Page 10

10

Fiona

The game is over, and the team has won. The crowd is still roaring, their cheers vibrating through the walls, but all I can do is stare at Stellan as he skates off the ice, his face lit up with that grin of his. He’s been incredible all game, and as I watch him, it’s impossible to ignore the way my heart races. He looks at me in a way that makes me feel like the only person in the room, like he’s focused solely on me. And in return, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

Every glance he throws my way sends a shock through me, makes my body react in ways I’m not ready to deal with. I want him—there’s no denying it. The chemistry between us is undeniable, and it feels like something is shifting, something real beneath all the fake smiles and cameras.

But then the game ends, and the moment breaks. He’s off to the locker room with his teammates, and I stand there in the stands, trying to shake off the rush of emotions that have been building inside me. I’m not supposed to feel this way. It’s all pretend. It has to be. But I can’t stop myself from wanting something more.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. As I head down toward the exit, I overhear a conversation between a couple of women near the hall. Their voices are hushed, but I can hear them clearly as they gossip about the players.

“Stellan Stephenson, huh?” one woman says, her voice dripping with judgment. “He’s such a player. Heard he’s the type who uses women and tosses them aside once he’s done with them.”

I freeze mid-step, the words striking me like a slap to the face. The other woman laughs, clearly unfazed.

“I’ve heard the same,” she says. “He’ll charm you, get you in bed, and then move on to the next. You can’t take him seriously. He’s just looking for a good time.”

I swallow hard, my heart sinking. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard rumors about Stellan, but hearing it so openly, so bluntly, stings. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this fake relationship, but hearing these women talk about him like he’s some kind of heartless player—it hurts more than I expected. I should’ve expected it, right? He’s a celebrity, a hockey star. Of course, they’re going to talk about him like that.

I try to push the thoughts out of my mind as I walk out of the arena, but they linger, gnawing at me.

Once I get back to my place, I’m still feeling restless. I know I should just let it go, but I can’t. The image of Stellan’s smile, the way he looks at me—it’s all clouding my thoughts.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, hoping for something, anything, to distract me. It’s a text from Stellan.

"Hey, you up? Wanna hang out after the game?"

The message is simple, casual—exactly like I’d expect from him. But right now, with everything swirling in my head, I don’t know how to respond. I stare at the message for what feels like forever, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to text back and tell him I’m free, that I want to see him, but I don’t. Not this time.

Instead, I put my phone down on the coffee table and walk away, trying to drown out the voices in my head. But I can’t. They keep creeping back in. The rumors, the way the women were talking about him, the way he could easily leave me behind without a second thought.

An hour later, there’s a knock on my door. My heart leaps in my chest, and I already know who it is. I walk over to the door, my hand trembling slightly as I reach for the handle. I open it to find Stellan standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, looking like he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft but still playful. "I figured I’d stop by. You didn’t answer my text."

I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. I hate the way he looks at me with that innocent smile, the one that’s so damn charming, it almost makes me forget everything. Almost.

“I got your message,” I say, my voice colder than I mean it to be. “But I didn’t feel like hanging out tonight.”

Stellan’s smile falters for a split second, but then it’s back, like he’s brushing off my words. “Come on, Fiona. Don’t be like that.” He steps closer, his scent surrounding me—something musky and warm, and it hits me like a wave.

“I’m not being like anything,” I say quickly, holding up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. “I just... I need some space. It’s been a long night.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s studying me, but he doesn’t push. “Alright, I get it,” he says, his tone softening. “But I don’t want you thinking I’m just here for the pictures and the interviews. I meant it when I said I wanted to see you. Really.”

I feel a sharp pang in my chest at his words. I want to believe him. I really do. But the doubt is still there. The whispers from earlier, the rumors I’ve heard... it’s hard to push them away, hard to ignore the fact that what we have—this whole act—could be just that. An act.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Stellan,” I say, my voice quieter now. “You’re not just some regular guy. You’re the center of the media circus, and I’m just... part of it.” I look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “You’re the one who kissed me in front of the cameras. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, finally, he sighs, stepping back slightly. “I’m not pretending anything, Fiona. I’m here because I want to be. I’m not playing you, and I’m not playing around. I meant what I said when I kissed you. It wasn’t for the cameras. Not at all.”

His words send a wave of heat through me, but the doubt is still there. I can’t just ignore it. Not yet.

“I need time to figure this out, Stellan,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not some pawn in your game. I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Stellan looks like he’s about to say something else, but instead, he simply nods. He takes a step back, but his gaze never leaves mine. “Okay,” he says softly. “I get it. But I’m not going anywhere, Fiona. Not if you don’t want me to.”

He turns and walks away, leaving me standing at the door, my heart in a mess of emotions. He’s right. I want to believe him. But how can I, when I’m not sure what’s real anymore?