Chapter 1: Wade Scott

There were people I didn’t like. People I’d rather not have crossed paths with again. And then there was a person named Wade Scott who’d somehow always been in my line of view, no matter what.

He was everyone else’s center of attention — Kingsley University's pride and joy, with blond hair that was always too perfect to be real, arrogant and searing green eyes. Like God Himself had spent all His time creating the perfect Wade damn Scott.

I tightened my grip on my bag as I took heavy, long strides. Monday mornings had their own special kind of cruelty. But what made it worse was cutting through the hockey building to get to my art studio.

And worst of all? Knowing I was walking back to that awful hockey building after seeing my ruined canvas.

The artwork I had worked on for three months had turned out to be a canvas slashed down the center and vandalized with paint, like someone had taken their frustration out on my art.

“Layla, calm down!” Chloe tried to stop me but I didn’t budge.

Calm down? Please. After someone had ruined what I had spent months on? There was no way I was calming down. And there was no way I could submit that in the competition looking like a mess!

My muscles shook as I walked toward the ice arena. I heard them right away even before I saw them — skates scraping, loud laughter and teasing. I took a deep breath until I reached the entrance.

I saw the culprit in the center.

I watched him as sweat-damp blond hair peeked out from under his helmet. His striking green eyes stayed locked on the puck while some of his fans chanted his last name. He stood out even across the huge arena.

The way he moved and the way his face made every reaction look straight out of a commercial. The crowd loved him. Girls are smitten with him.

While I wasn’t.

I honestly couldn’t stand a single thing about him. I’d rather have been anywhere than near him. But now I was forced to face Wade head-on, after what he had done to my canvas.

“You were doing that thing again,” Chloe said but my eyes stayed on Wade.

“What thing?”

“The ‘I want to throw something at his face’ thing.” I rolled my eyes.

“I honestly wanted to do something worse, Chloe,” I said.

And as if he could feel someone watching him, I saw Wade glance my way and tilt his head slightly.

Green met mine. He just stared at me, no reaction at all, no smirk tugging at his lips, no eyebrow raised like he was saying “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Uh oh, Anderson’s here!” one of the hockey players shouted. And when someone yelled that in the hockey building, they already knew the reason why.

Wade kept staring at me. No surprise on his face, no amusement like back in middle school when he’d bully and humiliate me with that same look in his eyes and that same damn mouth.

“Were you just gonna stand there watching him, Layla?”

I didn’t answer. The longer the silence stretched, the faster I lost patience. My fists clenched in anger. I waited until their game ended, until he stepped off the ice and faced me like he had done nothing wrong.

That jerk had destroyed my painting! I had spent three months on it!

Three months!

When I had gotten to the art building earlier that morning, I had seen my canvas outside like it had been thrown out like trash. And hockey players and his die-hard fans were there laughing at it! Crooks.

I had a deadline. I needed to submit this for the competition or my scholarship was gone. And this was what I came back to?! Honestly, I wasn’t shocked about who was behind it anymore.

A moment later, their game ended. They got off the ice rink and my anger spiked even more when I heard his teammates laughing; some of them even whistled upon seeing me.

Then I watched Wade step off the ice rink. He took off his skates and stripped off the rest of his gear. Now all he had on were padded hockey pants and a black long-sleeved compression shirt that clung to him. Then his eyes landed on me.

“What were you doing here?” he asked in a cold tone.

“We needed to talk,” I said sharply.

He stood and he almost towered over me when he walked past. “No, we didn’t.”

“Layla…” Chloe tried to pull me aside, but I refused to back down.

I followed Wade fast all the way to their locker room. I heard the guys gasp, shocked that a girl had walked in while they were changing. I couldn’t have cared less.

“Get out. This wasn’t your building,” he said without looking at me.

“No,” I pushed back.

He turned to me fast. His face darkened and his perfect jaw ticked. He glared at me for a few seconds before he sighed.

“Get out,” he said again.

“I told you no—”

“Clear out, boys,” he said calmly but firmly.

Oh, he wasn’t talking to me.

I saw his teammates shake their heads fast and leave without hesitation, doing exactly what Wade wanted.

“Now talk,” he commanded.

“Did you enjoy pretending you didn’t know what happened, Scott? Like you hadn’t just ruined my painting?”

I looked up at him, forcing my voice not to shake with anger. He didn’t take his eyes off me, and that irritated me even more.

God, how I hated those eyes.

“I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

I breathed deep and tried to calm myself. Right. That was his strategy, wasn’t it? Not outright denial — he just always put distance, always kept enough space between himself and any guilt that people started doubting themselves instead.

Wade Scott wasn’t just the beloved hockey captain everyone adored.

He had used to be far worse. I still remembered it — middle school hallways, him and his friends humiliating me, ruining the canvases I’d spent weeks on, pouring ketchup on my artworks, turning me into the laughingstock of the whole campus. And he had never once apologized.

“Don’t act confused. Weren’t you tired of destroying things I worked hard for?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “You were blaming me for something I didn’t do. I’m telling you, I didn’t touch it.” He stared at me sharply like he could eat me alive.

“You really expected me to believe that?”

My lips trembled and he went quiet. Wade’s expression shifted. His face darkened. He didn’t look exactly angry, but close to it.

“You thought I’d do that to you? Now, Layla, weren’t we too old for that?” He tilted his head like he was picking a fight.

What a jerk.

“Yeah, you did.”

“You didn’t even know what you were saying right then,” he said in a calm but sharp tone.

How dare he say that. “I knew what I was saying. And I knew what kind of person you were.”

“Layla! Please stop…” I heard Chloe calling from behind. She ran in and grabbed my arm to stop me, but I yanked myself away.

“You were going to regret this,” my words came out sharp. He clearly didn’t like what I said.

“The next time you looked at me like I had done this to you, you’d better be ready for what I would do in return.”

His voice was tight with anger, like he was barely holding back from yelling at me. So he was threatening me now, like I was the one at fault?

“Fine!” I bit out. “If you wanted war, I’d give it to you completely, Wade Scott.”

His eyes glinted, and his lip lifted. Something inside me ignited.

“War it is,” Wade muttered, an amused, sarcastic look on his face. “Let’s see how long we could hate each other living under the same roof.”

I held his gaze until I understood what he meant. My hands balled into fists at my sides.

I had almost forgotten — he wasn’t just my problem at school anymore, not just the guy I hated the most, not just the jerk who had sabotaged my painting. He was about to become my family.

I had almost forgotten that Wade Scott was my soon-to-be stepbrother.