LOGINSAMANTHA’S POVThe small cottage on the lake had become our planning headquarters over the last two weeks of summer break. The wooden table in the living room was covered with magazines, printed photos, and a large notebook where Wesley had started sketching ideas in his surprisingly neat handwriting. A half-drunk bottle of wine sat beside a plate of strawberries we had picked from the local farm that morning. The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide windows, painting everything in warm gold.I sat cross-legged on the couch in one of Wesley’s old t-shirts, my laptop open to a wedding planning website. My curls were tied back in a messy bun, and I had a pen tucked behind my ear. Wesley lounged beside me, his long legs stretched out, wearing only low-slung shorts. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles that kept sending little sparks through me.“So the venue,” I said, scrolling through photos of small lakeside chapels. “Something intimate. Maybe right here by t
SAMANTHA’S POVThe small cottage on the outskirts of Manchester smelled of fresh pine and the faint salt of the nearby lake. It was the kind of place people rented for quiet weekends, wooden beams, wide windows overlooking the water, a big stone fireplace that Wesley had already lit even though the summer evening was mild. We had driven here straight after the final board confirmation, suitcases thrown in the back of his old car, the radio playing low as we left the campus behind for the first time in months.I stood on the porch now, barefoot, a thin summer dress clinging to my skin from the humidity. The sun was setting over the lake, painting everything in soft oranges and pinks. Inside, Wesley was cooking something simple, grilled fish and vegetables, the same recipe he had perfected in his tiny flat kitchen during those stolen nights when the world felt like it was closing in.It had been three months since the board lifted my probation for good. Three months since my parents had
SAMANTHA’S POVThe final board review room smelled of old paper and nervous sweat. I sat at the center of the long table, my hands folded so tightly my knuckles ached. Dr. Patel sat to my left with a thick folder, Professor Hargrove at the head, and two other board members flipping through documents. My parents were on the video screen from London, their faces tight with exhaustion and disappointment. Wesley waited outside the door, as close as the board would allow.“Miss Williams,” Professor Hargrove began, his voice heavy, “this is your final probation evaluation. Your grades have held, which is commendable given the circumstances. However, the board has received continued reports of private meetings, late-night activity, and public appearances with Mr Adams. The formal event photos, the championship game sightings, the anonymous tips, all of this has strained the university’s patience. We need to hear from you directly before we make our decision.”I took a deep breath, my voice s
WESLEY’S POVThe athletic department conference room smelled of stale coffee and polished oak, the kind of sterile scent that made my stomach turn. I sat alone at the long table, my hands clasped so tightly my knuckles were white. The scholarship review committee, Coach, the athletic director, and two academic advisors, stared at me from across the table like I was a problem to be solved. The folder in front of them was thick with reports: missed team meetings, the leaked videos, the formal event photos, the anonymous tips about late-night activity.“Mr Adams,” the athletic director began, tapping the folder, “your on-court stats in the rematch were solid. MVP performance helped. However, the off-court issues, the leaked material involving Miss Williams, the formal event photos, multiple anonymous reports of late-night activity, have raised red flags. Your GPA is barely above the minimum. One more incident and your scholarship is terminated. Do you understand the gravity of this situa
WESLEY’S POVThe athletic department conference room felt smaller than a locker stall. The scholarship committee sat across the polished table like judges at a sentencing: Coach with his arms crossed, the athletic director tapping a pen, and two academic reps flipping through my file. I sat alone on my side, back straight, hands clasped to hide the slight tremor. The email had said 10 AM sharp. I was five minutes early, heart hammering harder than before any championship tip-off.“Mr Adams,” the athletic director started, sliding a thick report toward me. “Your on-court stats in the rematch were solid. MVP performance helped. However, the off-court issues— the leaked material involving Miss Williams, the formal event photos, multiple anonymous reports of late-night activity— have raised red flags. Your GPA is barely holding at 3.0. We need to see a clear improvement plan today or we cannot renew your funding for next semester.”I swallowed hard, the words hitting like a bad foul. “I u
WESLEY’S POVThe locker room smelled of sweat, menthol rub, and defeat even though we had won the last game. I sat on the bench, towel around my neck, staring at the fresh email from the athletic scholarship office that had come in during the fourth quarter. Coach had forwarded it with a single line: “Read this. Fix it. Or you’re done.”The message was blunt: “Mr Adams, your cumulative GPA has dipped below the required 3.0 threshold for athletic scholarship renewal. Combined with documented off-court conduct concerns (including multiple reports of personal distractions), your funding is under immediate review. You have until the end of next week to submit an academic improvement plan and demonstrate improved focus. Failure to comply will result in full revocation.”I slammed my locker shut. The metal clang echoed through the room. Jake looked up from tying his shoes. “Coach chewing you out again?”“Scholarship review,” I muttered, pulling on my hoodie. “They’re threatening to cut me i
SAMANTHA’S POVProfessor Hargrove’s office door slammed shut behind us. The sound echoed like a judge’s gavel.“Sit. All of you,” he ordered, pointing at the three chairs in front of his cluttered desk. His face was red with irritation.I sat in the middle, legs trembling. Wesley took the seat on m
SAMANTHA’S POVMy eyes snapped open to the sound of urgent knocking. I grabbed my phone— 8:15am. Wesley’s texts lit up the screen.Wesley: Meeting moved to 9am. I’m almost at your building. Get ready.Donald: I’m outside with coffee. We need to head over soon.I sat up fast, heart already racing. A
WESLEY’S POVI stood there in Samantha’s small hostel room, arms crossed, watching her face crumble as she stared at her phone. The new gossip post was up. Our faces blurred but recognisable. Her moaning in the background. And the fucking professor commenting: “Emergency meeting required before pre
The audio clip played on repeat in my head even after I turned my phone off. My own voice moaning Wesley’s name and begging. The comments under the campus gossip post kept flashing behind my eyes— “scholarship slut,” “Wesley’s new toy,” “wait till her parents see this.”Then a loud knock hit our do







