003

Melina’s POV

My thumb hovered over the glowing screen for a fraction of a second before I forced myself to tap the notification and.. Bam..! There it was. Displayed in glorious unforgiving high-definition for the entire student body to see.

It was a photograph of me. I looked like a completely disheveled hot mess, basically drowning in a massive dark hockey jersey with the number ten proudly plastered across the back. 

I was captured mid-stride, slipping out of the glass doors of Jace Hamilton’s luxury high-rise building with my ruined white dress crumpled in one hand and my heels dangling from the other. The morning sunlight was hitting my face just right, highlighting the smeared mascara and the chaos of my hair.

I didn't even look like a college student. I looked like a casualty but the picture wasn't the worst part. The headline hovering right above it was the real kick to the teeth.

''TRASHING THE RIVAL: Did Melina Townley Dump Tristan McGreggor for a Taste of Celebrity Puck?''

My jaw physically dropped and I blinked hard, hoping my tequila-fried brain was just misreading the words but no. The letters stayed right where they were, bold and mocking.

I scrolled down with a trembling finger, my stomach twisting into a series of complicated, painful knots. The comments were a total bloodbath. People I didn't even know were tearing me apart piece by piece. 

They called me a puck bunny.. a clout chaser and a ruthless social climber who kicked the university’s golden boy to the curb just to get a ride on the NHL-bound captain.

Not one single solitary pixel of that blog post mentioned the fact that Tristan and Chloe were currently auditioning for a low-budget amateur p**n film in a frat house bed yesterday.

The narrative was completely flipped. Tristan was the heartbroken victim and I was the villain.

A hot spike of rage punched straight through my chest, vibrating all the way down to my fingertips while my blood literally boiled. I wanted to scream and I wanted to find whoever wrote this garbage, roll up a newspaper and smack them on the nose like a bad dog. 

People were leaving lewd disgusting comments about my body, debating exactly what I did to earn that jersey and making bets on how long Jace would keep me around but truthfully, the slut-shaming wasn't even the thing that terrified me. 

The comments were just background noise compared to the terrifying dark cloud looming over my head. My concern wasn't about the campus gossips or the cheerleaders laughing at me. What really mattered was... 

My phone erupted into a loud obnoxious ringtone right in my hand, cutting off my thought entirely.

I nearly dropped the device. I stared at the caller ID and all the warm furious blood drained right out of my face.

'Westbridge Scholarship Foundation.'

My heart plummeted into my shoes.. this was it. This was the exact nightmare scenario I had spent the last three years trying to avoid. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, pressed the green button and lifted the phone to my ear with a shaking hand.

“Hello?” I rasped, trying to sound like a perfectly functional member of society and not a girl who just woke up in her ex-boyfriend’s rival’s bed.

“Miss Townley,” a cpainfully professional woman's voice came through the speaker. “The disciplinary board requires your presence in the administration building at two o'clock sharp this afternoon. Do not be late.”

Click.. the line went dead.

No “how are you.” and no “please.” Just a straight-up execution order. I shoved my phone deep into my bag, took a deep shuddering breath and forced my legs to move. 

I spent the rest of the morning operating on desperate stealth mode. I pulled my hood up over my head, kept my eyes glued to the pavement and peddled through my early classes like a ghost trying to avoid the Ghostbusters. I sat in the very back of the lecture halls, ignoring the persistent whispers and the not-so-subtle pointing from the girls two rows ahead of me.

I only saw Tristan once. I was hurrying across the main quad, hugging my textbooks to my chest like a shield when I spotted him walking out of the athletic center. He was wearing his designer jacket, looking perfectly rested and unfairly handsome. His green eyes locked onto me instantly and he completely froze, dropping his gym bag right onto the grass and started running toward me.

“Mel! Mel, wait!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the courtyard. “Please, just let me talk to you!”

The nerve of this guy! He actually wanted to talk. Probably to feed me some garbage excuse about how Chloe simply tripped and accidentally fell directly onto his lap.

I didn't slow down and I didn't even blink in his direction. I just kept my head down, quickened my pace and walked right past him like he was entirely invisible. He tried to grab my arm but I swerved violently, shooting him a glare so intensely cold it could have frozen hell over. 

He backed off, looking genuinely shocked that his usual charming manipulation wasn't working and I disappeared into the crowd.

***

Fast forward three agonizing hours and I was currently sitting in a horribly stiff leather backed chair inside a freezing conference room, staring at three people who held my entire future in their hands.. the Westbridge Scholarship Board.

My right foot was tapping a frantic rhythm against the floor. 'Tap, tap, tap, tap.' I couldn't stop it while the three suits sitting behind the massive mahogany table hadn't spoken directly to me in ten minutes. Instead, they were passing cream-colored folders back and forth, adjusting their expensive glasses and whispering in hushed serious tones while occasionally throwing judgmental glances my way.

The ticking of the giant wall clock sounded like a bomb counting down. I gripped the armrests of my chair, my knuckles turning completely white. 

I tried to stay quiet. I really really tried but I was running on zero sleep, an ungodly amount of leftover tequila and emotional trauma. My filter was completely broken.

“Okay, I'm sorry, but I really have to ask,” I blurted out. “Are we doing a slow-burn execution here or are you guys just going to take all day discussing exactly how to withdraw my scholarship? Because the suspense is actually killing me.”

All three board members stopped moving and stared at me, their expressions freezing into masks of shock.

I immediately slapped a hand over my mouth, my eyes widening in horror at my own stupidity. “Oh my god. I am so sorry. Please pretend I didn't say that. I'm just... I'm having a really really bad day.”

The middle suit.. an older man with graying hair and a permanent scowl let out a long heavy sigh and folded his hands on top of a thick file.

“Miss Townley, this is a preliminary disciplinary hearing,” he stated, his voice completely devoid of any warmth. “Your scholarship has not been officially revoked. Yet. However, we are warning you right now that you are being watched incredibly closely. The benefactor who funds your specific program is a man who expects the absolute best. He demands academic excellence but more importantly, he demands zero indecent behaviors that could reflect poorly on the foundation.”

He picked up a printed piece of paper and recognized the horrible formatting immediately.. it was the blog post.

“Reading directly from one of these online publications,” the man continued, adjusting his glasses. “You are currently being portrayed as a, quote, 'manipulative instigator, deliberately causing unrest and toxic rivalry among the university’s top athletes.' End quote. We absolutely do not want that kind of image associated with our program.”

My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. “Sir, please.. that article is completely fabricated. It's a lie. I didn't do any of those things.”

“The truth of the matter is largely irrelevant when the public optics are this disastrous,” the woman to his left cut in smoothly. “Perception is reality, Miss Townley. The only reason you are being let off with a final warning today is due to your academic record. You are an exceptional student. You are frankly the very best academic talent to have ever benefited from this specific fund. We are giving you a second chance. Do not make us regret it.”

A invisible weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders. They weren't kicking me out..! They were keeping the money and I still had my lifeline.

“Thank you,” I breathed out, genuine relief washing over me in a warm wave. I stood up, my legs feeling a little like jelly. “Thank you so much. I promise, you won't hear my name in the news ever again. I'm going completely off the grid. Monk mode and total silence.”

I basically fled the boardroom before they could change their minds. I skipped down the long hallway, pushed open the front doors of the administration building and stepped out into the bright afternoon sun. I was saved. I just needed to catch a cab back to my apartment, bury myself under a pile of blankets and pretend men didn't exist for the rest of the semester.

I stepped up to the curb, raising my hand to flag down a passing taxi.

Instead, a smenacing black sports car suddenly swerved out of the traffic lane and aggressively pulled up right in front of me, its tires screeching slightly against the pavement.

I jumped back, my heart leaping into my throat as the heavily tinted passenger window rolled down with a smooth electronic hum.

Sitting behind the steering wheel was Jace Hamilton. He was still wearing the dark clothes from last night, his messy hair falling over his forehead but the icy blue eyes staring back at me were entirely different. They were dark and furious. 

He looked incredibly pissed off, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek as

he leaned over the center console, pinning me with a glare that actually made me shiver.

“Get in…”