone steps on one of the sheets on purpose.

Ryder crouches down beside me, pretending to help but only making it worse. He picks up a page and reads in a whisper only I can hear this time:

“‘I wish he’d stop hurting me… but I still want him.’”

He chuckles softly, cruelly. “Poor little virgin. So confused.”

Then he stands, loud again. “Show’s over, people! But stick around—next episode drops soon. Same virgin, same bully.”

He skates away—no, walks—whistling like nothing happened, his teammates trailing behind him, still laughing.

I stay on the floor, clutching the ruined pages to my chest, humiliated beyond words. My heart races with rage and something worse.

Something that feels dangerously like twisted want.

Because even now, as I wipe my tears and stand on shaky legs, I can still feel the ghost of his arm around my shoulders.

And I hate myself for it.

The bell rings. Everyone scatters, but the whispers follow me all the way to class.

Ryder Vaughn isn’t done with me.

Not even close.