Don’t Tell Our Parents

“You cheating, back stabbing piece of—“

The words died in my throat at the exact second the massive bucket of ice water flew from my hands.

It was supposed to be the ultimate, moment of sweet, freezing revenge. I had received the text just ten minutes ago from an anonymous number—a blurry but unmistakable photo of my boyfriend and my best friend kissing right against the lockers near the campus ice rink.

Driven by pure blinding fury, I had marched into the arena lobby, grabbed the biggest bucket of melting ice water I could find by the benches, and dumped it right over the making out couple’s head.

The Icy water splashed everywhere, completely drenching them. For a long brief second, I felt a rush of absolute satisfaction.

Then, the girl gasped, wiping a wet chunk of hair out of her eyes, and my heart completely stopped.

That—that wasn’t Chloe. Chloe had long, bleach-blonde hair. This girl had a short, dark bob.

And the guy who was currently shaking water from his jaw like a pissed off wolf, staring up at me with a look that could literally kill? That wasn’t Leon.

It was Lael De La Fontaine.

My breath hitched. Oh God, Lael De La Fontaine. The university’s star forward. The campus hockey god. He didn’t just rule the ice; he practically owned the school. His dad was a legendary former NHL player whose career cut short after a brutal, career-ending injury, forcing him to retire early and funnel all the aggression into building a massive multi dollar business empire. Lael was an insanely wealthy, untouchably elite, and completely off-limit.

And the woman he was just kissing? That wasn’t a student. That was the university’s assistant coach.

“Are you out of your freaking mind?” The assistant coach shrieked, scrambling off his lap. She grabbed her soaked clipboard and purse, looked at me like she wanted to kick me out of the university entirely, and stormed off toward the back offices, her wet heels squeaking loudly against the floor.

I stood there frozen, my fingers trembling. I pulled up the anonymous photo again, my eyes darting between the screen and massive, tatted guy currently standing up.

In the grainy photo, the guy was wearing a grey hockey hoodie—the exact type Leon had worn yesterday. But as Lael pulled his soaked shirt over his head in one smooth motion, squeezing out the water onto the floor, the truth hit me like a physical blow. The guy in the photo didn’t have a sleeve of dark ink wrapping up in his arm. The guy in the photo didn’t have those piercing blue eyes that were currently burning holes right through me.

“I…I thought you were Leon, sorry,” I stammered, my voice shrinking as Lael towered over me. He was completely shirtless now, his broad, tatted chest glistening with water drops, his jaw clenched tight.

“Do I look like Leon to you?” Lael asked, his voice low and dangerous.

He stepped closer, right over the melting ice cubes, completely invading my personal space. The sheer size of him was suffocating. He didn’t just tower over me, he blocked out the rest of the room entirely.

“I don’t give a crap who you thought I was,” he snapped, his blue eyes flashing with pure ice. “Look at me. Look at my shirt. You just ruined a three thousand dollar designer tee because you can’t keep track of your own pathetic, cheating boyfriend.”

My eyes widened. The initial wave of guilt I had felt instantly left my body and was replaced by a sudden, hot surge of irritation.

“Excuse me?” I said, taking a step back but holding his glare. “I already said I was sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident is spilling coffee, not launching an entire cooler or freezing water on my head,” he scoffed, crossing his massive arm over his chest. A drop of water rolled down his abs, but he didn’t even blink. “Are you blind, or completely stupid? Because last time I checked, your ex doesn’t have half my build. Get your eyes checked before you go psycho on someone else.”

“Oh, so now I am the psycho?” I fired right back, my voice rising. My heart pounding, a toxic mix of adrenaline and pure annoyance flooding my veins. “I made a mistake! You don’t have to be a total dick about it. I apologized, which honestly is more than you deserve given the fact you were aggressively sucking face with the literal assistant coach in a public lounge.”

His jaw clenched so hard. The smug air around him turned incredibly tense, the space between us practically crackled with hatred.

“Watch your mouth,” he warned, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. Up close, I could smell the sharp scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the cold water. “You don’t know anything about me and you definitely don’t want to get on my bad side. Pick your disgusting bucket and get the hell out of my sight before I make sure you regret walking into this room.”

“Gladly,” I spat, refusing to let him see how much his stare actually intimidated me. “Have fun drying off, your highness.”

I grabbed the empty plastic bucket from the floor, my knuckles turning white around the handle, and turned on my heel. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back,even tho I could feel his icy glare on me as I left.

My anger was a hot, heavy weight in my chest, blinding me that I almost crashed into two people standing near the exist doors of the arena lobby.

I froze.

Right there, standing under the bright hallway lights was Leon. He was wearing his gray hockey hoodie. And tangled up in his arms, laughing against his chest, was Chloe. Her perfect bleached-blonde hair was completely dry.

They weren’t trying to hide it. They were right out in the open, whispering to each other like I didn’t even exist. The anonymous text hadn’t been a total lie—it just had the wrong location.

Leon noticed me first. His eyes widened, his face going completely pale as he looked at my furious expression down to the empty bucket in my hands. “Wait, babe, it’s not what it looks like—“

Chloe jumped back, her fake eyelashes blinking rapidly as she tried to look innocent, but the guilt was written all over her face. “We were just talking, I swear…..”

A few minutes ago, I would have cried. I would have demanded answers, screamed at them, and let them see exactly how broken I was. But after dealing with Lael’s terrifying attitude, I had absolutely zero energy left for their pathetic lies. The sadness was gone. It was just pure, numb disgust.

“Fuck you,” I said, my voice deadpan and venomous as I looked between my boyfriend and my best friend. “Both of you!”

Before either of them could utter another word, I dropped the heavy bucket right at Leon’s sneakers. The loud plastic echoed through the corridor. I pushed past them, walked straight out into the chilly afternoon air, and didn’t stop moving until I slammed the front door of my apartment behind me.

I spent the next two days completely shut off from the world, ignoring every single text, call from Leon, Chloe, and anyone else on campus.

By the time Friday night rolled in, I forced myself out of bed. I couldn’t hide forever. Plus, tonight was my mom’s official engagement dinner, and I couldn’t be late. She was marrying some insanely rich guy she’d been dating for months, and she’d been stressing about this dinner for weeks.

I put on a nice dress, fixed my hair and makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes,and drove over the upscale restaurant.

When I walked into the private dinning room, my mom immediately beamed, rushing over to hug me. “Oh, sweetheart, you are finally here! Come, you have to officially meet my fiancé, and his son.”

I smiled tightly, letting her pull me toward the long table. A wealthy-looking older man with a sharp suit stood up, offering me a warm smile. But it wasn’t him that made my breath completely catch in my throat.

It was the guy sitting right next to him.

The guy currently wearing a pristine, ridiculously expensive button down shirt. The guy whose piercing eyes locked into mine slow, terrifyingly familiar smirk.

My heart violently stopped.

Why was Lael De La Fontaine sitting at my family table?