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😍😍😍I had six small beads implanted in my most private place,
all so I could give my boyfriend the perfect experience on our wedding night!
But when I went to bring him food, legs shaky and weak,
I caught a glimpse through the half-open door.
Fiancé had his childhood sweetheart wrapped in his arms, lazily introducing her to his friends.
"This is my girlfriend."
Someone laughed. "Then what about her?"
Fiancé pulled the girl down onto his lap, his eyes full of careless indifference.
"Her?" He scoffed. "I got bored of her ages ago. She's been pushing me to get married nonstop. If any of you want her, feel free to take her off my hands!"
Listening to them humiliate me, I didn't scream or cause a scene like I used to.
Instead, I quietly dialed the number of the Herrera family's heir.
"Daddy, I've changed my mind! I've decided to marry you, so you'd better start preparing for the wedding soon!"🔥🔥🔥
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Chapter 1: OLIVE's POV
I had three client presentations due tomorrow and a marketing strategy that was nowhere near finished, but all I could think about was Cole coming home in two weeks.
It had been two months since I'd seen him in person. Two months of video calls and texts that came later and later each night.
Grayson would tell me I was overthinking again. My stepfather had been the steady one since Mom remarried ten years ago—the kind of dad who actually showed up, who remembered what mattered.
I pulled my laptop onto the bed, staring at the half-finished campaign for Hopkins Company.
Pathetic.
I shoved the laptop aside and reached for my nightstand drawer.
The feeling of having my vibe pressed right where I needed it, imagining Cole in his blue practice jersey, hair slicked back, hands braced on the headboard above me…
Close. So close.
The door slammed open.
My mother stood in the doorway like she hadn't just walked in on something she definitely shouldn't have seen. When I scrambled to sit up, tangled in my sheets and trying to shove the vibe under my pillow, she smiled.
Actually smiled.
"Oh darling, I'm so sorry I interrupted. But playtime's over."
"God, Mom, knocking is a thing adults do." My face was on fire. I shoved the vibe into my nightstand drawer so fast I almost broke my finger.
"Your door was wide open, Olive. Be grateful it was me and not Hunter."
God, if my stepbrother had walked in on that I'd have to move to another state.
"Mom, stop. Please just stop talking."
She pressed her lips together, but amusement danced in her eyes. I wanted to die right there.
Living in the renovated space above the garage was supposed to give me independence, but it didn't stop my mother from barging in whenever she felt like it. Still, it beat paying two grand a month for some shoebox apartment in Seattle.
"We need to talk to you." Her voice changed, got serious. "Grayson and I have some exciting news."
Exciting news in this family usually meant something that benefited everyone except me.
"Olive Monroe, I want you downstairs in five minutes or I'm dragging you out of that bed myself."
The second the door closed I grabbed my phone. I needed to hear Cole's voice, needed something good to balance out whatever disaster my parents were about to drop on me.
I hit his contact. One ring. Two rings. Three.
Cole always answered. Always picked up when I called.
The screen flickered—video call accepted—and suddenly I was staring at a shaking camera propped up on something, angled weird.
I could see him.
Cole.
Not alone.
"Oh god, yes—Cole, right there—"
A woman's voice hit me first, high-pitched and breathless. For a second my brain couldn't process what I was seeing.
Cole on his back, head thrown against the pillow, mouth open as he groaned. A girl on top of him, blonde hair spilling down her back as she moved.
"Fuck, you feel so good—"
"Sophia—Christ, Sophia—"
His name for her. The way he said it like it was something precious. The phone jolted with every thrust.
I should've hung up.
Should've thrown my phone across the room and pretended I'd never seen this, never heard this.
I just sat there like an idiot. Frozen. Watching my boyfriend of two years moan another woman's name.
"God, I'm close—Cole, I'm so close—"
His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down harder. That deep groan I thought he only made with me—
The phone slipped from my fingers.
It clattered onto my bed face-up. I could still hear them—the wet sounds, her moans, his name in her mouth over and over.
Two years.
Two years of standing in freezing arenas watching him play. Two years of driving three hours just to see him for a weekend. Two years of wearing his jersey like any of it mattered.
The entire time he'd been with someone else.
Someone named Sophia.
I grabbed the phone and stabbed at the screen until the call ended. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hit the right button.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry over him.
But my throat was tight and my eyes were burning and I hated that I could still hear her voice in my head.
I pressed my palms against my eyes hard enough that it hurt.
He wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth a single tear, wasn't worth the two years I'd given him or any of it.
But my face was already wet.
*******
I didn't bother fixing my hair or washing my face before heading downstairs. What was the point.
The main house smelled like coffee and whatever my mom had baked earlier that week.
The second I opened the door both my parents' heads snapped toward me.
"I was about to come drag you out of—" Mom stopped mid-sentence. "Olive, what's wrong?"
I tried to say something, anything, but the second she asked, it was like a dam broke inside my chest.
I sobbed, ugly and gasping.
Grayson was already moving. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me against his chest, one hand going to my hair and the other to my back, holding me while I fell apart.
"Shh, hey, it's okay, you're okay."
"I caught him cheating." My voice sounded wrecked.
Silence.
Complete silence.
I watched Mom's mouth fall open. Watched Grayson's jaw get tight.
"That Buffalo pretty boy with the perfect hair?" Mom's voice came out sharp now. Angry.
"Diane," Grayson warned.
"You deserve better than him, Olive. You always have."
I wanted to believe him. Right now all I could think about was Cole's face, about the way he'd looked at me the last time and said I love you right before asking if I could pick up his dry cleaning.
"We actually had something we wanted to tell you." Mom's voice softened. "Hunter got the call. He's officially playing for the Chicago Wolves."
My stomach dropped. "He got called up?"
The promise I'd made eight months ago, ‘when you make the NHL, I'll be front row at your first game’ crashed into the reality of Cole's face, Cole's team, Cole's city.
Hunter had been there for me through everything. Every breakup, every bad day, every moment I needed someone who understood what it felt like to be the spare part in someone else's story.
"The game is next week," Grayson added quietly. "I know the timing is complicated."
"Cole is on that team." My voice cracked. "I can't—I can't see him right now."
"Then don't look at him," Mom said sharply. "You made a promise to your brother."
Guilt twisted in my chest because she was right. I had promised. Back when it seemed like a far-off dream, something sweet and hypothetical, we'd joked about over pizza and bad movies.
Now it was real and the timing couldn't be worse.
"We have tickets to his first game. Exclusive access—"
"I don't know if I can do this."
Grayson squeezed my shoulder. "Hunter would understand if you couldn't make it. But he really wants you there, sweetheart."
Mom grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and dropped it into my lap. "That's your brother right there. Front page of Sports Illustrated."
I looked down at Hunter's face staring back at me.
The headline read NEW BLOOD: The Wolves' Secret Weapon.
Pride swelled in my chest despite everything. He'd worked so hard for this.
I flipped to the next page, trying to focus on anything other than the thought of seeing Cole again.
What I saw made my entire body go still.
An ad for some energy drink. But I barely registered what the product was.
The man in the photo had his shirt half-unbuttoned. Abs so defined they didn't even look real. The energy drink tipped against his mouth, liquid spilling over his bottom lip, dripping down his jaw and his throat.
His eyes were piercing. Cold blue. Staring directly at the camera like he could see through the page.
Like he could see me.
My thighs clenched.
"Olive?"
Grayson's voice snapped me back. I'd been staring at the photo for way too long.
"Yeah, sorry, I just—" I cleared my throat. "Who's this guy?"
Grayson's entire expression changed. Got dark and tight. He gripped his coffee mug hard enough I thought it might crack.
"Zane Mercer."
The way he said the name made it sound like it physically hurt him.
"Who?"
"My nemesis." His voice was completely flat.
"Your nemesis? What are you, a supervillain?"
"He's the NHL's top player," Mom said, her voice careful now. "And he's made Grayson's life hell since he started coaching. That man did things that forced him to leave the game entirely."
I'd heard stories over the years. Vague references about someone who'd ruined everything, someone powerful and untouchable who'd destroyed his coaching career. But I'd never heard an actual name.
Zane Mercer.
Top player for the Chicago Wolves.
And apparently the last person Grayson wanted me thinking about.
I stared at the photo again. At those cold blue eyes, that dangerous jaw, the body that looked like it had been carved from stone.
At least if I had to spend a week in Chicago watching my ex-boyfriend pretend I didn't exist, there'd be something worth looking at.
I closed the magazine and stood up, tucking it under my arm before either of them could take it back.
"Fine. I'll go to Chicago."
Mom blinked at me. "Really?"
"Really." I met Grayson's eyes. "I promised Hunter I'd be there for his first game. I'm not breaking that promise because Cole turned out to be a piece of shit."
Grayson's expression softened. Relief mixed with something that looked like pride.
"Besides," I added, trying to be casual even though my heart was racing, "maybe watching some hockey will help me move on."
Chapter 2: OLIVE's POV
Chapter 2: OLIVE's POV
"I'm not going to the game. What the fuck was I thinking?"
I slammed my forehead against my desk hard enough that my monitor shook. Making life decisions based on a magazine photo? That was a new low, even for me.
Brenda didn't even look up from her computer. "You can't back out now. You already agreed."
"I got so motivated to go because I saw some hot guy in a magazine. A magazine, Brenda. That's insane."
"And?" She was still typing. "I find that perfectly reasonable. Not every day someone finds their rebound within seconds of a breakup."
"I'm not trying to rebound—"
"To what? Sit here and overthink until you convince yourself Cole cheating was your fault?" She stopped typing. Turned to look at me. "Because I can already see it happening. You're doing that thing where you spiral."
She was right.
"What if I wasn't there enough?" The words spilled out. "What if the long distance was too hard—"
"Okay, stop. Stop right there." Brenda stood up and leaned against my desk. "I'm gonna say this once. Stop being a little bitch crying over mediocre dick."
My mouth snapped closed.
"I'm serious, Olive. Cole Maddox is mediocre at hockey, mediocre in bed—yes, you told me, wine drunk, don't deny it—and apparently mediocre at being faithful. You spent two years standing in the rain at his practices. You drove three hours to watch him warm benches. And this is how he repays you? Fuck him."
"I know, but—"
"But nothing. You're going to Chicago. You promised Hunter months ago you'd be there for his first NHL game. That promise had nothing to do with Cole and everything to do with your brother who's always had your back."
She was right about that too. Hunter had been asking me to come to games since he signed with the farm team. Back then, the idea of him making the NHL seemed like a sweet fantasy. Now it was real, and I'd promised to be there.
"Okay, I get it." But I was smiling now, just a little.
"Good. Now stop spiraling and—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking on something behind me. "Oh shit."
I turned to follow her gaze.
The TV.
And right there, filling the entire screen, was Cole's face.
My stomach dropped.
He looked good. Of course he looked good. Blonde hair perfectly styled, gray eyes that looked almost silver under the camera lights.
But that wasn't what made my breath catch.
Because tucked under his arm, pressed against his side like she belonged there, was a woman.
Stunning. Blonde hair cascading in perfect waves, red dress that hugged every curve.
She was laughing. Head thrown back, hand resting on Cole's chest, fingers spread like she owned him.
And that hair—it looked exactly like the hair I'd seen spilling down her back on that video call.
"Cole Maddox was spotted last night with his alleged new girlfriend, Sophia Mercer, aboard a private cruise ship," the reporter's voice filled the office.
White text appeared beneath her face.
Sophia Mercer, 23
Mercer.
"She's related to him," I whispered.
Brenda's fingers were already flying across her keyboard. "Let me check—oh. Oh fuck. Olive."
She turned her monitor toward me.
Zane Mercer - Top NHL player for the Chicago Wolves. One sister: Sophia Mercer, 23.
And there was a photo. Action shot. Zane on the ice, helmet off, hair dark with sweat, jaw clenched. Eyes shining with fury.
He looked dangerous. Powerful.
And I'd seen this photo before.
The realization hit me hard.
"Olive?" Brenda's voice sounded far away.
Six months after Cole and I started dating. I'd been looking for a pen in his practice bag when I found a photo tucked inside his notepad. Folded. Hidden.
This photo.
"Who's this?" I'd asked.
Cole had snatched it from my hands. His face had gone red, jaw tight.
"Don't touch that." His voice had been sharp. "Don't ever go through my stuff, Olive."
He'd softened after. Kissed my forehead, said he was stressed. But he never explained the photo.
And I'd forgotten about it.
Until now.
"I've seen him before," I whispered.
"What?"
"Zane. This photo. Cole had it. Hidden in his practice bag. A year and a half ago. I found it by accident and he freaked out. Got all weird and defensive."
Brenda's eyes had gone wide. "So Cole's been obsessed with Zane for your entire relationship?"
My stomach turned. "Do you think he's with Sophia to get close to Zane?"
"Oh my god. That makes sense." Brenda was already pulling up Sophia's Instagram. "Look at this."
Photo after photo. Sophia at games, in VIP boxes, surrounded by players. And in several of them, standing slightly out of focus in the background—
Zane.
"Cole saw that. Used her to get access."
"I was never enough because I wasn't connected to the right people."
"Hey." Brenda grabbed my face. "Don't you dare. Cole is a social-climbing piece of shit who uses people. You were too good for him."
My phone buzzed on the desk.
An email. From…Cole.
I didn't want to open it.
But I did anyway.
'I'm sorry, Olive. I never meant for things to end this way. But I've reached a new level in my career, and I need someone who can match that. Someone capable of helping me grow. You were great for where I was, but I need more now. I hope you understand.'
The phone slipped from my fingers.
Someone capable.
He'd just told me I wasn't capable enough. After two years. After everything.
Brenda snatched my phone, her face shifting from concern to pure fury. "After you caught him cheating—he sends you a breakup email? Calling you incapable?"
I couldn't breathe.
"Wait. There's more." She was scrolling on her own phone now. "I've been looking into him since yesterday. Found his tagged photos on Instagram, the ones he tried to untag. Olive. Look."
A photo. Cole. With a woman.
Red hair. Not Sophia. Someone else.
Beach house, arms wrapped around each other, mouths locked.
The timestamp said nine months ago.
"Nine months," I whispered.
"There's another one. Two months ago. Different girl. Fuck, Olive, there are at least five different women in the past year."
I stared at the screen. At the proof. At the pattern.
"You're going to that game." Her eyes were fierce. "You're going to walk in looking absolutely devastating. Head held high."
"I don't want revenge—"
"This isn't about revenge. This is about you remembering who the fuck you are." She squeezed my arm. "You're Olive Monroe. You're smart, you're beautiful, you don't take shit from anyone when you're not being manipulated by mediocre men."
I looked at that email again. Someone capable.
Fuck him.
"I'm going," I said.
Brenda grinned. "That's my girl."
"I'm going to support Hunter. My stepbrother has been nothing but good to me, and I promised him I'd be there." My voice got stronger. "And I'm going to look so fucking good that if Cole sees me, he chokes on his own bullshit."
I took a breath. For the first time since that video call, it didn't feel like my chest was caving in.
It felt like anger.
I paused, looking back at Zane's photo on Brenda's computer. Those cold blue eyes. That dangerous energy.
The man whose sister Cole was using. The man my stepfather hated. The man who'd somehow become tangled up in all of this without even knowing I existed.
"And Zane?" I asked quietly.
Brenda raised an eyebrow. "I think Zane is exactly who you should be thinking about."
Chapter 3: OLIVE's POV
Chapter 3: OLIVE's POV
When I said I had a plan, I was lying through my teeth.
I was a twenty-four-year-old woman standing in a luxury hotel lobby wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, hair thrown up in a messy bun that had given up on life somewhere over Iowa, with absolutely zero strategy beyond 'don't think about Cole and survive this week without having a breakdown in public.'
That was it. That was the plan.
Three days had passed since that office meltdown. Three days of packing and repacking those suitcases Brenda had filled with "revenge outfits" I'd probably never wear.
And one text from Cole that I'd deleted without reading.
The flight had been six hours of my mother chattering about Hunter's big break and Grayson making business calls and me pretending to sleep.
Now we were here. Chicago. The hotel.
And holy hell, this hotel.
Marble floors stretched out forever under chandeliers. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Chicago skyline. And everywhere—literally everywhere—there were people.
Beautiful people in expensive clothes. Cameras flashing. Reporters shouting questions.
Hockey players.
I could tell by the way they moved. That casual confidence. The way everyone parted for them like they were royalty.
"What do you think, Olive?" My mother was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Mom." I cut her off. "I'm here for Hunter. That's it."
"Diane, let her breathe." Grayson squeezed my shoulder. "Come on, let's check in."
I followed them toward the reception desk, trying to keep my head down.
But when I looked up to see where we were going, my parents had disappeared.
Vanished.
"Are you kidding me right now?"
They'd done this before. My mother got distracted and wandered off, and suddenly I was alone trying to figure out where the hell they went.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling for her contact.
"Oh thank god, I've been looking everywhere for you!"
Two hands grabbed my arm before I could react.
I yelped, stumbling as someone pulled me away from the reception area.
"Wait—I think you have the wrong—"
"No time! The team's waiting and we're already fifteen minutes behind schedule." The woman dragging me was mid-forties, sharp-eyed, moving fast. "Why were you just standing there? Come on—"
"Ma'am, seriously, there's been a mistake—"
She swiped a keycard at a massive door and shoved me inside before I could protest.
I stumbled into the room and stopped dead.
This wasn't a hotel room. This was a photo shoot.
Lighting rigs towered everywhere. A backdrop that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. Cameras on tripods, equipment cases stacked against the wall.
What the hell was this?
"I know this is overwhelming. But this opportunity is huge. Your connection really pulled strings to get you here."
My head snapped toward her. "My connection?"
She smiled. "Your brother. Hunter Sinclair? He worked really hard to make this happen for you."
My brain short-circuited. "Hunter did what?"
"You're leading the ad shoot today. Mr. Mercer specifically requested the creative director be someone young, fresh perspective, and when Hunter mentioned you were coming to town—"
"Wait, Mr. Mercer? As in—"
A door on the far side of the room opened.
Every thought in my head evaporated.
A man stepped out.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Shirtless.
My eyes went straight to his chest—eight perfect ridges of muscle, tanned skin that looked like it had been dipped in gold under the studio lights.
This couldn't be real.
My gaze traveled up.
Sharp jawline. Dark hair, messy like he'd just run his hands through it. And then his eyes.
Blue. Piercing. Cold.
Locked directly on mine.
Zane Mercer.
Standing there in low-slung black pants, shirtless, looking like he'd walked straight out of that magazine photo except somehow better because he was real and he was right there.
I was going to die in a luxury hotel room staring at abs that didn't look human.
"Mr. Mercer, I'm so sorry for the delay." The woman stepped forward. "This is Olive Monroe, the creative director we discussed."
"It's no issue, Sheila." His voice was deep. Smooth. "I'm ready whenever she is."
His eyes never left mine.
And I hated the way something flipped in my stomach. The way heat crawled up my neck. The way my thighs clenched together without permission.
"Wonderful! Miss Monroe, you can take it from here. I'll be right outside if you need anything."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Zane's lips twitched. Like he knew exactly what he was doing standing there half-naked making me forget how to form sentences.
"You can leave, Sheila. I only need to be alone with my creative director."
Sheila shot me a look—concern mixed with envy—before slipping out.
The lock clicked.
Just the two of us.
Silence stretched. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, arms crossed loosely, waiting.
I forced myself to breathe. To find my voice.
"Look, I don't know what's going on, but I'm not a creative director." The words came out sharper than I meant them to. "That woman grabbed me in the lobby and dragged me here thinking I was someone else. So whatever this is, you've got the wrong person and I'm just—I'm going to go."
He tilted his head, studying me.
The way he looked at me—like he was peeling back layers, seeing things I didn't want seen—made my skin feel too tight.
"Is that so?" His voice was low. Almost amused.
"Yes. So if you'll excuse me—" I turned toward the door.
"Do you really think this was a mistake, Olive?"
My name in his mouth stopped me cold.
I turned back slowly. "How do you know my name?"
He pushed off whatever he'd been leaning against and took a step toward me. Just one. But the room shrank.
"I know you're not a creative director. I know exactly who you are."
Something squeezed tight in my chest. "Then why—"
"And I know exactly why you're here."
The air crackled between us.
I wanted to move. To walk out. To put distance between us.
But I couldn't.
Because the way he was looking at me—like I was a puzzle he'd already solved—made it very clear.
This wasn't an accident.
"What do you mean?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I'm here to support my stepbrother. That's it."
His lips curved. Barely. "Is that what you told yourself?"
"It's the truth."
"Then why did you agree to come after seeing my photo in that magazine?"
My breath caught.
How did he—
"Your stepfather hates me. Has for years. Your mother knows the history. And yet you agreed to come to Chicago, to a game where you knew I'd be playing, right after a scandal." Another step. Closer. "So tell me, Olive. Why are you really here?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the pounding in my ears.
"I don't know what you're talking about?"
He chuckled,
“Don't you know?" He was close enough now that I could see a faint scar above his eyebrow. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. "Let me make this simple for you."
He stopped right in front of me.
Heat radiated off him. That expensive, clean scent that made my head swim.
"I have a proposition. One that benefits us both. But first, I need to know something."
"What?"
His eyes locked on mine.
"What are you willing to give me?"
Chapter 4: OLIVE's POV
Chapter 4: OLIVE's POV
"What I'm willing to give you?"
I stared at him like he'd just spoken a language I didn't understand. Because what kind of question was that?
My eyebrows pulled together so tight my forehead hurt. "What does that even mean? I don't—I don't know you. And you're standing here asking me what I'm willing to give you?"
I laughed. It came out bitter. Sarcastic. A little unhinged.
But my cheeks were burning. Absolutely on fire. Because of how close he was standing, because I could see every detail of his chest…those abs, those arms, that scar above his eyebrow that made him look dangerous instead of perfect…and my body was betraying me in ways I didn't want to think about.
When I forced myself to meet his eyes again, something in his expression made everything flip.
"Cole Maddox."
My blood turned to ice.
Every muscle in my body went rigid. "What did you just say?"
"Cole Maddox." Calm. Like he was commenting on the weather. "I know about him. About your relationship. That he's been cheating on you with my sister. That he used you for two years and then dumped you like you were nothing."
The room tilted.
How the hell did he know about Cole? About any of it?
Was this some kind of sick game? Did Cole send him here? Was my stepbrother in on this?
"And what are you? The cleanup crew? Here to…what, wipe off the stain Cole left behind? Make sure the poor pathetic ex-girlfriend doesn't embarrass herself?"
His eyebrow raised. Amused. Like this was entertaining to him.
"Did Cole send you?" I stepped forward now, couldn't help it, anger overriding self-preservation. "To make sure I stay away from his games? Is Hunter in on this too? Is this some sick joke where everyone gets to laugh at the girl who was stupid enough to believe her boyfriend loved her?"
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
And the way Zane's lips curved—like he was enjoying this, my confusion, my anger, the way I was falling apart right in front of him—made me want to slap him.
Or kiss him.
I wasn't sure which impulse was stronger and that scared me more than anything.
"Cole Maddox is irrelevant to what's happening between us right now." His voice dropped lower. "But I do have a proposal."
I blinked. "A proposal."
"Yes."
"From a complete stranger who somehow knows everything about my failed relationship and had me dragged into a room under false pretenses."
His lips twitched. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
"Because it is bad."
"Hear me out."
"Why should I?" But I didn't move. Didn't walk away. Because as much as I wanted to, as much as every logical part of my brain was screaming at me to run, I couldn't.
I needed to know what he wanted. Why he knew about Cole. What the hell was happening.
He took another step closer.
My breath hitched.
I wanted to step back. Wanted to put space between us. But my spine hit the wall behind me and I realized with a jolt that I'd been backing up this entire time without even noticing.
Damn it.
"Date me."
The words hung in the air between us.
I blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"
"Be my partner. Publicly. We attend events together. Build your profile. Make Cole Maddox regret every single decision he's ever made in his pathetic life."
My brain stuttered. Stopped. Tried to restart and failed.
"You want me to..." I couldn't even finish the sentence. "Date you."
"Yes."
"Fake date you."
"Does it matter if it's fake?" He tilted his head, and the movement made me notice how close he was. Too close. Not close enough. "The result is the same. Cole suffers. You move on looking like you upgraded. Everyone wins."
I stared at him.
He was serious. This man—this stranger who looked like he'd walked straight out of my most inappropriate fantasies—was standing here asking me to fake date him to make my ex jealous.
Like this was normal. Like people did this every day.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why would you want this? You don't know me. You don't owe me anything. So why the hell would you offer to—to—"
"Because it benefits me too."
That stopped me. The pieces trying to pull together in my confused, overwhelmed brain.
"How?"
His expression shifted. Something darker sliding across his face, something that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"Let's just say Cole Maddox and I have unfinished business. And having you by my side speeds up certain plans I have in motion."
"Plans." I repeated the word like it might make sense if I said it out loud. "What kind of plans?"
"The kind I'm not going to explain."
"Of course not." I laughed, sharp and humorless. "So you want me to agree to fake date you—a complete stranger—for reasons you won't explain, to get revenge on an ex I'm trying to forget, while you use me for some mysterious plan involving Cole that you won't tell me about."
"When you say it like that—"
"It sounds insane. Because it is insane."
He stepped closer again.
And this time when I tried to step back, there was nowhere to go.
The wall was right there. He was right there. Caging me in without actually touching me, and somehow that made it worse because I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Think about it, Olive." His voice was barely above a whisper now. Intimate. Like we were the only two people in the world. "You walk into every event on my arm. Photographers everywhere. Social media going crazy. And Cole sees all of it. Sees you moved on. Sees you with someone better. Someone he's been obsessing over for…what did I hear? For five years now."
Something pounded in my chest. My eyes widening slightly at the revelation.
"You know about his obsession with you?"
"I know everything about Cole Maddox." His eyes locked on mine, and I couldn't look away even though I wanted to. "Including what he did to you."
"Then you know I'm trying to move on. To forget him. Not play games."
"This isn't a game." He leaned in. Just slightly. Just enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. "This is power, Olive. You take control of the narrative. You show him and everyone else that you're not some girl he can discard. You're someone he never deserved in the first place."
God, he was good.
His words wrapped around me like a trap. Like he knew exactly what to say to make this sound appealing, to make me want to say yes even though every rational part of my brain was screaming that this was a terrible idea.
And the worst part?
It was working.
I could picture it. Walking into that arena on Zane Mercer's arm. Flash bulbs going off. Cole's face when he saw me. The shock. The jealousy. The regret.
It would feel so good.
But—
"What do you really get out of this?" I asked, forcing myself to focus past the heat and the proximity and the way his eyes were making me forget how to think. "Because I don't buy the 'unfinished business' excuse. There's something else. So what is it? What do you actually want from me?"
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Thought he'd deflect or change the subject or do whatever powerful men did when they didn't want to give up control.
Then he smiled. Slow. Dangerous. The kind of smile that made me think of wolves and prey and things that looked beautiful until they bit.
Chapter 5: OLIVE's POV
Chapter 5: OLIVE's POV
"Maybe I just like the idea of watching Cole Maddox squirm."
"That's not a real answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
"Then I'm not interested."
"Are you sure about that?" His hand came up—slowly, like he was giving me time to move, to protest, to tell him to stop—and his fingers brushed my jaw.
And I stopped breathing.
The touch was light. Barely there. But it sent electricity racing down my spine, pooling low in my stomach in a way that made me want to clench my thighs together.
"Because from where I'm standing, you don't look uninterested." His thumb traced the line of my jaw with excruciating slowness.
"I—" The words died in my throat.
"Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing's shallow. And if I had to guess..." His thumb moved to my pulse point, pressing gently. "Your heart's racing."
Damn him for being right.
Damn my body for betraying me.
Damn everything about this moment.
"That doesn't mean anything." But my voice came out breathy and weak.
"Doesn't it?" His thumb traced my bottom lip now, and I had to bite back a sound that would've been absolutely mortifying. "We could be good together, Olive. Professionally speaking. Put on a show that makes everyone believe it. Make Cole regret everything."
"And what happens when it's over?" The words came out barely above a whisper. "When we're done playing pretend and you've gotten whatever it is you really want?"
"Then we end it. Amicably. You get your revenge. I get what I need. Everyone wins."
"Except Cole."
"Especially Cole."
His thumb pressed against my lip again, just slightly, and my lips parted on instinct.
His eyes darkened.
The air between us changed. Thickened. Heat crawling up my neck and pooling in places I was trying very hard not to think about.
"How long?" I asked, because I needed to say something before I did something stupid like close the distance between us.
"How long what?"
"This fake relationship. If I agreed—which I'm not saying I am—how long would it last?"
He considered, and I hated that I was watching his mouth while he thought. "Two months. Long enough to make an impact. Then we part ways. Clean break."
"Two months of lying to everyone."
"Two months of taking back control." His hand moved to cup my face fully now, and I should've pulled away but I didn't. "Think about it. Two months where you decide how this story goes. Not Cole. Not your family. You."
God, why did he have to make it sound so tempting?
"What would we have to do?" My voice was barely audible now. "During these two months?"
"Public appearances. Games. Dinners. Charity events." He paused, and something heated flashed in his eyes. "Whatever couples do."
"Fake couples."
"Does it really matter?" His thumb traced my cheekbone now, and I was losing the battle with myself not to lean into it. "If it looks real, if it feels real, if everyone believes it's real—what's the difference?"
"The difference is that it's not real."
"Is that what you want? Reality?" He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. "Because reality is Cole cheating on you for maybe your entire relationship. Reality is him calling you incapable. Reality is you standing in the rain at his practices while he was with other women. Is that the reality you want to go back to?"
Each word hit like a slap.
Because he was right. Reality had been nothing but pain and lies and standing in the rain hoping someone would notice me.
"We'd have to sell it. Make people believe it's real. That means touching. Holding hands." His thumb traced my jaw again. "Kissing."
My knees went weak.
"Kissing."
"If the situation calls for it." His eyes were locked on my mouth now. "Can't have people thinking we're just friends."
"This is insane."
"Maybe." His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling gently, and I forgot how to breathe. "But you haven't said no."
Because I couldn't.
God help me, I couldn't say no.
I wanted this. Wanted to feel wanted. Wanted to show Cole that I could move on, that I was worth more than he'd ever appreciated. Wanted to be seen as something other than the girl who got cheated on.
Even if it was fake.
Even if it was a lie.
Even if it would probably blow up in my face.
His thumb pressed against my bottom lip again, and this time I couldn't stop the small sound that escaped.
Something flashed in his eyes.
"So what do you say, Olive?" His voice was rough now. Strained. "Are you going to let Cole Maddox win? Or are you going to show him exactly what he threw away?"
I stared into those blue eyes.
Felt his heat. His presence. The way he was looking at me like I was the only person who mattered in this moment.
For one wild, reckless second, I almost said yes.
Almost let myself fall into this trap of his making.
But then reality crashed back in.
This man knew everything about me. Had orchestrated this meeting. Was offering me something that sounded too good to be true.
Because it was too good to be true.
Men didn't do things out of kindness. Cole had taught me that lesson thoroughly. They wanted something. Always. There was always an angle.
And I wasn't going to be used again.
Not by Cole.
And definitely not by Zane Mercer.
I ducked under his arm, putting space between us so fast I almost tripped over my own feet.
My chest was heaving. My body was screaming at me to go back, to let him touch me again, to say yes to whatever he was offering.
But I didn't.
"No."
He turned slowly. Eyes locked on mine. Expression unreadable.
"No?"
"I'm not interested." My voice shook but I forced the words out anyway. "I don't need your help. I don't need revenge. And I definitely don't need some stranger playing savior because he has his own agenda he won't even explain."
"Olive—"
"Find someone else to play chess with." I grabbed the door handle, yanking it open. "I'm done being a piece on someone else's board."
Sheila was right there when I stepped out, eyes wide with surprise.
"Oh! Are you—did you finish already?"
"I quit."
And I walked out.
Didn't look back. Couldn't look back. Because if I did, I'd see those blue eyes and that body and that dangerous smile.
And I'd change my mind.
Something pounded in my chest. My hands were shaking. My whole body felt like it was on fire.
I made it to the elevator before I had to lean against the wall.
"Hell," I whispered to the empty hallway.
Because I'd just turned down Zane Mercer.
The hottest man I'd ever seen in my life.
Who'd offered me exactly what some dark, vengeful part of me wanted.
And I'd walked away.
The elevator dinged. I stepped inside, jabbing the button for the lobby.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I stared at it for three long seconds before opening the message.
'Three days, Olive. That's how long my offer stands. After that, you're on your own. – Z'
I read it twice.
Then blocked the number.
Shoved my phone back in my pocket.
And tried to ignore the ache between my thighs that told me I'd just made either the smartest or stupidest decision of my life.
Time would tell which one.
Chapter 6: Olive’s POV
Chapter 6: Olive’s POV
His hands were on my hips.
Firm. Possessive. Fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks.
I was pressed against something cold. A wall, maybe. Glass. I couldn't tell. I Didn't care.
Because his mouth was on my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
"You should've said yes," he murmured against my skin.
His voice. God, his voice.
Deep and rough and doing things to me that should be illegal.
"I don't—" I tried to speak, but his hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, and the words died in my throat.
"You don't what?" His lips curved against my neck. I could feel him smiling. "You don't want this?"
His fingers brushed the edge of my underwear, feeling my wetness, the softness of my heat.
I gasped. My voice caught hard in my throat, unable to speak.
"That's what I thought."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. Those blue eyes dark. Hungry.
"Tell me you want this, Olive."
"I—"
His thumb pressed exactly where I needed it. Deep. Hard. Circling.
My head fell back. A moan ripped from my throat.
"Say it."
"I want—"
He pressed harder. Circled again against my clit.
"Please—"
"Good girl."
And then his mouth was on mine. Hot. Demanding and consuming me completely.
I was so close. Right there. Right on the edge—
******
I woke up gasping, breath coming out hollow like I'd just run a marathon.
Sweaty. Tangled in sheets. Heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
And wet.
So fucking wet it was embarrassing.
"No. No, no, no."
I pressed my palms against my face. Groaned into the darkness of my suite.
A dream.
It was just a dream.
A very vivid. Very detailed. Very real-feeling dream.
About Zane Mercer.
The man I'd rejected three days ago.
"Fuck."
I threw the covers off. Sat up. My tank top was drenched with sweat, clinging to my skin. My thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the ache that wouldn't go away.
This was bad.
So bad.
I'd been locked in this suite for three days. Three days of hiding. Avoiding everyone. Avoiding Hunter. Avoiding the possibility of running into Cole. Avoiding any chance of seeing Zane.
And apparently, my subconscious decided avoidance wasn't working.
Because now I was having wet dreams about him.
About his hands. His mouth. His voice saying things that made my entire body light up.
"Good girl."
I shivered.
Stop. Stop thinking about it.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. The screen lit up.
7:14 AM
And beneath the time, notifications I'd been ignoring for days.
- Texts from Brenda asking if I was okay.
- A missed call from my mother.
- And one message that made my stomach twist.
The blocked number. The one I'd blocked three days ago.
But I could still see the preview from before I blocked it.
Three days, Olive. That's how long my offer stands.
Three days.
Today was day three.
His offer expired today. Maybe by noon.
I stared at the message. At those words that had been playing on loop in my head for more than sixty hours straight.
‘Date me. Be my partner. Make Cole regret everything.’
Part of me—a stupid, reckless part—wanted to unblock the number. Wanted to call him. Wanted to say I'd changed my mind.
But I didn't.
Because I'd made my choice.
I wasn't going to be used. Not by Cole. Not by Zane. Not by anyone.
Even if my body was currently screaming at me that I'd made the wrong decision.
I stood up. My legs were shaky, and I headed for the bathroom.
A cold shower. That's what I needed. A very cold shower to wash away the dream and the ache and the lingering feeling of his hands on my skin.
By the time I got out, it was past seven-thirty.
The suite was quiet. My parents were probably still asleep. Thank God.
The last thing I needed was my mother's morning cheerfulness or Grayson walking around in his boxers with his—
I stopped that thought immediately.
One thing I'd learned living above my parents' garage: Grayson was ‘very comfortable’ in his own home. And my mother was very loud about why she'd married him.
Some things you couldn't unhear.
I pulled on an oversized hoodie and leggings. Threw my hair up in a ponytail. No makeup. No effort.
I just needed air. Coffee. Something to clear my head before tomorrow's game.
Tomorrow.
Hunter's first big game with the Chicago Wolves.
The whole reason I was even in this godforsaken city.
"Fuck, I can't wait to get back to work and forget my life just shifted off its axis," I muttered to myself.
I grabbed my phone and key card. Slipped out of my room as quietly as possible.
The hallway was empty. Good.
I made it three steps toward the elevator before I heard it.
"Sneaking out?"
I froze. Turned slowly.
Hunter stood in the doorway of the main suite, arms crossed, with that cocky smirk on his face that made me want to punch him.
"Jesus Christ, Hunter. You scared the shit out of me."
"Is that how you greet your stepbrother after avoiding him for three days?"
I glared. "I wasn't avoiding you."
"Right. You just happened to be locked in your room the entire time we've been here."
"I needed space."
"From what? Me?" He stepped into the hallway. "Or from someone else?"
My stomach tightened. "From someone else? You tell me, Hunter. Who do you think I'm hiding from?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He was too close now. Close enough that I could see something in his expression. Guilt? Concern?
I huffed hard. Of course, he'd deny it. Act like he was never part of Zane's master plan.
"You sold me out. Why?"
I could see recognition cross his face. His expression shifted.
"I'm sorry, Olive. I had no choice."
He muttered it quietly. Concern. Guilt. All those expressions I didn't want to see.
"You fucking sold me out, and do what? You just apologize? Do you know the mess you caused?"
My voice was rising. Almost a yell. And fuck it, I didn't care if anyone was listening.
"I said I was sorry, Olive. I really am. Did he—did he hurt you?"
I glared at him. The audacity to ask how I was feeling after ruining my life. Or maybe he was part of the ruin. Involved somehow. But I just stared hard at him.
The only thing I could say was:
"Move, Hunter."
"Olive—"
"I said move." I shoved past him. "I need coffee before I lose my mind or throw you off the balcony."
"Hey." He grabbed my arm. Gently. "I'm sorry. Are you okay? Did that bastard hurt you?"
I yanked free. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Well, I am. So back off." My voice shook. "And don't you dare play games with me ever again. I don't know what your deal with Zane is, but don't you dare involve me again."
He held up his hands. "Alright. Alright. Just... be careful, okay?"
"Careful of what?"
His jaw tightened. "Just... don't do anything stupid."
I stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
"Hunter—"
"Go get your coffee, Olive." He stepped back into the suite. "And for the record? Cole doesn't know you're here. I didn't tell him. So you can stop looking over your shoulder like he's going to jump out of a corner."
The door closed before I could respond.
I stood there for a moment. Fists clenched.
What the hell was that about?
‘Don't do anything stupid?’
‘Cole doesn't know you're here?’
Why would Hunter—
My phone suddenly buzzed, and I pulled it out.
It was a text from Brenda.
BRENDA: ‘You alive? Or do I need to file a missing person report?’
I typed back quickly.
ME: ‘Alive. Barely. Going to get coffee.’
BRENDA: ‘At 7:30 AM? Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?’
ME: ‘Couldn't sleep.’
BRENDA: ‘Bet I know why. Starts with Z. Ends with …ane Mercer.’
I almost threw my phone.
ME: ‘I'm blocking you too.’
BRENDA: ‘You love me. Now go get your coffee and stop spiraling. Today's a new day. Fresh start and all that bullshit.’
ME: ‘Motivational speeches aren't your thing.’
BRENDA: ‘I know. I'm trying something new. How's it working?’
ME: ‘Terribly.’
BRENDA: ‘Good. That's more on brand. Love you. Text me later.’
I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed for the elevator.
Fresh start.
Right.
Today was day three.
Zane's offer expired at noon.
Not that I cared.
Not that I was counting.
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