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Fiona

I storm through the halls of my father’s mansion, my heels clicking furiously against the marble floors. I don’t care if I sound like a petulant child—this is outrageous.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath, pacing back and forth in the grand foyer. “I’m not some pawn in your PR game.”

But there he is, my father, the man who no longer cares about his only daughter, sitting in his leather chair in his office, all cool and collected, as though everything is perfectly fine.

“You’ll understand, sweetheart,” my father says from behind his desk, looking up from a pile of paperwork with that trademark Green smirk. “It’s what’s best for the team. And it’ll be good for you too. You’ll see.”

I cross my arms and glare at him. “I don’t need a fake boyfriend to make me look good. I’m perfectly capable of handling my own image, thank you very much. I don’t need to pretend for the cameras, especially with him .”

I wave my hand in the air, as though I can make the very idea of Stellan disappear. The man’s a walking disaster. A hockey god one moment, the next, plastered all over the tabloids with some scandalous headline. His reputation is nothing short of a PR nightmare, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to clean up his mess.

My father sighs and leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the desk. “You’re being dramatic, Fiona. It’s not that big of a deal. Just a few public appearances, some photos together. You won’t even have to do much. Just play the part.”

I scoff. “Play the part? I’m not an actress, Dad. And he’s the last person I’d want to be associated with. You know how wild he is. Everyone’s heard the stories.”

The thought of Stellan brings a wave of nausea to my stomach. I’ve seen the headlines— Stellan Stephenson: Late-night party animal, wild hookup king, and all-around bad boy . The rumors about him are legendary, and I want absolutely no part in any of it. I’ve worked hard for my image, and this? This is just... a mess.

But my father doesn’t give in easily. “You know how important the team is to me, Fiona. You’re the face of this franchise. And I’ve got too many things riding on this. Stellan needs to clean up his act, and this is the best way. You’re doing this for the team. You’re doing this for us.”

The soft pleading in his voice is something I can’t ignore. My father and I are incredibly close. I’ve seen him go through so much to keep this team afloat, and I know how much it means to him. He wouldn’t ask unless it were necessary.

I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples. “You’re asking me to pretend to be in a relationship with someone I can barely stand. How does that help?”

“Fiona,” he says, his voice more serious now. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like for the greater good. I wouldn’t ask this if I didn’t think it was the only way. You’re strong enough to handle it. I know you are.”

I want to argue, to refuse, to throw a tantrum, but the sincerity in his eyes stops me. My father is one of the most determined men I know, and if he believes this is the best option, who am I to fight him?

“I’ll do it,” I say quietly, looking away. “But I’m not happy about it.”

My father smiles, his relief palpable. “I knew you’d come through for the team.”

But just as I’m about to walk out, there’s a knock at the door. I freeze. I know exactly who it is.

“Here he comes,” I mutter, and I can’t help the bitterness creeping into my voice.

My father chuckles. “You’ll do fine. Just treat him like anyone else. He’s just a guy.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “He’s not just a guy, Dad. He’s Stellan Stephenson . The Striker. He’s a walking disaster.”

“Now, now,” my father says with a wink. “Give him a chance.”

I roll my eyes but walk to the door, preparing myself for the worst. I open it to find Stellan standing there, looking every bit the hockey star—tall, broad-shouldered, with that cocky smirk that says he knows he’s the best thing in the world.

He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking the undeniable aura of arrogance that surrounds him. His eyes lock with mine, and I can see the flicker of surprise. He wasn’t expecting the icy reception.

“Fiona Green,” he says, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “I guess I was expecting a warm welcome.”

“Not from me, you’re not,” I snap, crossing my arms. “I’m not here to play along with whatever game you’ve got going on. You’re a mess, Stephenson. Everyone knows it. And now, I’m supposed to pretend to be your girlfriend? Please. Try harder.”

Stellan raises an eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. “You’ve got a lot of spunk, Green. I like that. You sure you don’t wanna just jump right in and kiss me? Save us the trouble?”

I glare at him, my patience wearing thin. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Look, sweetheart,” Stellan says, stepping into the house, uninvited but somehow too charming to be fully annoyed with. “I didn’t sign up for this either, alright? But my career’s on the line, and I guess pretending to date you is my best shot at saving it. So let’s just get this over with, huh?”

My father clears his throat from behind us, and we both turn to look at him. “Alright, you two. This isn’t going to be difficult. You’ll go to a few public events, take some pictures together, and pretend to be madly in love. It’ll be a couple of months, tops.”

“Months?” I exclaim, almost choking on the word. “Months of this?”

Stellan shrugs, his casual demeanor grating on my nerves. “I’m just here for the ride, Green. Don’t blame me.”

I bite back a retort, my emotions already bubbling over. This whole situation is ridiculous, but I’m doing this for my father—and, reluctantly, for the team. I don’t have a choice.

“Fine,” I say, my voice tight with frustration. “But if you think I’m going to make this easy for you, you’re sorely mistaken. You don’t get to walk in here like you own the place.”

Stellan raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. I’m just trying to make this as painless as possible.”

“Painless?” I scoff. “We’ll see how painless this is, Mr. Stephenson. I’m not here for your antics.”

“Hey, I get it,” Stellan says, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not thrilled about this either. But if this helps me get back in the game, then I’ll go along with it. Just don’t expect me to be all ‘romantic gestures’ and flowers, okay? I’m not that guy.”

“Good,” I snap. “Because I’m not the damsel in distress type.”

My father watches us with a smile that’s far too pleased for my taste. “Alright, then. You two can start with a charity event next week. Just a few photos, a few public appearances. Nothing crazy. And remember, no funny business—just a good, solid partnership.”

I’m about to argue more, but the look on my father’s face tells me it’s a lost cause. With a resigned sigh, I turn to Stellan. “This is a one-time thing. And you better keep it professional.”

He grins, that signature cocky smile of his back in full force. “Professional? You got it, Green. To be honest, you’re not my type.”

I don’t know why his words sting like they do, but I pretend like I don’t care. “What? Not slutty enough?” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do than pretend we’re in love.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says with a wink. “But hey, this could be fun. You might even start to like me.”

“I doubt that,” I mutter, turning on my heel.

But as I walk away, I can’t help but notice as Stellan smiles a tiny dimple winks at me from the pocket of his cheek. Ugh. Mother pucker, the man’s gorgeous.