Chapter 3

The Deal

Sophie’s Pov

My jaw drops so fast it almost hits the floor.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Ethan Carter?" I shout into the phone, clutching it so tightly my fingers ache. "Stop pretending this was an accident? We made the whole thing up because I panicked! We cannot just keep dating!"

"Listen to me, Sophie," Ethan’s deep voice comes back through the speaker, calm and steady, completely ignoring my panic. "My sponsors are threatening to cancel my contracts because they think I am too wild and angry on the ice. But when they saw those pictures of us, they loved it. They think I am finally settling down. If we keep this up for the rest of the hockey season, my career is saved. And as a bonus, Ryan will never bother you again. Everyone will believe you are completely over him."

I freeze. I bite my lower lip so hard I can taste the metallic tang of salt. He is right about Ryan. Last night at the gala, for the first time since our breakup, Ryan looked at me and felt defeated instead of powerful. He did not get to humiliate me.

"And what about me?" I ask, my voice shaking a little. "What do I get out of this fake relationship besides a giant target on my back?"

"Protection," Ethan answers instantly, without even pausing to think. "I will shield you from my brother, from his annoying new fiancée, and from every person at that party who whispered behind your back. Deal?"

I close my eyes and take a deep, shaky breath. It is a crazy, reckless, dangerous idea. People are going to talk. The whole city is going to watch our every move. But the thought of walking into work tomorrow with my head held high, knowing Ryan and his friends cannot touch me anymore? It is awfully tempting.

"Fine," I whisper. "We do it. But we need ground rules, Ethan. Serious ones."

"I am listening," he says, and I can almost hear the small smirk in his voice.

"Rule number one: absolutely no sleeping together," I say firmly, holding up a finger even though he cannot see me. "Rule number two: no catching real feelings. This is just a business arrangement to fix your career and my reputation. Rule number three: no kissing unless the cameras are right in our faces and we have no choice."

There is a brief pause on the other end of the line. Then, Ethan laughs—a low, husky sound that sends a strange, fluttery feeling straight to my stomach.

"Deal," he agrees far too easily. "No feelings, no sleeping together, and very strict kissing rules. I can handle that, Sophie. I will pick you up at seven tonight for our first official date. Wear something nice."

The line clicks dead before I can argue back.

Ten hours later, I am standing in front of my bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection in a red dress that hugs my waist just right. My hands are sweating. When a low honk sounds from the street outside, my heart does a wild, nervous flip.

Ethan is waiting downstairs.

When I step out of my apartment building, I find him leaning against the side of his sleek black car. He is wearing a dark button-down shirt with the top buttons open, his sleeves rolled up to show the strong muscles in his forearms. He looks less like a grumpy hockey player and more like a movie star. When he looks up and sees me, the words catch right in his throat. For a second, he just stares.

"You look... incredible, Sophie," he says quietly, his voice dropping an octave.

"Thanks," I muffle out, my face turning bright red as I look down at my shoes. "You do not look so bad yourself."

He opens the car door for me like a true gentleman, a gesture that completely throws me off. We drive to one of the most popular, high-end Italian restaurants downtown—the kind of place where reporters and photographers always hang around hoping to catch a celebrity.

The moment we walk through the glass doors, all heads turn our way. Whispers ripple through the dining room. Flashbulbs pop from the dark corner near the entrance. I stiffen up, ready to bolt, but Ethan’s warm hand settles gently against the small of my back. His touch is light, guiding, and surprisingly comforting.

"Just breathe," he murmurs near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "I’ve got you."

We sit at a candlelit table in the middle of the room. At first, the tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife. But as the waiter takes our order,

Ethan starts talking about hockey, telling funny, ridiculous stories about his goofy teammates and the disasters that happen in the locker room. I find myself actually laughing out loud—a real, genuine laugh that I haven't felt in months.

Across the table, Ethan looks at me with an expression I have never seen on his face before. His dark eyes are soft, filled with a quiet, genuine attention. He remembers that I love mushrooms on my pizza, even though I only mentioned it once months ago. He listens when I talk about my event planning job, asking real questions instead of just nodding along.

For the first time, sitting here across from the man I thought I knew, a strange, terrifying thought creeps into my mind: Ethan Carter isn’t just arrogant and cold. He is attentive, funny, and surprisingly gentle. And that scares me more than anything else.

"Are you enjoying your dinner, babe?" Ethan asks loudly enough for the table next to us to hear, flashing a charming smile that makes my heart skip a painful beat.

"I am having a wonderful time, sweet-heart," I reply, playing my part with a sweet smile of my own.

Just as the waiter brings our pasta dishes, the bright lights of the restaurant seem to dim for a second, and the atmosphere at the front shifts. A familiar, arrogant laugh echoes across the wooden floorboards.

My stomach plummets.

I look up, and there he is. Ryan is standing by the hostess stand with his new fiancée on his arm, looking around the room like he owns the place.

Then, his eyes lock onto our table. His smile instantly dies. His face turns a dark, ugly shade of purple as he marches straight toward us, his heavy footsteps shaking the floor.

Ethan doesn't even flinch. He slowly takes a sip of his water, his eyes fixed on his brother with a cold, mocking amusement.

Ryan stops right at our table, planting his hands on the white tablecloth and glaring down at us with absolute disbelief.

Ryan looks at Ethan and says, "You can’t seriously be dating my ex."