Chapter 2

Melina's POV

Morning sunlight illuminated the penthouse bedroom through the drapes and I sat up slowly, clutching the dark silk sheet against my chest as my head throbbed with a pulsing ache. For one disoriented breath I could not place the ceiling above me and then the night before crashed back all at once, curdling low in my stomach.

On the opposite side Jace lay fast asleep on his stomach, face resting on a white pillow. Dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, softening the sharp lines of his jaw.

I looked around the room: tall glass windows offering a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline, abstract oil paintings lining the far wall. This place belonged to an elite heir, not a college athlete on a scholarship. Jace hid something significant, but I had no time to solve it. My pulse ticked faster with every passing second. I needed to leave before he woke.

I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and stood, knees trembling slightly as my feet touched the cold wood floor. My white dress lay crumpled near the door, stained with spilled liquor. Returning to campus in that state invited ridicule and just the thought of the walk back sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up my neck.

My eyes landed on a dark jersey draped over an accent chair. Number ten sat proudly on the chest above the Westbridge crest. I pulled it over my head without hesitation, my hands moving faster than my thoughts, desperate for anything that was not the ruined dress.

The fabric swallowed my frame, falling mid-thigh and smelled of soap and cedar. I grabbed my purse, scooped up my heels and slipped out into the private elevator without a sound, my heartbeat loud in the small mirrored box as it descended.

The morning air outside was crisp. I hurried toward the nearest subway station with my head down, every set of eyes on the sidewalk feeling like it belonged to someone who knew exactly what I had done. My phone vibrated nonstop inside my bag during the entire train ride back to the university district, each buzz landing like a small jolt against my nerves.

By the time my boots hit the concrete path crossing the central campus quad, the screen lit with dozens of missed notifications. My stomach dropped lower with every name I recognized. I pulled the device out and answered the incoming call on the third ring.

“Where on earth are you?” Maya asked, voice rising above the static.

“I'm walking past the library right now,” I replied, pressing the phone closer, my throat suddenly dry. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Have you opened your phone at all today?” Maya questioned, tone tight with anxiety.

“No, I have a massive headache and I just want to get back to my room,” I said. “Whatever Tristan is telling people, I do not care.” Even as I said it, something cold slid down my spine, some instinct that told me this was already bigger than gossip.

“Melina, this is not just about Tristan,” Maya warned. “You need to open the university news feed right now. It is everywhere.”

Before I could open the browser, four students stepped into the center of the walkway, blocking my path. Chloe stood right in the middle, blonde hair perfectly styled, arms crossed over a crisp leather jacket. Her lips pulled back into a smug, triumphant smile the second our eyes met and the sight of it made my skin crawl.

I tapped the screen to end the call with Maya and slid the phone into my back pocket. “Move out of my way, Chloe.”

“Good morning to you too, Melina,” Chloe cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You look remarkably disheveled.”

Heat flared behind my ribs, sudden and sharp. “I am not in the mood for your games,” I stated, attempting to step to the left to bypass her group.

Chloe sidestepped instantly, placing herself directly in front of me again. “Running away so quickly? I suppose Tristan was not enough to keep your attention last night.”

“Do not speak his name to me,” I warned, fists clenching at my sides, nails biting crescents into my palms.

“Why shouldn't I?” Chloe challenged, taking a half-step forward. “You certainly did not waste any time replacing him before sunrise.”

“You came to his room on our anniversary,” I reminded her, voice steady despite the anger surging through my veins, my chest tight enough that each word cost me something to push out. “You betrayed me after years of friendship. You have no standing to judge anything I do.”

“I did you a favor,” Chloe sneered, her blue eyes narrowing. “You were dragging him down anyway. But I must admit, I did not expect you to target his biggest enemy just to stay relevant.”

“I did not target anyone,” I countered, though a small, treacherous voice inside me whispered otherwise.

“The whole school thinks otherwise,” Chloe replied smoothly. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone and turned the screen toward my face. “See for yourself.”

I snatched the device from her hand and stared at the bold header occupying the top of the campus gossip blog. My vision swam for a moment, the letters refusing to hold still.

Displayed below the title was a crystal-clear photograph of me stepping out of the glass front entrance of Jace's luxury high-rise building. I was wearing his oversized number ten jersey, my hair a tangled mess and my ruined dress clutched in my right hand.

The headline read: 'Melina Townley Ditches Tristan McGreggor for the Captain's Bed.'

“Who took this picture?” I demanded, throat tightening as I scrolled through the text below the image, each comment landing like a small stone against my chest.

“Someone with sharp eyes,” Chloe laughed, pulling the device back from my grip. “The entire comment section is tearing you apart. They think you used Tristan until a better offer came along with the hockey team captain.”

“That is a complete fabrication,” I stated, stepping closer to her, my whole body buzzing with the need to shout. “Tristan was cheating on me with you. You are the ones who broke the relationship.”

“Good luck convincing anyone of that,” Chloe said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Tristan is currently playing the devastated, betrayed boyfriend and the entire campus is rallying behind him. Meanwhile, you look like a desperate social climber who slept her way to the top of the athletic department.”

“I will set the record straight,” I promised, voice cold and firm despite the tremor building in my hands. “I will tell everyone exactly what I saw in that frat house room.”

“Go ahead and try,” Chloe taunted, her smile widening. “It is your word against ours and right now, the evidence is heavily against you.”

Before I could reply, my phone vibrated violently against my hip. I pulled it out, seeing an unlisted official campus extension flashing across the display and something in my gut turned to ice before I had even answered. I turned away from Chloe and answered the call.

“Is this Melina Townley?” a formal female voice asked over the line.

“Yes, this is she,” I answered, trying to steady my breathing.

“This is the Westbridge Academic Standards and Scholarship Board,” the woman stated, tone entirely devoid of warmth. “We have received multiple reports and visual documentation regarding a public conduct violation involving you and several student-athletes.”

“The story online is untrue,” I explained quickly, my pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. “It was taken out of context and I can clarify everything if you give me a moment.”

“We do not conduct disciplinary reviews over the telephone,” the administrator interrupted sharply. “Your academic funding is currently flagged for immediate revocation. You are required to present yourself at the board office in the main administration building in fifteen minutes. If you fail to appear, your scholarship will be terminated immediately.”

The line disconnected with a harsh click. I stood frozen on the pavement, the surrounding chatter of the quad fading into a dull hum as the reality of the situation hit me. 

My legs felt distant, unreliable, as though the ground beneath them might tilt at any moment. My scholarship was the only thing keeping me in Manhattan and without it, my entire future would crumble in an instant.

I turned around and marched straight toward the administration building, ignoring the pointed stares and hushed whispers following my every step, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. 

The double doors echoed loudly as I pushed them open and navigated the polished hallway toward the board's private conference room. I knocked once and stepped inside.

Three senior board members sat behind a wide wooden table, their faces stern as they reviewed a printed copy of the gossip blog spread out between them. The head of the committee, a sharp-eyed woman with grey hair, looked up through her spectacles.

“Miss Townley,” she began, resting her hands on the table. “Westbridge University holds its scholarship recipients to the highest moral and public standards. The media frenzy generated by your actions this morning reflects terribly on our institution.”

“With all due respect, ma'am, I am the victim of a malicious smear campaign,” I stated clearly, standing straight before the panel even as my knees threatened to buckle. “My ex-boyfriend cheated on me and these photographs were published without my consent to ruin my reputation.”

“Public perception matters just as much as intent, Miss Townley,” the woman countered firmly. “The donor who funds your journalism grant explicitly requires zero public scandals. Right now, you are framed as a distraction causing conflict between the university's top athletes. We cannot tolerate that level of negative publicity.”

“Please do not revoke my funding,” I requested, swallowing my pride, the words scraping against the lump lodged in my throat. “I have maintained a top GPA every semester. I will stay away from the athletic department entirely.”

“We are placing your grant on a temporary thirty-day probation,” the board head announced, leaning back in her chair. “If your name appears in another campus scandal or media report during this window, your funding will be cancelled permanently and you will be removed from the university. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I answered quietly. “Extremely clear.”

“You are dismissed,” she said, turning her attention back to the documents on her desk.

I left the office with my pulse racing, my mind spinning as I calculated how to survive the next month without drawing a single eye toward me. 

I stepped out onto the front stone steps of the building, taking a deep breath of the afternoon air, desperate to find a quiet space to think, my chest still tight with everything I had not let myself feel yet.

A sudden, sharp screech of tires echoed across the courtyard, breaking the silence.

A dark, sleek sports car swerved out of the main traffic lane and slammed to a halt directly in front of the steps, blocking the walkway.

The engine roared loudly before settling into a low, aggressive rumble that drew the immediate attention of every student nearby. The heavily tinted passenger window rolled down with a smooth mechanical hum.

Jace sat behind the wheel, his broad hands gripping the leather steering wheel tightly. He was still wearing the dark clothes from the previous night, his dark hair falling messy across his brow.

But his icy blue eyes were completely changed from the calm, reserved expression he had worn at the bar. They were dark, dangerous and burning with outright fury as he locked his gaze onto mine and something in my chest lurched at the sight of it.

“Get in the car, Melina,” Jace commanded, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that left no room for debate. “Now.”