"I'd rather ruin you thanlose you."

The silence was deafening. For Christian, it was a brand-new type of torture he hadn’t been prepared to endure. At first, he’d enjoyed the peace—no more pathetic little sticky notes on his locker, no more cheap protein bars left on his gym bag with "Good luck!" scribbled in that messy, familiar handwriting. No more buzzing in his pocket from daily check-in texts that he used to show his friends just to laugh at Valeria ’s desperation.

But then, the days turned into weeks. The notifications stayed at zero. The stands at the ice rink, usually occupied by a single, devoted figure, were now empty in that specific corner. Valeria wasn't just gone; she was acting like Christian didn't exist, and the lack of attention was starting to feel like an itch under his skin that he couldn't scratch.

The tension peaked during tonight’s game against State. Christian, the untouchable Captain of the Kingsley Ice Hockey Team, was playing like a man possessed—but not in a good way. He missed a crucial check, his skating was erratic, and he spent more time in the penalty box for unnecessary roughness than he did on the ice. In the locker room afterward, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and failure.

"The hell was that, Sterling?" Silas grunted, pulling his jersey over his head, his face bruised from a puck. "You were skating like you had lead in your skates. You almost cost us the lead."

Julian chuckled from the next bench, leaning back with a smirk as he adjusted his expensive watch. "Give him a break, Silas. Maybe our Captain is just distracted. I noticed the scholarship peasant wasn't in her usual spot tonight. What happened, Sterling? Did your little pet finally find a new owner?"

Christian’s head snapped up, his icy blue eyes flashing with a predatory, dangerous light. He slammed his locker door so hard the metal groaned. "Shut the hell up, Julian," he hissed, his voice low and vibrating. "She’s not a pet, and I don't give a damn where she is. Keep her name out of your mouth before I put my fist through it."

He didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed his leather jacket and stormed out.

Desperation is a foul-smelling thing, and Christian could taste it in the back of his throat as he tore out of the parking lot in his matte black Porsche. He didn't have to think about where he was going; his subconscious had already mapped it out. He knew her schedule better than his own—every shift, every bus route, every late-night study session. He pulled up to the curb of the dimly lit coffee shop where Valeria worked the closing shift, the neon sign flickering against the rain-slicked pavement.

He walked in, the bell above the door chiming with a cheerful sound that grated on his nerves. The place was half-full. His eyes scanned the room with a laser-like focus, ignoring the curious glances from other customers. And there she was. Her back was turned to him, her hair tied up as she worked the espresso machine, moving with a weary grace that made his chest tighten. He approached the counter, his heart hammering against his ribs.

A different girl, a blonde with a forced smile, stepped forward to intercept him. "Welcome to The Grind, what can I get for—"

Christian didn't even look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the back of Valeria ’s head. He didn't want coffee. He didn't want service. He wanted the world to stop turning until Valeria turned around and looked at him with that old, familiar devotion.

"I'm not here for a drink," he rasped, his voice cutting through the hum of the machines, directed straight at the girl who was currently pretending he was a ghost. "Valeria , turn around and look at me."

"Don't you dare ignore me now that I'm standing right in front of you," Christian spat, his voice heavy with a rage he could barely contain. "What is this, Valeria ? Some new game? You think you're so important now that you've stopped answering my texts?" He leaned forward, invading her personal space despite the bar separating them.

"You’ve spent weeks acting like I’m invisible. I spent the whole fucking game looking for you in the stands and you didn't even bother to show up. I've had to put up with Silas and Julian’s mockery because of you!" His tone rose slightly, drawing the eyes of a couple of customers at a nearby table, but he didn't give a shit about making a public scene.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. I don't care how much work you have or who’s watching; you owe me an explanation for why you suddenly decided I don't exist to you anymore. You can't just erase ten years of your life and expect me to sit back and do nothing. Turn the hell around, now!" He ended up becoming desperate because of your continued disregard, even when he asked for answers. . . . Now

The bell above the coffee shop door didn’t just chime; it announced a declaration of war. Christian walked in, but he wasn’t alone. Draped over his arm was Sophia, the undisputed queen of the Finance faculty—a woman whose tanned skin, cascading black hair, and sheer vanity made her a literal trophy. She was exactly the kind of woman a man like Christian should be with: expensive, stunning, and utterly superficial.

Christian led her straight to the counter, specifically choosing the stool right in front of Valeria ’s station. He didn't just sit; he claimed the space. As Valeria approached to take the order, Christian’s performance began. His hand, heavy and possessive, slid firmly around Sophia’s waist, pulling her flush against his side.

"What do you want, babe? Get whatever you like, it’s on me," he cooed, his voice dripping with a forced, sugary affection. He called her every sickeningly sweet nickname in the book, leaning in to whisper against her ear just loud enough for Valeria to hear, all while his icy blue eyes were locked onto Valeria , searching for a crack, a flinch—anything.

Then came the kicker. He turned Sophia’s face toward his and kissed her—a deep, theatrical display of staged passion that would have looked like genuine love to any stranger. But over Sophia’s shoulder, his gaze never wavered from Valeria .

Yet, as Valeria calmly noted the order and walked away without so much as a tremor in her hands, the mask slipped. The moment Valeria was out of earshot, the "loving" pressure of his hand on Sophia’s waist vanished, replaced by a cold, frustrated stiffness.

"God, you’re so hot, Chris," Sophia giggled, oblivious to the war being waged. "We should skip the rest of this and just find a motel. I want you all to myself tonight."

Christian forced a tight smirk. "Yeah? Maybe we will," he rasped, his heart not in it. When Sophia excused herself to go to the bathroom, sashaying away in her designer heels, the silence at the counter became unbearable.

Valeria returned, carrying a tray with the steaming cups. As she placed his coffee down. His hand shot out, not for the cup, but to grab the tray and pull it—and her—closer toward him.

"You see her, Valeria ? Sophia knows how to appreciate what she has. She doesn't act like a ghost. She actually knows how to treat a man like me with some fucking respect." His eyes dark with a mix of hurt and malice. "Not like you. It’s funny, isn't it? I guess you lost your sense of taste right along with your father's bank account."

"Or did you finally realize that the only man who can make you happy is me?" Christian leaned back in his chair, smiling arrogantly. "Because if that's the case, I can tell Sophia to fuck off right now."