Chapter 15

Roman POV

How much more disrespect was I supposed to tolerate in my own territory? Watching them touch from down the hall set my blood boiling with pure jealousy. I stood frozen at the intersection of the crowded academic corridor.

My hands clenched into tight fists inside the pockets of my letterman jacket. I watched Dante lean close and press his large fingers against her fragile hand. The intimate gesture made my vision blur with a toxic red haze.

Sienna belonged to me. She was my trophy, my quiet supporter, and my obedient property. I did not spend two years breaking her down just to watch a dark freak claim her in public.

She looked up at him with those wide doe eyes I used to control. The terrified girl I cornered in her grand foyer last night was gone. She looked completely mesmerized by the arrogant transfer student.

I could not let this public humiliation continue for another second. I shoved off the brick wall and marched down the center of the hallway. I lowered my shoulder and plowed through the sea of students blocking my path.

Freshmen scrambled out of my way like frightened animals. They recognized the fury radiating from their golden boy champion. I ignored their nervous apologies and kept my eyes locked on the ultimate prize.

Sienna was holding the thick black leather notebook in her trembling hands. She actually did it. She broke his trust and secured the exact strategies I demanded.

My twisted sense of victory tasted sweet for a fraction of a second. Then Dante leaned even closer to her ear. The sight shattered my fragile patience into a million jagged pieces.

I closed the distance in three massive strides and ripped the notebook violently from her grip. Sienna gasped loud and stumbled backward, hitting the metal lockers with a sharp thud. The sudden violence tore her completely out of her quiet trance.

"Roman!" she cried out. She wrapped her arms around her chest and shrank away from my towering frame. "Give that back."

"I think I will hold onto this," I sneered. I tapped the heavy leather cover against my palm. I turned my head and glared directly at the man who ruined my perfect season.

Dante did not flinch or step back to assess the threat. He stood his ground and stared at me with pure, unadulterated boredom. The absolute lack of fear in his eyes made my stomach twist with cold dread.

"You really should learn to share your toys," I taunted. I held the stolen playbook up like a hard-won championship trophy. "Sienna knows exactly who runs this school."

"She knows you are a coward who hides behind blackmail," Dante stated flat and cold. His deep voice cut right through the chaotic noise of the hallway. "You are pathetic, Roman."

The insult hit me like a physical blow to the jaw. My face flushed hot with immediate, explosive rage. I stepped forward, ready to drop the playbook and settle the score right there on the tile floor.

"Do not talk to me," I snarled, pointing a rigid finger at his chest. "You got lucky on the ice last night. That will never happen again."

"Walk away, Roman," Dante commanded softly. The terrifying authority in his voice stopped my aggressive advance dead in its tracks. "Take your stolen book and leave her alone."

I hated that I actually listened to him. I hated the primal fear twisting deep in my gut when he looked at me. He was a violent monster masquerading as a college student.

I turned my back on him and focused my wrath entirely on Sienna. She pressed herself flat against the metal lockers. Her dark eyes were wide with pure terror again.

"Good job," I whispered cruel and low. I leaned close to her face so only she could hear the toxic praise. "You finally learned how to follow a simple order."

A single tear spilled over her lashes and tracked down her pale cheek. The sight of her crying fueled my twisted ego. I still held the ultimate power over her fragile life.

I gripped the heavy notebook tight and turned around. I marched away from them, leaving the tense confrontation behind me. I needed a quiet place to review his stolen secrets before the coaches called the afternoon practice.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors to an empty lecture hall and slipped inside. The room was dark and silent, offering the perfect sanctuary for my revenge. I sat down in the front row and placed the black leather book on the wooden desk.

My heart hammered with sick anticipation. I opened the cover and stared at the handwritten pages. The ink was dark and precise, detailing complex offensive formations and lethal defensive traps.

I flipped through the pages victoriously. I saw exactly how he dismantled Marcus and Greg on the ice. I saw the specific angles he used to generate maximum speed and raw power.

This was the blueprint to his complete destruction. I would memorize every single tactical shift and counter his every move. I would ruin his athletic career and reclaim my absolute authority over this campus.

I traced the intricate diagrams with my finger, plotting the exact moment I would break his bones. The strategies were flawless and brilliant on paper. But as I turned past the second defensive scheme, my smile vanished.

I stopped flipping the pages and stared at the binding. The heavy paper was jagged and uneven near the thick spine. A small strip of torn white paper clung to the dark leather.

I ran my thumb over the rough edge. The realization hit me like a bucket of freezing water. I flipped the book over and shook it hard, desperate to find the missing piece.

Nothing fell out of the pages. The book was incomplete. I stared back at the jagged edge with pure, unadulterated panic rising in my throat.

I had his offensive plays and his defensive traps. But the most critical part of his tactical system was gone. Roman flips through the plays victoriously but notices one specific page has been intentionally torn out.