Chapter 4

Melina's POV

Jace navigated the sports car out of the underground garage and merged into the afternoon traffic. He drove with calm, aggressive precision, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel while I tried to settle the nervous energy vibrating in my chest. 

We headed straight for the central campus plaza, the most crowded location at Westbridge University, and my stomach knotted tighter with every block that brought us closer.

“How exactly do we prove this relationship is real?” I asked, turning in my seat to look at him. “People are going to ask a lot of questions and we do not have a backstory.”

“You let me handle the questions,” Jace answered. “Your job is to look at me like I am the center of your universe. Can you do that?”

A nervous flutter ran through me, half doubt, half something else I did not want to name. “I am an excellent liar when my academic future is on the line,” I promised.

“Good,” Jace said, turning the steering wheel to pull into a reserved parking space near the main quad. “Keep your head up, maintain eye contact with me and do not let Tristan see you sweat. We own the narrative from this moment forward.”

Jace killed the engine and stepped out of the vehicle. He walked around the hood, opened my door and offered his hand. I placed my palm against his and his fingers wrapped firmly around mine. The physical contact sent a sudden shock of heat up my arm, grounding my scattered thoughts, and for one disorienting second I forgot to be afraid.

We walked toward the glass doors of The Roasted Bean. The afternoon rush was at its peak and the outdoor patio was packed with students typing on laptops and chatting over coffee cups. 

A group of girls near the entrance spotted us first. One of them gasped, tapping her friend on the shoulder and within seconds a ripple of whispers spread across the patio. My pulse hammered in my ears at the sound of it.

Jace pushed the heavy door open and a small bell chimed above our heads.

The ambient noise inside the crowded room died down almost instantly. Dozens of heads turned in our direction. I noticed at least four students raising their phones to record us from their tables, and my throat went dry under the weight of all those eyes.

“Smile, Townley,” Jace murmured, leaning close to my ear. His breath brushed my neck and he let his lips linger near my skin to give the cameras a perfect angle. “You look like you are marching toward a firing squad.”

“I feel like I am,” I whispered back, forcing a bright, relaxed smile onto my face while my insides twisted themselves into knots.

“Just focus on me,” Jace advised, leading me toward the ordering counter.

We took three steps before a chair scraped violently against the floorboards near the window. Tristan shoved his way past a group of freshmen and marched directly into our path. 

He wore his green athletic jacket, but his usual charming public demeanor was gone. His jaw was clenched tight and his sharp green eyes darted down to our joined hands. My grip on Jace's fingers tightened on instinct.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” Tristan demanded, blocking our way.

“Move out of the way, Tristan,” Jace warned, voice low and steady.

“You set this up,” Tristan accused, pointing a finger directly at my face. “You planned this public stunt just to humiliinate me.”

Anger flared hot beneath my ribs, burning away the last of my nerves. “I do not owe you an explanation for my life choices,” I replied, stepping closer to Jace and resting my free hand on his arm. “We are here for coffee. Leave us alone.”

“You expect people to actually buy this?” Tristan laughed, a harsh sound that echoed through the quiet room. He looked around the cafe, addressing the watching students. “Everyone knows you are just a pawn, Mel. He is using you to get under my skin because he cannot beat me on the ice.”

“The only person obsessed with you is yourself,” Jace stated. He stepped smoothly in front of me, shielding my body from Tristan's aggressive posture. “Melina and I have been seeing each other for a month. Last night just happened to be the night we stopped hiding it from the public.”

Loud murmurs broke out among the surrounding tables.

“A month?” Tristan repeated, face flushing a deep, angry red. “You are lying, Hamilton. She was in my bed two days ago.”

A fresh wave of humiliation crawled up my neck at the words, but I forced my chin higher, refusing to let it show.

“She stopped being yours the second you brought another girl into your room,” Jace countered, tone dropping into a dangerous register. “Now step aside before I have campus security drag you out for harassment.”

“Prove it,” Tristan challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you two are so deeply in love, prove it right now.”

“I do not need to prove anything to you,” Jace said.

He turned his back on Tristan and looked down at me. The cold hostility he reserved for his rival vanished, replaced by a soft, focused intensity that made my breath catch. He reached up and cupped my jaw with his free hand, thumb brushing gently against my cheekbone, and every thought in my head scattered at once.

“Jace,” I breathed, heart hammering against my ribs.

“Play along,” Jace whispered against my lips.

He kissed me. It was not a hesitant, staged press of lips for the cameras. He kissed me with demanding heat that chased away the chill of the afternoon, hand sliding to the back of my neck to pull me closer.

I leaned into his touch, hands instinctively gripping the front of his jacket to steady myself, my mind going pleasantly, dangerously blank. Camera flashes went off around us, lighting up the coffee shop in quick bursts of white light, and for a moment I forgot they were even there.

Tristan let out a furious string of curses, shoved past a nearby table and stormed out the front door.

Jace broke the kiss slowly. He rested his forehead against mine for a brief second before turning back to the counter, and I stood there struggling to catch my breath, my pulse refusing to slow. The barista stood wide-eyed behind the espresso machine, holding an empty cup.

“Two black coffees, please,” Jace ordered smoothly, acting as though nothing unusual had just occurred.

The tension in the room broke, replaced by frantic typing and hushed conversations. The narrative was already shifting. I checked my phone while Jace paid for the drinks, my fingers still not quite steady. The campus feed was blowing up with new headlines calling us the ultimate power couple, burying the cheating scandal under a wave of romance rumors.

“It worked,” I told Jace as he handed me a paper cup, relief loosening something tight in my chest for the first time all day.

“This is just the first step,” Jace reminded him, guiding me toward a quiet corner table. “We need to maintain this energy. Tristan will not let this go easily.”

“I am going to use the restroom quickly,” I said, setting my coffee down. “I will meet you outside by the car in five minutes.”

“Do not take too long,” Jace warned, moving toward the exit to handle the growing crowd of photographers waiting on the patio.

I walked down the narrow hallway toward the restrooms and pushed the door open. Chloe stood in front of the mirrors, applying a fresh coat of red lipstick. She stopped midway, eyes narrowing in the mirror as I walked into the room, and my whole body tensed on instinct.

“That was quite the performance out there,” Chloe remarked, dropping her lipstick into her designer purse.

“It was not a performance,” I replied, walking past her to wash my hands at the sink, keeping my voice level through sheer effort.

Chloe pulled her phone from her purse and held it casually in her hand, screen facing her chest. “You expect me to believe you and Jace Hamilton have been sneaking around for a month? You are faking this arrangement to save your precious scholarship.”

“You can believe whatever you want, Chloe,” I said, catching the subtle glow of the recording screen reflecting off the bathroom tile. She was trying to trap me into a confession, and a cold, wary alertness sharpened every one of my senses.

“Tristan is going to ruin him, you know,” Chloe pushed, taking a calculated step closer. “He knows Jace is hiding something massive regarding his family's money. If you admit this is a fake arrangement right now, I will tell Tristan to leave you out of the crossfire.”

I turned off the faucet and dried my hands on a paper towel, my heartbeat steady and deliberate now, the earlier panic hardening into something colder and more useful. I turned to face her and looked directly into the camera lens hidden behind her fingers.

“I love him,” I stated clearly, keeping my expression perfectly calm. “Jace is twice the man Tristan ever was and our relationship is real. Now get out of my way.”

Chloe scowled, dropping her phone to her side in defeat. She marched out of the restroom, door swinging shut behind her with a loud bang.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands gripping the edge of the sink as the adrenaline finally caught up with me, realizing just how dangerous this game had become. If Chloe was already trying to record me, Tristan was actively building a case against us. I threw the paper towel in the trash and walked back out into the main hallway to find Jace.

I stopped dead in my tracks before reaching the exit, a fresh jolt of alarm freezing me in place.

Wyatt Foster, Jace's co-captain, stood leaning against the brick wall near the rear fire exit. He had a dark, calculating look on his face and his phone was pressed tightly to his ear.

“Yeah, Tristan, it's me,” Wyatt said into the receiver, grey eyes locking onto mine as I stepped into the hallway. “You were right. Hamilton is distracted. It is time to make our move...”