Chapter 3: The Fall

DERICK’S POV

I arrived at Blackwood Academy like I owned the place.

Because technically? My father's money had built half of it. The east wing. The new dormitories. The state-of-the-art ice maintenance system that kept the rink frozen year-round. Every brick, every beam, every goddamn lightbulb had Blackwood stamped on it somewhere.

So when my Porsche slid into the reserved parking spot, the one with my name already on it, I didn't feel like a new student.

I felt like a king returning to his throne.

"Mr. Blackwood." The director met me at the entrance, sweating through his cheap suit. "Welcome. Welcome. We're so honored to have you—"

"Save it." I tossed him my keys. "Park it. Don't scratch it. And point me to the rink."

He pointed. I walked.

The main arena was cavernous. Cold. Smelled like frozen water and desperation. A few skaters dotted the ice, practicing their spins and jumps. Amateurs. None of them mattered.

I scanned the crowd.

There. Center ice. Silver-blonde hair catching the overhead lights like a halo.

Ciel Laurent.

He moved like water. Smooth. Effortless. His body twisted into a spin that made my chest tighten in ways I refused to examine.

Focus, I told myself. This is a job. A mission. Seduce and destroy. That's it.

I stepped onto the ice in my street shoes. Bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. But I wanted to make an entrance. I wanted him to see me coming.

"Laurent!" My voice echoed off the walls. "Heard you're my new partner. Don't look so excited."

He stopped spinning. Turned. Those gray eyes locked onto me with the warmth of a frozen lake.

"You're late."

"Fashionably."

"No." He skated closer, stopping just short of colliding with me. "Late. Practice started at eight. It's eight-fifteen. You wasted fifteen minutes of my life I'll never get back."

I laughed. "Relax, princess. It's just an exhibition. It's not like we're competing for the Olympics."

His jaw tightened. "To me, every practice is the Olympics. If you can't take this seriously—"

"I can take anything seriously." I stepped closer. Lowered my voice. "Including you."

His eyes flickered. Just for a second. A crack in that perfect ice mask.

Then he turned away. "Put on real skates. We're starting with basic footwork."

"Basic footwork?" I followed him to the bench. "I was a hockey player. I know how to skate."

"Hockey skating and figure skating are different." He tossed me a pair of rental skates. "Put these on. And try not to fall on your face."

I caught them. Laced them up. Stepped onto the ice with all the confidence of a man who'd never been told no in his life.

And immediately crashed to my knees.

The ice slammed into me. Cold. Hard. Humiliating. I heard snickers from the other skaters. Saw Ciel's shoulders shake with barely contained laughter.

"Graceful," he said, skating a slow circle around me. "Very graceful. You sure you played hockey? Or did you just hold the bench warm?"

I pushed myself up. My knees throbbed. My pride throbbed worse. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

You.

I didn't say it. Instead, I forced a smirk. "By how badly you need a haircut. That silver mop is ridiculous."

His smile vanished. "Get up. We're practicing lifts."

"Lifts?" I scrambled to my feet. "I just fell on my ass and you want me to lift you?"

"Yes." He positioned himself in front of me. "Because that's what partners do. They lift each other. They trust each other. They don't show up late and make jokes about each other's hair."

"Trust?" I barked a laugh. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." His eyes bored into mine. "I know you're here to prove something. I know you're used to getting what you want. And I know—" He paused. Something flickered across his face. "I know you were watching me last night."

My blood went cold.

"How did you—"

"I felt you." He whispered it. "In the rink. In the dark. I felt your eyes on my skin. And I've been watched before. By predators. By people who want something from me. You're no different."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. For the first time in my life, I had nothing to say.

Because he was right.

I was a predator. I was hunting him. And he already knew.

"Let's just practice," I said finally. "Show me the lift."

He nodded. Turned. "Grab my waist. I'll jump. You catch. Simple."

Simple.

I grabbed his waist. His body was warm through the thin fabric of his jacket. Lean. Muscular. He smelled like ice and something floral, lavender, maybe. Something soft. Something that didn't match the hard edges of his voice.

"Ready?" He glanced back at me.

"Ready."

He jumped.

I caught him.

For one suspended moment, his weight was in my arms. His face inches from mine. His breath warm on my cheek. His gray eyes wide with surprise, and something else. Something that looked terrifyingly like hope.

Then my feet slipped.

We crashed.

I hit the ice hard. Ciel landed on top of me, his body pressed against mine. Our faces were so close I could count the freckles across his nose.

"Get off," he gasped.

"You get off. You're the one on top."

He scrambled away. His cheeks were pink. His breathing uneven.

"That was a disaster," he muttered.

"Was it?" I sat up slowly. My entire body ached. But beneath the pain, beneath the humiliation, beneath the cold—

I felt warm.

Where his body had touched mine. Where his skin had pressed against my skin. That warmth lingered. Settled into my bones like a fever I couldn't shake.

I looked at my hand. The same hand that had held his waist. It was trembling.

What the hell is happening to me?

"Practice is over." Ciel was already skating toward the exit. "Same time tomorrow. Try not to be late. Try not to fall. Try not to—" He stopped. Didn't turn around. "Try not to be you."

He disappeared through the tunnel.

I stayed on the ice. Alone. Cold. Confused.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I was acting anymore.

LATER. DERICK'S DORM.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

My hand was still shaking.

"Stop it," I told my reflection. "You're in control. You're always in control. This is just a game."

But my reflection stared back with eyes that didn't believe me.

I thought about his weight in my arms. His breath on my face. That tiny, vulnerable flicker in his eyes before he pushed me away.

And I thought about my original plan.

Seduce him. Humiliate him. Destroy him.

The plan hadn't changed.

But the reason behind it?

That was starting to blur into something I didn't recognize.

I splashed cold water on my face. Dried it. Looked at myself again.

"Three weeks," I whispered. "Three weeks to make him fall."

I smiled at my reflection.

But the smile didn't reach my eyes.

Because deep down, in a place I refused to acknowledge, I knew the truth.

I wasn't the one doing the falling.

I was already flat on my back.