Fake dating was supposed to be easy… until it got personal. Xavier Kesh is hockey’s golden boy—lightning-fast on the ice, dangerously charming off it, and the face of England’s next sports dynasty. With a billionaire legacy behind him and championship medals in front, he’s got the world at his feet and his girlfriend, Katrina Brown, right beside him. But when Melissa Brown—Katrina’s younger sister, runway model, and fellow hockey teammateenters a fake relationship with Xavier to boost her modeling career, the game changes. What starts as a publicity stunt for a brand deal spirals into a chemistry neither of them can ignore. Melissa’s only goal was to win the Miss England crown and finally prove she’s more than just a pretty face in a hockey jersey. But faking it with Xavier feels all too real, and soon she’s playing a dangerous game: chasing her dreams while falling for the one man she should never touch. When Katrina discovers the truth, heartbreak turns to fury. The sister who always put family first becomes the one set on revenge, determined to make them both pay—for the betrayal, the lies, and the love that was never meant to be. Now, three hearts are on the line. One fake relationship. One crown. And one mistake that could cost them everything.
View MoreMELISSA'S POV
“Brown! MOVE YOUR FEET!”
Coach’s voice split through the ice. I didn’t flinch. Skate. Pass. Drop shoulder. Cut left. Blow past number fourteen. “Oh my gosh!,” someone from the French bench muttered as I slipped through their defense like a damn shadow. “Melissa!” Xavier barked. I ignored him. Of course he was yelling again. That guy never shut up. “Back right!” he shouted. I already knew. I flicked the puck backwards without looking. His stick caught it with a loud clack, and a second later, the crowd screamed. Goal. I didn’t celebrate. I never did. Instead, I skated back to center ice and waited for the puck drop. Xavier coasted over to me, grinning like a devil. “You’re welcome,” he said, smirking. I didn’t look at him. “You mean I passed you the puck.” “Teamwork, baby.” I glared at him. “Don’t call me baby.” He laughed. “You’re so grumpy when we’re winning.” “I’m always grumpy.” He winked. “Hmm, right.” I didn’t respond. The whistle blew again. Next play. Focus. By the third period, the score was 4–1. England was crushing it. Coach screamed. Fans roared. The commentator kept yelling my name over and over, like he finally learned how to pronounce it right. "Melissa Brown with another clean steal!" "Unbelievable! She's slicing through the French defense like a damn blade!" Xavier tossed me a look. "You're showing off now." "I'm winning," I shot back. "You like playing with me, admit it." I rolled my eyes and skated past him. But he wasn’t wrong. We did play well together. Too well.His fire and my ice. No one could touch us when we clicked. The final buzzer blasted. We’d won.I didn’t smile. Just lifted my stick once and skated off. Behind me, Katrina was screaming from the bleachers. “GO, BABY! THAT’S MY MAN!” I heard Xavier chuckle. He pulled off his helmet, hair dripping with sweat, and jogged toward her. She met him halfway. Kissed him right there in front of everyone like it was some damn movie. I kept walking. I didn’t care. I really didn’t. The locker room smelled like sweat. I unzipped my jersey and tossed it onto the bench. My chest still heaved from the last play, but my mind was already shutting down. “Yo, Mel,” Liam grinned, yanking off his pads. “Saw you drop that guy in the second period. Damn near cried.” “He elbowed me in the gut,” I muttered. “Still,” Brandon added, shaking his head. “Never seen a girl check someone like that. That was cold.” I shrugged. “Someone tell her to smile,” Jay said, laughing. “We just won!” “Melissa? Smile?” Liam scoffed. “She’s basically a stone. Emotionless.” I rolled my eyes and pulled off my socks. “Come on, Brown, say something cocky. You earned it.” “I’m the best,” I said flatly. Everyone laughed. “You're such a little shit,” Brandon grinned. “You all love me,” I said, deadpan.They did.They might joke, but I was one of them. The only girl. And still the best. They didn’t let me in at first.Said it was too dangerous. Too aggressive. Said I’d get hurt. I proved them wrong. Over and over again. Youngest player to join the national league. Fastest skating time on record. More assists than half the team combined. They let me stay because they had no choice. Dinner was in the hotel ballroom. Fancy setup. Long tables, velvet chairs, silverware that clinked too loudly. Everyone looked too clean. I sat near the middle, beside Jay and across from Connor, our goalie. Xavier was farther down the table next to Katrina, who had on one of those tight mini skirts and his England jacket thrown over her shoulders. She was laughing too loud. Holding his hand like she owned him. He didn’t look bothered. I stabbed my fork into the roasted chicken on my plate. “Hey,” Connor said, tapping the table near me. “You okay?” “Fine.” “You were insane today,” he said. “Seriously. That pass in the third—genius.” “Thanks.” He leaned closer. “You ever—uh—go out after tournaments?” I didn’t look up. “No.” “Just wondering,” he said quickly. “Figured maybe sometime we could grab a drink.” Jay snorted beside me. “Good luck, man,” he said. “Melissa doesn’t date.” Connor ignored him. “Just one drink. You don’t even have to talk.” “I’m not interested.” He blinked. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Cool.” Jay laughed again. “Told you.” I kept eating. “Why are you so scary?” Jay asked after dessert. “I’m not scary.” “You’re terrifying.” “Maybe you’re just soft.” He raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m weak?” “Compared to me? Obviously.” He shook his head, grinning. “You’re actually evil.” “Only on ice.” Connor mumbled something, but I didn’t hear. I was too busy watching Xavier across the room. He looked at me. Just once. ****** I couldn’t sleep. Everyone else was probably knocked out from dinner and drinks, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. It never did after games. The win didn’t settle me. It itched. So I threw on a hoodie, laced my sneakers, and slipped out the hotel room. The rink wasn’t far. The hotel was connected to the stadium by a private underground corridor, meant for athletes and VIPs. I knew the way. I just needed the ice. Alone. No yelling coaches. No cameras. Just me. I pushed open the side door, stepped inside—and froze. Because there he was. Xavier Kesh. Center of the rink. Alone. Shirt damp with sweat, hockey stick in hand, flicking pucks one by one into the empty net. Clack. Clack. Clack. He didn’t see me. He looked… different. Just him. Focused, breathing heavy and his jaw tight. I watched him for a second too long. Then he turned. Our eyes locked. He didn’t look surprised. “You always sneak into rinks past midnight?” he asked, voice echoing. “It’s…you know what, yes, I need silence.” He smirked. “Guess you’re out of luck.” I stepped forward slowly. “What are you even doing here?” “Same thing as you, I bet.” He tapped a puck with his blade. “Trying to breathe.” I stayed by the edge of the rink, arms crossed. He skated toward me. I hated that he was good. Really good. Even off-game, even off-script. He stopped a few feet away. “Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.” “I’m not.” He raised a brow. “So why sneak in at midnight? Missing the ice already?” I didn’t answer. He leaned on his stick, studying me. “You don’t talk much, huh?” “I only talk when people say useful things.” “Ouch.” I shrugged. “Still mad I called you baby on the ice?” he teased. I gave him a look. “Say it again and I’ll break your teeth.” He laughed. “There she is.” I hated how easy his laugh was. I hated how it echoed in my chest. “So,” he said after a beat, “is it weird?” “What?” “Playing with guys. Being the only girl.” “No.” “Never?” I met his eyes. “Not when I’m better than all of you.” His mouth twitched. “Cocky.” “Confident.” He nodded. “Fair.” We stood in silence for a moment. Then he did something stupid. He took off his shirt. I blinked. “Are you serious?” “It’s hot,” he said casually and stepped onto the mat beside me. “You never smile.” “Because there’s nothing funny.” “You ever have fun?” “Fun doesn’t win championships.” “You sound exhausted.” Gosh, he was so close now. Smirking. I could smell the sweat on his skin. He wasn’t just some loud-mouthed forward anymore. Not Katrina’s boyfriend. Not my teammate. Not the idiot who winked during faceoffs. He was— I stepped back too fast and hit my head on the metal door frame. “Shit,” I muttered, gripping the back of my head. “You okay?” he asked, reaching out. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped. He paused. Smiled again. “You’re blushing.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” I glared at him. Then turned and walked off. What the hell was that.MELISSA’S POVAfter practice, I didn’t bother trying to call Xavier again.The truth was, I had already done that more than I cared to admit—watched his name flash on my screen, tapped “call,” and waited for the faintest sound of his voice on the other end. And every time, the call had rung until it faded into that hollow void of voicemail.So, that night, I decided to let him be.It was easier to pretend I wasn’t bothered than to keep chasing silence.I curled up in bed with my phone, mindlessly scrolling, until Marco’s name popped up in the group chat.> Marco: “Morning shoot tomorrow. Everyone be there early. 8:30 sharp.”I groaned, already dreading the thought of waking up before the sun was truly up. My thumb hovered over the screen as the others reacted with emojis and short replies.Then Xavier’s name lit up in the chat.> Xavier: “Can you just let us off for a week! ”The laughing emoji might as well have been a blade.He could respond here, joke around with everyone… yet he c
MELISSA’S POVThe next morning, I woke up feeling… lighter.No headaches. No tightness in my chest. No weight pressing down on me like the day before.Just sunlight peeking through the blinds and a quiet hum of peace in the silence of my room.It felt foreign.Maybe because I wasn’t used to peace lasting longer than five minutes. But as I sat up and stretched my arms above my head, I realized something—I wanted to keep this feeling.Yesterday had been chaos.From the social media storm to the overwhelming flood of emotions, and Xavier… him stepping in like that. Honestly, I didn’t know how to process it.I’d spent half the night overthinking his post, trying to dissect every word, every sentence. Was it all for the internet? Was he just trying to salvage the situation for PR? Or… did he mean it?And if he did—why? Why go that far for me?I still didn’t have the answers. Maybe I never would. Maybe it didn’t matter.Because today wasn’t about Xavier.Today was about me.I had something
MELISSA’S POVI sat cross-legged on my bed, the glow of my screen casting a bluish hue on my face. The chaos online had simmered down, and if I were being honest, it had very little to do with me. It was Xavier. His words. His post. The way he shielded me like I was something worth protecting.And I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.It didn’t make sense—not completely. Not after the way he acted at the dinner. The distance. The quiet tension radiating from him. The way he avoided eye contact like I was something fragile or tainted.So why did he defend me so fiercely?I stared at our last message thread, my thumb hovering over the screen.Earlier today, I saw his post—how he stood up for me in front of the entire world. He called me his girlfriend. Told everyone to back off. Even made a joke about sending that guy to the ancestors. And it worked. The internet changed its tune almost instantly. The comments were softer. Supportive. Kind.But now, with everything quiet around me, a
MELISSA'S POVI was still reeling from the email.The glow of being nominated as a finalist for Miss England hadn’t worn off yet. It still didn’t feel real. I’d read the message over and over again, as if the words might vanish if I blinked too hard. Even with the chaos that had clouded my morning, that one email had felt like a hand reaching down and lifting me from the mess.For the first time in days, I felt light.Hopeful.I had been smiling, hugging a pillow to my chest, letting the idea of Miss World, cameras, gowns, interviews, and finally making something mine swirl around in my head—when my phone vibrated again.Just one name popped up.Xavier Kesh.And I froze. It wasn’t a text. It was a post.My thumb hovered over it for a few seconds, my pulse flickering at my wrist. I wasn’t even sure what I was bracing for—an announcement? A cryptic caption? A quiet unfollow?But when I tapped on it… I saw his face.And everything inside me unraveled.It wasn’t just the way he looked on
XAVIER'S POVSteam curled around me as I stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low on my waist, my hair still dripping. I rubbed the back of my neck as I reached for my phone on the sink counter, the screen lighting up with endless notifications—Instagram tags, Twitter mentions, message alerts, news pings.I frowned.Thirty-three missed notifications in just ten minutes?What the hell?I tapped the first one and instantly, my entire feed exploded with chaos. Videos. Threads. Heated arguments. Memes. Headlines.Melissa Brown.Reunion Drama.Viral altercation.Oh my gosh.Katrina had mentioned the reunion briefly the other day, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I figured it was just a regular night with awkward hugs and fake compliments. Maybe some petty gossip. But this?This was a digital bloodbath.Video clips showed Melissa rising from her seat, storming toward some guy—Alfred, apparently—and slamming his face into the table after he made some vile comment about her sleeping he
MELLISA'S POVI was having a good dream.One of those warm, fuzzy ones that didn’t make a lot of sense but felt like safety. No pressure. No whispers. No past dragging me down. Just… peace. Until the universe decided to wake me up with a vengeance.My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.Ding. Ding. Ding. One after another, like the world had collectively decided to scream at me through a glowing rectangle.Groaning, I reached across the bed and fumbled for the phone, the screen nearly blinding in the early morning darkness.Thirty-seven notifications. Three missed calls. Fifteen unread messages.And every single one of them… was about me.I sat up slowly, heart in my throat, stomach already sinking as I opened the first group chat.Screenshots. Mentions. Clips.The incident from last night.My jaw clenched as I scrolled through the posts. The comments. The headlines. That video of me grabbing Alfred James by the collar and smashing his smug face against the table. People had turned it into a
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