005

FIRST FAKE SPARK

~MABLE POV~

The campus cafe is packed—Friday afternoon crowd, hockey guys laughing too loud, the smell of burnt espresso and wet jackets hanging thick in the air. I get there early, hoodie up, nursing a black coffee that’s gone cold.

My stomach is in knots, but it’s not just nerves. It’s the phantom ache. It’s been a slow, pulsing burn ever since I woke up in this life. Every time I think about the ceremony, or Aiden, or the ultrasound glitch tucked in my bag, it stabs at me.

A reminder that I’m playing for more than just my own pride.

Darin walks in at exactly 7:02.

He doesn't just enter a room; he commands it. Hood up, dark jeans, a black hoodie that makes his shoulders look like they could hold up the ceiling. Heads turn. Phones lift.

He doesn’t notice—or he’s lived through enough lives to stop caring. His eyes find me in the corner booth instantly, like he’s got a radar tuned to my specific frequency.

He slides in across from me without asking. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my pulse is currently trying to break the sound barrier. “Thought playboys liked making girls wait.”

He smirks. It’s small and sharp, like a blade. “Only the ones who deserve it.”

I roll my eyes, but the heat in my chest flares. He’s just a tool. A hot, dangerous, ice-blue-eyed tool for my revenge.

The barista brings over two fresh coffees without him even ordering. Perks of being campus royalty and a pro-league god, I guess. He pushes one toward me. “Drink. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have, I want to say. I see one every time I look in the mirror.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

“You’re shaking, Mable.”

I glance down. My fingers are tapping the side of the cup. I stop them. “Nerves. First date and all. I’m a blushing bride-to-be, remember?”

His laugh is low, vibrating across the table. “Right. First date.”

Outside the window, a guy with a camera phone lingers too long. The vultures are already circling. Word spreads fast in Silver Ridge, and the "disgraced uncle dating the nephew's reject" is the kind of headline they live for.

Darin notices the camera. He leans forward, his voice dropping into a low, intimate rumble. “Smile, baby. They’re watching.”

Baby. The word lands like a slap—casual, possessive, fake as hell. But my skin heats anyway. I force a smile. Small. Tight. His hand slides across the table, covering mine. It’s warm. Too warm. It’s steady in a way that makes me want to lean into him and never get up.

I don’t pull away. I can’t.

He stands suddenly and comes around to my side of the booth. He slides in next to me, his thigh pressing against mine under the table. His arm drapes along the back of the seat—casual to anyone looking, but his fingers brush my shoulder. It’s deliberate.

“Better,” he murmurs. “Now they can get the shot.”

I feel the camera flash before I see it. Bright. Quick.Proof.

“Assholes,” I mutter under my breath.

“Welcome to my life. It’s a circus, and I’m the main attraction.”

I turn my head just enough to meet his eyes. Up close, they’re colder than I remembered, but there’s something else there. A hunger. A weary, soul-deep exhaustion that I recognize. He looks at me like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my face before I disappear.

“You do this a lot?” I ask. “Fake girlfriends?”

“Never fake.” His thumb traces a slow circle on my shoulder. “Real ones just don’t last.”

“Maybe you just haven't met a girl who's already dead,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, the blue turning to storm-clouds. His hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck—light, but firm. Possessive. My breath hitches. I hate how my body responds, how my wolf whines in recognition of the bond I’m trying so hard to ignore.

“Smile for the camera,” he says again. Softer this time.

I do.

Then he leans in. He gives me a second to pull away. I don’t.

His mouth brushes mine. It’s soft at first, a test, but then he groans low in his throat and the kiss turns into a claim. His hand tightens on my neck, leaning my head back. It’s not a "fake" kiss. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s the kiss of a man who has lost everything and just found a spark in the dark.

Heat floods me, quick and unwanted. My fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie. I kiss him back—harder than I mean to—because for one stupid, reckless second, the phantom ache in my stomach goes quiet. Being with him feels like the only thing that’s real in a world made of loops and lies.

I pull back first, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon.

He doesn’t let go right away. His thumb strokes the pulse under my jaw. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “They got their picture.”

I shove his hand off, trying to regain my armor. “Don’t call me that. We're partners, not a pet project.”

He smirks, but his eyes are stormy. He’s mad at himself for the spark, too.

“Lola,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “What do you know about her? Beyond the ‘sorority queen’ act.”

He leans back, though his arm stays behind me. “She’s ruthless, Mable. She’s status-obsessed. Aiden is her ticket to the Alpha seat, and she’ll erase anyone who threatens that.”

He pauses, his expression going cold. “I’ve seen women like her before. They don't just want to win; they want to destroy.”

“She already destroyed me once,” I mutter, thinking of Life Two.

“She’s planning to do it again,” Darin says, his voice like ice. He knows something—I can see it in the way he’s looking at me, like I’m already walking into a trap. “Careful, Mable. Revenge looks good on you, but it has a body count.”

“I’m aware.”

We sit there for another ten minutes. Fake laughs. Small talk for the cameras. His hand never leaves the small of my back. It’s constant. Territorial. I hate how much I don’t hate it.

Finally, we stand to leave. He tosses cash on the table and walks me out, his arm firmly around my waist.

The air outside is freezing, the rain turning into a misty fog. But the sidewalk isn't empty.

Aiden is there.

He’s leaning against the brick wall across from the cafe, his arms crossed over his Blizzard jersey. His face is a mask of fury and pure, unadulterated confusion.

“What the hell are you doing with my uncle?” he snaps. His voice is loud enough to make students stop and stare.

I freeze, the old rejection reflex trying to kick in.

Darin doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his grip on my waist tightens, pulling me flush against his side. Protective. Possessive.

He looks Aiden dead in the eye, his expression bored but lethal.

“None of your fucking business, Aiden,” Darin says. His voice is calm, but it carries the weight of an Alpha. “Go home. Practice your power play. Leave the grown-up talk to me.”

Aiden steps forward, his eyes flashing green. “She’s—she’s a Thorne. She’s my—”

“She’s walking away,” Darin cuts him off, his voice dropping an octave. “With me.”

Darin’s hand slides just an inch lower on my back, a gesture so territorial it makes Aiden’s jaw drop. It’s a claim.

Aiden’s eyes burn with a mix of jealousy and rage. He doesn’t want me, but he can’t stand that his "failure" of an uncle has me.

Darin doesn’t wait for a reply. He leads me toward his car, leaving Aiden standing in the rain.