Chapter 14

Sienna POV

Walking toward Dante's locker the very next morning made me feel like a complete traitor. The heavy weight of my guilt threatened to crush my chest with every single step. My stomach twisted into sharp knots under my thick winter sweater.

The university hallway buzzed with loud conversations and slamming metal doors. Students rushed past me in a chaotic blur of backpacks and winter coats. I kept my head down and focused on the scuffed tile floor to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

Roman broke into my house last night and backed me into a terrifying corner. He held the absolute destruction of my sick father right in the palm of his hand. He threatened to expose our offshore accounts to the federal authorities if I refused his demands.

I traded my own morals to keep my family safe from his wrath. I became the exact kind of manipulative liar I always despised. The bitter taste of my own cowardice coated my tongue.

I stopped walking when I spotted Dante at the end of the corridor. He leaned against the cold brick wall beside his open metal locker. He wore a dark Henley shirt that stretched tight across his broad chest and powerful shoulders.

He looked unbothered by the brutal fight he won just hours ago on the ice. He projected a calm and lethal energy that parted the crowd of students around him. Nobody dared to walk too close to the freezing transfer student.

My boots felt like solid lead as I forced myself to close the distance. I wanted to turn around and run far away from this impossible situation. But the terrifying memory of Roman pounding on my front door propelled me forward.

Dante tossed a thick textbook into his locker and closed the door with a sharp click. He turned his head and locked his pale eyes directly onto mine. The chaotic noise of the crowded hallway vanished in an instant.

"Sienna," he said. His deep voice vibrated through the stale academic air and settled deep in my bones. He did not smile, but a strange warmth flashed in his striking eyes.

"Hi," I breathed out. My throat felt like sandpaper. I wrapped my trembling arms around my torso to hide my shaking hands.

He pushed off the brick wall and took a slow step toward me. His massive frame shielded me from the shoving crowd of passing students. The rich scent of dark coffee and crisp winter wind surrounded me again.

"You look exhausted," Dante observed. His gaze swept over the dark circles under my eyes and the pale color of my cheeks. "Did you manage to sleep at all last night?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the fresh tears from falling. He cared about my well-being and noticed my pain right away. He stood in front of me offering protection while I prepared to stab him in the back.

"I slept fine," I lied. The fabricated words tasted like pure ash in my mouth. "I just have a massive headache today."

Dante tilted his head and studied my face. He saw right through the pathetic lie without needing to ask another question. I braced myself for his intense interrogation, but he simply nodded.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" he asked instead. He reached into his dark jacket and pulled out a wrapped granola bar. He held the simple food out to me with a gentle expression.

I stared at the small offering in absolute horror. My chest seized with a violent wave of self-loathing. I came here to steal his secrets and ruin his athletic career.

He responded to my betrayal with an act of genuine care. I reached out and took the bar with shaking fingers. "Thank you," I whispered to the cold floor.

I slipped the food into my coat pocket. I needed to execute Roman's twisted plan before my courage shattered completely. I forced myself to look up into his striking face.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a desperate prisoner looking for an escape route. The bustling hallway around us felt like a blurry, distant dream. The only real thing in the entire world was the freezing boy standing in front of me.

"Dante, I need a massive favor," I rushed out. My breath hitched in my dry throat. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out his intense stare.

"Name it," he replied without a single second of hesitation. The absolute trust in his voice felt like a physical blow to my stomach. He did not even know what I wanted before offering his help.

"I am struggling to understand the new offensive formations for my sports journalism assignment," I lied again. The fake excuse sounded incredibly weak to my own ears. "Roman refuses to explain the tactical shifts to me."

Dante remained perfectly silent. I opened my eyes and found him watching me with a calculated expression. He knew Roman was a volatile threat, and he knew I was terrified.

"I was hoping I could borrow your hockey notebook for the day," I asked. I dug my fingernails into my palms until the delicate skin broke. "I just need to copy your specific plays to finish my paper."

I stopped breathing and waited for his inevitable rejection. I asked a premier athlete to hand over his most valuable tactical secrets to a stranger. I expected him to laugh or turn his back on me in disgust.

Any normal hockey player would guard his playbook with intense aggression. The strategies inside that book were worth a massive university scholarship. I prepared myself for the harsh refusal that would doom my father.

Instead, Dante maintained absolute eye contact. He did not demand a better explanation or question my sudden interest in hockey strategy. He reached into his heavy canvas bag resting on the floor.

"You need my plays for an assignment," Dante repeated. His tone revealed nothing about his internal thoughts. He pulled a thick black leather notebook from the bottom of his bag.

"Yes," I choked out. "Just for a few hours."

He held the ultimate prize right in front of me. The thick pages contained the exact blueprints Roman demanded to secure my safety. I reached out slowly to take the dark book from his grip.

I expected him to pull it back or ask for a promise of secrecy. I expected him to remind me of the immense value I was holding in my hands. He did none of those things.

Dante handed the book over willingly and without a single fight. But as the heavy leather transferred between us, he did not let go. His warm fingers brushed heavy against mine, sending a massive shockwave of electricity straight up my arm.

My breath caught violently in my throat. The physical contact burned through my cold skin and ignited a sudden fire in my veins. He stepped even closer, keeping his fingers pressed firm against my shaking hand.

The crowded hallway faded into complete oblivion. I stared up into his face, entirely paralyzed by the sheer intensity of his touch. His pale eyes darkened with a sudden and dangerous promise.

"Take whatever you need from me, Sienna," he murmured.