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Bad People Get What They Deserve
Last Updated:
2025-05-15 23:36:24
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Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Slab Of Man-god
DIANAI have no one to blame but myself.This is what happens when you overestimate people. Emilia really is as pitiful as I remembered — not even interesting enough to provoke. Just exhausting.I’m already heading for the elevator when I text Amanda.> You have three minutes to get a car and prep the jet. Miss that window, and start rewriting your CV.I don’t care how impossible it is — that’s what she gets for spying on me and not having the brains to do it right. No job that involves me is easy.As I near the elevator, the doors slide open and someone steps out — tall, broad, hoodie up, arms full. A bouquet of slightly wilted flowers in one hand, greasy paper bag in the other. It smells like overpriced pasta.I pause, tilt my head.So this is the idiot who’s been pacing outside like a lost mutt.I should ignore him. I almost do. But then I feel it — that tight coil behind my ribs. Not curiosity. Not interest. Just pure, sharp irritation.And I act on it.He doesn’t see me until I r
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Foolish, Foolish Older Sister
EMILIAThe rage comes in waves — sharp, hot, impossible to swallow. Diana doesn’t even flinch. She sips her water like we’re talking about the weather, eyes locked on me like she’s measuring the exact second I’ll snap.And suddenly, I’m not here anymore. I’m thirteen again, watching a younger Diana scream because the housekeeper trampled her strawberry garden. She’d nearly burned the woman with a curling iron. She didn’t cry, didn’t throw a tantrum. Just calmly cornered her and flipped the switch.Mum and Dad sent her to therapy. She came back quieter. Smarter. But she never stopped believing she was right.“Bad actions should have bad consequences,” she used to say, like it was simple maths. “Good actions should have good ones. That’s fair.”She was never cruel for no reason. That’s what made her dangerous.“It must be the curse of brilliance,” Luther used to joke. “Her brain works too fast to make room for empathy.”He didn’t know how right he was.I take a breath. Then another. “So
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Where's The Camera?
EMILIALiam watches me walk into Tessa’s building like he’s sending his kid off to boarding school. Like he’s still half-ready to circle back and kidnap me.We’d grabbed ice cream after the speakeasy, but it got late fast — and he has practice tomorrow — so I’d practically shoved him into driving me home. He spent the ride working in every excuse to remind me that I have a spare key to his place. That I could just come back with him. Permanently. No pressure, of course. Just a lifelong commitment.I say no every time.Maybe — maybe — I’ll think about it in a few months. Right now, it’s too early, too intense, and I’m still getting used to the part where someone actually loves me out loud.I’m still smiling when I reach Tessa’s floor. I tap my key card, push the door open, and step inside.Something’s off.I frown as I kick the door shut behind me, the dress clinging to my legs, my heels unforgiving. “Tessa? Did you get new furniture or something?” I ask absently, reaching for the ligh
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Husband Material
LIAMThe lights dim a little more just as Mar steps onto the stage, and immediately, the room changes.He doesn’t say a word. Just lifts the violin to his shoulder, settles it under his chin, and starts to play.Mar picked up the violin out of pure boredom. There’s no dramatic backstory. Just something to do when I was off at hockey camp and he wasn’t sitting in the bleachers at my games. Julie — in one of her endless phases — had tried and failed to learn it, guilt-tripped our mom into buying the thing, then tossed it at Mar one summer like a frisbee. Said he had pretty hands. Figured he might as well give it a shot.Funny how fate works out.I’ve heard him play a hundred times. Still guts me every time.The first notes are soft, just barely there — like he’s warming up, like the song’s still making its way through him. But then the bow finds its rhythm, and the room shifts. Everything slows down. Conversations trail off mid-sentence. Glasses are lowered. Even forks hang in the air,
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player New York's Worst-Kept Secret
LIAM“Can’t I have something with shrimp?”I think about it for a long moment, momentarily caught in the scent of her perfume as I lazily flip through the menu. “Can you?”She thinks about it deeply before shrugging. “Sometimes. It depends.”That earns a raised brow from me. I tug her impossibly closer, until her head rests on my chest and her voice hums through me when she speaks. Perfect. “Depends on what, exactly?”She sighs, dramatic. “How fresh it is. How it’s cooked. Whether I’ve had antihistamines. My mood. Whether Mercury’s in retrograde. You know — the usual.”I chuckle and press a kiss to her hair. “So basically, no shrimp.”“Basically,” she mutters. She sounds properly mournful. “I’ll just get rice.”I glance at her. “You want to spend eight hundred dollars on something we can boil in fifteen minutes at home?”She shivers a little — not from the cold. I smirk wider. She’s easier to read than she thinks.“You know what?” she says, deadly serious. “Next date night, we’re gett
Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player We’re Eating Air Tonight, Right?
LIAMI swear I’ve lived a decent life. Not perfect — there’s definitely a parking ticket or three collecting dust in some glove box — but I’ve helped my siblings, paid my taxes, smiled at strangers when I had it in me. Basically, nothing to warrant divine punishment.So why does it feel like the universe is actively trying to end me when the door creaks open and Emilia steps out?I freeze. Fully freeze. Like every part of me short-circuits at once.I’d just finished buttoning the last cuff on my shirt — no tie, collar open, black dress pants tailored just enough to make my agent raise an eyebrow. The jacket’s black, double-breasted, sharp and quiet like I wanted. It’s the kind of look I never wear unless I have to. But for her? I didn’t think twice.Now I’m staring like I’ve never seen a woman before.The dress fits her like it was made for her and no one else. Like the fabric itself wants to worship her skin. It’s short enough to threaten my sanity, and those heels are not helping. B
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