Chapter 15: Strategic Moves

Adrian's POV

For every win, Coach would increase the intensity of our training.

"When you win, you’ve raised the bar," he would always say, pacing the ice with his whistle between his teeth. "You have to be strong enough to set new standards."

Outside of rink hours, my schedule was completely suffocating. Between two-a-day practices and thesis research, I was constantly checking in with my dad to trace who had barged into my off-campus property a few days ago. The fact that a random intruder had breached my perimeter bothered me deeply, but my dad’s security team still hadn’t turned up a single solid lead or motive.

I was completely buried in my own head until Coach blew his whistle to wrap up the morning session.

"Great one today, guys," Coach said, addressing the team as we gathered around the bench, sweat dripping off our gear. "You're all doing well, and I want us to keep this exact energy."

"Yes, Coach," we echoed in unison.

"Training is over for today... but there's an announcement," Coach continued, his voice dropping an octave. "It's an exciting one, and it's going to be formally announced at the Athletes' Gala. I want all of my guys present. And more importantly, cooperate with the other athletes. Together, we represent Ravenwood. I don't want my players in any bad books. No pranks, no reckless behavior. Behave yourselves."

He paused, scanning our faces.

Right then, it clicked. I had a role to play, and this gala was an event I couldn't possibly attend alone if I wanted to execute this fake arrangement properly. It was the absolute best venue to flaunt Scarlett , shut down the gossip blogs, and regain control of the narrative.

I pulled out my phone right there on the ice and shot her a text: “Send a pretty picture of you.”

"I'm still talking, Whitlock," Coach called out sharply, glaring in my direction.

I tucked the phone smoothly back into my track jacket without breaking eye contact.

"Drink enough water, don't neglect your carbs, and have a great day," Coach finished, waving us off toward the locker room.

Immediately I unlaced my skates and got to my locker, I checked my phone. She had sent a photo. I looked at it for a brief second before generating her official digital invitation card and sending it over.

When she texted back asking what it was about, I replied that it was a dinner. When she questioned why it mattered to our arrangement, I flatly told her we were going as a couple.

"Who are you texting?"

Blake's voice sounded right beside my ear as he pulled up next to my locker, leaning over to snoop into my screen. I instinctively tilted the phone away from his face. It was purely reflex, but Blake noticed instantly. Normally, Blake never pried into my private business—he knew what kind of family baggage I carried and usually avoided it like the plague—but today he was pushing buttons.

"What's going on?" Marcus asked, stepping over with a towel draped around his neck.

"I don't know why he's acting so secretive," Blake teased, narrowing his eyes at me with an unreadable look.

I ignored them both, zipped up my gym bag, and headed straight for the exit.

"Wait, we're coming!" Marcus called out, jogging behind me. "Let me come over and whoop your ass on your console."

"Whoop your ass on your own console," Blake repeated with a grin.

"You guys can go ahead. Blake has the keys to my house," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder as we hit the parking lot. "I need to find Scarlett."

Blake's smile faltered slightly. "Oh yeah? You know where she lives?"

"Not yet, but I'll figure it out."

"The main residence hall," Marcus offered casually. "Most freshmen stay in the west wing dorms."

"Thanks, man," I said, giving them a brief nod before walking to my car.

I drove straight down to the freshman dorm quad, pulled into the turnaround loop, and shifted into park. I typed out a brief text—’Come outside. I'm waiting.’—and leaned back against the driver's door, glancing at my screen.

A few minutes passed. For a second, I thought I might have gotten the location wrong, but then the heavy front doors swung open.

Scarlett stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.

She wasn't dressed up. She wore an oversized hoodie, baggy sweatpants, and flat casual slippers. Her hair was pulled back loosely, completely unbothered by the fact that half the campus on the quad was whispering and staring at her.

There was a fiery, unyielding stance in the way she moved that set her completely apart from every other girl on this campus.

When she reached the car, I opened the passenger door without saying a word, walked around the hood, and climbed into the driver's seat.

"We need to get you something to wear for the event," I said smoothly, starting the engine and pulling out of the residence lot.

"I have clothes," she protested, turning in her seat to glare at me.

"I didn't say you don't," I replied flatly, keeping my eyes on the road.

"How did you find where I stay?" she asked, her tone sharp with suspicion. "I don't remember telling you."

I glanced at her briefly before returning my gaze to the traffic ahead. "I get whatever information I need."

She went dead quiet after that. The remainder of the thirteen-minute drive was heavy and silent. I navigated through the city center and pulled up right in front of a luxury boutique.

I cut the engine, turned to look at her in and waited for her to step out.