Mag-log in“You there, get over there,” she ordered. I could feel my annoyance building up. Every time I encountered girls like her, it made me super mad because they reminded me how much of a chronic cheat Atlas was and how foolish I was to waste a whole year of my life on him.
I took a step forward.
“A little birdie told me that you've been eyeing my boyfriend,” Charlotte crossed her arms. “Care to explain?”
No, I don't. There's nothing to explain.
My eyes shifted to Emilia who was hiding behind the girls. So she spilled my secret and couldn't even bear to look me in the eye. Other bestfriends fight for their girls but her, she stabs me in the back and even spreads the news.
I wondered if Charlotte knew that she was sleeping with Atlas too. Probably not, because that cute little face of hers would have been rebranded.
“I have nothing to explain,” I told Charlotte.
Charlotte’s glossy pink lips curved into a smirk that made my skin crawl. “Oh, you have something to explain, sweetheart. Because I don’t like it when little nobodies think they can circle my territory.”
Her “squad” tightened the semi-circle around me, the smell of body spray and synthetic vanilla closing in. Emilia’s eyes darted between us like she was silently begging me not to say something that would make Charlotte angry.
Too late for that.
Charlotte took another step forward, lowering her voice so it was just loud enough for her posse to hear. “Word is… Evans Thorpe’s got you on speed dial now too. Busy little bee, aren’t you?”
I mentally face-palmed. That was one thing about Blackridge, you could never keep anything secret. Now I was on everyone's hit list for something I wasn't even interested in.
There was a ripple of laughter behind her. Someone muttered, “She probably thinks she’s special.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste iron. “I’m not interested in Evans or Atlas,” I said flatly. “So if that’s all, I’d like to eat my lunch without the circus act.”
Charlotte’s smirk didn’t falter. “Aw, look at her. Acting like she’s too good for them.” She tilted her head. “Tell you what. I’ll believe you… if you do one thing for me.”
Her eyes flicked toward the main hallway, and two of her girls immediately grabbed my arms before I could react.
“Charlotte…” Emilia’s voice was small, uncertain.
“Shut up, Em,” Charlotte snapped without looking at her. Then she leaned in close enough for me to see the shimmer of her highlighter. “Atlas and Evans might like playing with their toys, but I like making sure those toys know their place.”
“How about knowing your place, instead? You can see others are toys but you somehow don't consider yourself one? What kind of twisted logic is that?” I didn't even realise I said the words aloud until Emilia gasped.
“Tamine! You're making things worse!”
I bkinked in shock, startled by the redness of Charlotte's face.
Shit! Now I'm really dead.
Someone explain how I went from thinking I was about to die… to sitting in the cafeteria, eating lunch with a bunch of hockey players.
“You’re coming to watch the game today, right?” one asked.
“I can get you a ticket if you’re interested,” another said.
“Okay, calm the fuck down, y’all,” Evans snorted. “Nobody’s asking you to spoil my girl.”
My girl.
I choked on my Sprite. “Your girl?”
So… how did I end up here? Let’s rewind.
Charlotte’s claws, disguised as manicured fingers, dug into my arm while her squad pinned me to the lockers. The hallway smelled like perfume and popcorn. Students slowed to watch, some smirking, others holding up their phones like they were filming a blockbuster. My pulse pounded in my ears as I shut my eyes, waiting for the slap.
But the slap never landed.
A smooth, lazy voice cut through the hallway noise. “Let her go.”
I opened my eyes slowly to see the crowd shift like a ripple in water, parting just enough for Evans Thorpe to stroll into the scene. Hands in his pockets, that stupid smirk plastered on his face, like this was all just entertainment for him.
“Evans,” Charlotte said in surprise, her tone softening instantly, “this has nothing to do with you.”
He stopped in front of me, his gaze flicking over my face, then down to Charlotte’s grip on my arm. “I said,” his voice dropped lower, colder, “let. her. go.”
Charlotte actually hesitated, but the second his eyes hardened, she released me, her fingers leaving faint crescent marks in my skin.
Before I could say anything, anything at all, Evans threw an arm casually around my shoulders and turned to the crowd. My Brian short-circuited as his scent engulfed me. I was almost tempted to lean into him.
Almost.
“She’s with me,” he announced, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So unless you want to start beef with me and the team…” His gaze swept the room, daring anyone to speak. No one did. “Get lost.”
Tamine’s POVFive Years Later.The Chicago summer night was perfectly clear, the sky a deep, bruised violet against the glittering lights of the skyline.I stood on the rooftop terrace of the newly completed central pavilion in the South Side. A warm breeze swept off Lake Michigan, rustling the heavy silk of my dark emerald evening gown.Below me, the streets were alive. The pedestrian walkways were packed with people, string lights illuminating the open-air cafes and local storefronts. The terraced, decentralized housing blocks rose seamlessly into the city grid, their solar arrays absorbing the last rays of the setting sun.It wasn't a blueprint anymore. It wasn't a 3D rendering on a flash drive, or a desperate pitch to a panel of judges.The Green Grid was real. And as the Lead Architect of Vanguard Associates, I had built every single inch of it."You're hiding from the press again, Mrs. Thorpe."I turned away from the glass railing.Evans stepped onto the terrace. He was wearing
Evans’s POVJune. The NHL Draft, Montreal.The Bell Centre was a massive, echoing cathedral of nervous energy. The floor was packed with franchise executives sitting at round tables covered in laptops and phones. The stadium seating above was filled with draft prospects, their families, and thousands of fans.I was sitting in the lower bowl. I wasn't wearing a custom designer suit bought with Thorpe money. I was wearing a sharp, classic charcoal suit I had bought off the rack and had tailored myself.Tamine sat to my left, her hand gripping mine so tightly my fingers were going numb. Atlas sat to my right, taking up two seats with his massive frame, casually checking his phone. My agent, David, was pacing the aisle."With the fourteenth overall pick," the Commissioner announced, his voice booming through the arena, "the Winnipeg Jets select..."I tuned it out. Fourteen was gone.The first ten picks had been agonizing. Every time a team went on the clock, David’s phone would buzz, he w
Tamine’s POVThe conference room on the 42nd floor of Vanguard Associates was entirely encased in glass, offering a dizzying, panoramic view of the Chicago skyline.I sat at the far end of the massive mahogany table, feeling incredibly small.There were twelve people in the room. Eleven of them were senior partners, lead architects, and municipal investors wearing suits that cost more than my entire college tuition. I was the twelfth. The junior intern."Moving on to the West Side waterfront redevelopment initiative," Marcus Vance, the head of Vanguard (and the judge who had awarded me the internship), announced. He projected a massive, sprawling digital map onto the smart-screen. "The city council is demanding a proposal by Friday. They want high-density luxury condos, but the soil density reports from the waterfront are... problematic."A senior architect named Sterling sighed, rubbing his temples. "If we have to drive steel pilings deep enough to hit bedrock to support luxury high-
Tamine’s POVLate August. The start of Junior Year.The alarm went off at 5:00 AM.I didn't groan. I didn't hit snooze. I sat straight up on the brand new, firm mattress we had bought with Atlas's money, my heart already hammering a frantic rhythm of adrenaline.Today was the day.I slipped out of bed, quietly padding across the hardwood floor to the bathroom. I showered, pulled my hair back into a sleek, professional bun, and put on the best outfit I owned: a crisp white button-down, a black blazer, and tailored slacks I had spent hours altering myself.I walked back into the main room.Evans was awake. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his bags already packed and sitting by the door. His flight to Boston left in three hours. The summer bubble was officially over. The distance was about to begin again.But as I looked at him, the crushing, terrifying panic that had defined our sophomore year goodbye was completely absent."Look at you," Evans murmured, standing up and walki
Evans’s POV"If you burn the garlic again, I am officially banning you from the hot plate."I looked up from the cutting board, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. Chicago in July without air conditioning was a special kind of hell."I didn't burn it yesterday," I argued, scraping the diced garlic into the sizzling pan on our single-burner hot plate. "I heavily caramelized it. It’s a culinary technique."Tamine snorted from her spot on the floor. She was sitting cross-legged on our deflating air mattress, her lap covered in heavy architectural blueprints. She was wearing one of my old Blackridge hockey t-shirts, her hair tied up in a messy bun secured with a drafting pencil."It was black, Evans," Tamine pointed out without looking up from her calculations. "It tasted like actual charcoal. Please don't ruin the pasta. It's the last box we have until Friday.""The pasta will be flawless," I promised, stirring the cheap marinara sauce.Living in the walk-up was the hardest, most in
Evans’s POVThe joy of Tamine winning the Vanguard internship carried me through the first agonizing week of my concussion recovery. But Richard Thorpe wasn't a man who lost gracefully. If he couldn't control his assets, he destroyed them.Two weeks after the Frozen Four.I was lying on my dorm bed, staring at the ceiling. The blackout restrictions had been slightly lifted. I was allowed to look at my phone for fifteen minutes at a time.My agent, David who had formally agreed to represent me after Atlas threatened to fire him called."Evans," David said, his voice tense. "Have you looked at the sports blogs today?""No," I replied, sitting up slowly. "Dr. Thorne still has me on a restricted screen-time diet. What's going on?""Your father," David sighed heavily. "He couldn't leak the medical records about Tamine's mother, so he pivoted. He's leveraging his media contacts to control the narrative around your injury and your severance from the family."A cold knot formed in my stomach.
The sidelines of a football game are the loudest place on earth, but standing next to Evans, everything felt muffled, like we were underwater.We were standing in the "family and staff" box, a roped-off section of turf right behind the Blackridge bench. It was enemy territory. Every player who jogg
If Atlas found him like this incapacitated, vulnerable, with Charlotte staging photos it would be the end. He would use it to humiliate Evans, to get him kicked off the team for substance abuse. It was the "safety issue" Dean Vance had warned about."Move," I said."Make me," Charlotte sneered.I d
That night, I showed up at the club for my shift. Rick looked surprised to see me."Thought you'd be retired by now," he grunted, gesturing to the gossip sites on his phone. "Word is you're royalty again.""I need the hours, Rick," I said, tying my apron on tight. "Put me on the back bar. Please. I
The gold dress was hanging in the back of my closet, shrouded in plastic like a crime scene evidence bag. I hadn’t touched it since Saturday night, but I could still feel the weight of it on my skin cold, constricting, and heavy.Monday morning didn't bring the usual dread of the bus stop. Instead,







