Am I Dead?

Tiara’s POV

I think I’m dead.

I have to be.

Because there’s no way I’m actually awake in this… place… staring at him.

Luke Thorne.

I mean… it has to be Luke, right? Silver hair that shimmers like moonlight, golden eyes sharp enough to slice through glass, and that tiny, almost cruel mole right under his left eye… it’s him.

It’s really him.

But that’s impossible.

He’s not real.

He can’t be real.

I’m sitting up in some enormous navy and silver bed, my fingers twisted in sheets softer than anything I’ve ever felt, and he’s standing there in the doorway staring at me like I’m some puzzle he doesn’t quite know how to solve.

Luke.

The immortal hockey star. The one I’d cried over just last night, screaming at his heroine for letting him die alone.

He takes one step into the room, then another, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“You’re finally awake,” he says.

His voice is exactly how I remember it in the comics. Low, smooth, dangerous. Like smoke curling in your lungs.

I can’t answer him.

I just sit there with my mouth half open, my heart trying to break out of my chest.

He frowns faintly, like he doesn’t like being ignored.

“You fainted,” he continues, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “So suddenly I thought maybe you had a heatstroke. Don’t tell me you’re fragile. I don’t like fragile things.”

His words…

Why do they sound so familiar?

Like I’ve read them before?

I shake my head wildly, gripping the sheets tighter.

No. No no no no.

This is insane.

He takes another slow step closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers, his silver hair catching the light just right.

The way he’s looking at me now…

That piercing, annoyed, almost curious stare…

It hits me like a slap.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

I know this.

This is the first scene.

The first meeting between Luke Thorne and the heroine of Hockey Star is Obsessed With Me.

Except… I’m not the heroine.

I’m me.

I’m Tiara.

Right?

My chest feels too tight, my breathing comes faster, and I feel the edges of my sanity fraying like an old rope.

“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

Luke raises a brow. “No what?”

“No, no, no, no, no!”

I shove off the bed and stumble to my feet. My legs feel weak and my hands are shaking but I don’t care.

He actually looks surprised as I dart past him.

“Hey,” he snaps, “where do you think you’re going—”

But I don’t answer.

I run.

The hallway outside is quiet and empty, lined with dark wood paneling and silver sconces. The carpet is thick under my bare feet.

And then I see it.

A door swings open somewhere down the hall and two boys in black hoodies and perfectly messy hair come out, laughing about something.

And they stop when they see me.

Their eyes rake over me from head to toe, and one of them smirks.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a little bunny doing in here?”

The other one grins. “Lost, sweetheart?”

My stomach drops.

Because I know who they are.

They’re not just boys.

They’re the boys.

The villains. The antagonists. The cruel, hot-as-sin elites of the Elite Boys Hostel.

Oh gods.

Oh gods oh gods oh gods.

I’m here.

I’m actually here.

And I’m about to freak the hell out when—

“Enough,” a cold voice growls behind me.

Before I can even react, something heavy drops over my shoulders.

A towel.

A thick white towel.

And then a strong hand grabs my wrist and yanks me back into the shadows.

My heart stops.

Because I know this scene.

This is the towel scene.

This is where Luke wraps his towel around the heroine to shield her from the other boys and leads her away.

But in the book… Elara had tried to run home after fainting. She’d gotten caught by bullies in the courtyard, not in the hall.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.

I can barely breathe as Luke tightens his grip on my wrist and starts dragging me back down the hall.

“Stop struggling,” he mutters under his breath.

“I—” My voice comes out strangled. “I don’t—what—”

“You’re loud when you panic,” he says flatly. “And you’re clumsy. And you clearly don’t know where you’re going. So shut up before you make me regret helping you.”

I want to scream.

I want to cry.

But I don’t.

I just let him pull me all the way back to his room.

The door slams shut behind us, and he finally lets go of me.

I stand there trembling, clutching the towel tighter around my shoulders, staring at the floor.

“What the hell,” I whisper. “What the actual hell.”

Luke stares at me with that same unreadable expression.

“You’re welcome,” he says coolly.

I whip my head up to glare at him.

“Welcome?!” My voice cracks. “For what, exactly? For dragging me back here? For—”

“You’re not ready for the rest of them,” he cuts in sharply. “You’d be eaten alive.”

“I—”

But I don’t finish.

Because all at once it hits me again.

The room.

The towel.

His words.

The way he looks at me like I’m a bug he’s curious about squashing.

I know all of this.

Every single detail.

Because I’ve read it before.

Because it’s the book.

And I’m not just in the book.

I’m her.

I’m the heroine.

I drop to my knees, my chest heaving.

But Elara had gone out of the hostel if I remembered correctly, not inside, not back with this sinfully hot and emotionally distant devil

“What the hell,” I whisper again, but it sounds more like a sob now.

Luke watches me silently from the corner of the room, arms crossed, eyes glinting gold in the dark.

“What the hell,” I say one more time.

And for the first time tonight…

I think he almost… smiles.

Just a little.

And that’s when I realize…

I really might be living the life of the female lead.