Chapter Five
MILA
The moment I stepped into the hallway the next day, the air was so thick with tension, I nearly choked on it. Heads turned, whispers rippled past me, curling upward the way cigarette smoke did. I slowed, senses spiraling. Something was wrong.
Clusters of girls—Elise’s crew—lined the lockers ahead. They parted, backs stiffening, allowing her to glide forward first. A black leather jacket, heels clicking against tile, designer bag swinging low. Triumph shadowed her eyes. A smile curved her lips, a fuse freshly lit.
I froze by my locker, stomach twisting as I saw Trash scrawled across the metal in jagged black marker. The ink dripped, bleeding into the surface, part watercolor gone wrong, part open wound. My chest clenched, but I refused to wince.
One thing was for sure, I didn’t dress the same.
Jeans, a gray vintage fitted T-shirt, and beat-up sneakers.
I liked what I wore, but Mom and I had never wasted cash on designer brands when we could find cool knockoffs or other styles.
Did I want to look like Elise? I let my gaze travel the length of her.
Nope. Not even a little. If I wanted to wear designer clothes someday, I would for me, but never to fit in. I wasn’t built that way.
Elise stopped two lockers down, arms folded. The corners of her lips twitched with amusement.
I snorted. She thought defacing my locker would crack me. She didn’t know. I’d survived worse.
A year ago, my mom and I had landed in East LA—squatting in neighborhoods where gang members ruled the hallways, not princesses in designer jackets.
I traded heels for beaten sneakers and learned to fight on my feet.
Edwardo, the boxing instructor who let us crash in the apartment above the gym, taught me how to throw punches—and how to take them.
He was divorced, had a daughter who lived in another state, and he took me under his wing as though I was his own.
Elise sneered. “Looks like someone doesn’t want you here.”
Tori, her sidekick, leaned in. Her whispered “charity case” cut through the air. Elise laughed—teeth bright and sharp. Nina brought up the rear and shoulder-checked me hard enough to jolt me.
I didn’t flinch. A shoulder-check? Child’s play. I let a smirk curl. My eyes hardened.
Elise watched, waiting for me to shrink. I met her gaze. “That the best you’ve got?”
Her smirk faltered—before she recovered, flicked her jet-black hair, and said, “Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning.”
I rolled my eyes and yanked open the locker with more force than necessary. If she thought a little vandalism would scare me, she would never survive a battlefield.
By the time lunch rolled around, it felt like I had walked into an arena where I was the main show. Conversations stilled as I stepped in. Every table shifted, predatory—sharks circling fresh blood. It was getting old, but I had to deal.
At the center sat Luke, framed by his teammates—Jax, Chase, Theo.
He leaned into the group, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.
Untouchable. Unbothered. But the moment our eyes met, everything shifted.
Hurt flickered in his gaze. Suspicion. Regret.
Then poof—all of it buried under layers of polished apathy.
Before I could even center myself, a tray of steaming pasta splattered onto my chest. Red sauce splotched my shirt. Elise’s bloodred nails still gripped the edge of the tray as she smirked.
“Well, don’t you look like a public service announcement,” she said, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. “Some people need a little seasoning.”
I swallowed my discomfort. But I refused to let her see me squirm. “Fuck off, Elise.” Anger rolled through me, but it wasn’t fully directed at her. She wasn’t even worthy of being on my radar.
The first school we ran to after leaving Blackwood was in the worst part of LA—East LA.
Real gang turf wars, real violence. I’d seen knives, shivs, bodies dropped behind taco trucks.
I survived that. There was no way a cafeteria stunt scared me.
It was uncomfortable, unwanted, but survivable and far from the end of the world.
My tray, still in my hands, tilted, slipping from my grip, and a malicious grin curved my mouth as I let it fall. The tray hit with a clang. Chili launched like shrapnel—most notably onto Elise’s pristine, knee-high Balenciaga boots. White. Of course they were white.
Her shriek knifed through the room. “Are you fucking serious?” She looked down at her boots, staring at them as if they were casualties in a fight she hadn’t signed up for.
Sauce slid down the supple leather, pooling near the heel.
A bean clung to the toe. Her nostrils flared. “These cost more than your life.”
I didn’t even flinch. But when her head snapped toward Luke—eyes wide, pleading, expecting him to unleash hell on her behalf—something in me snapped.
The look she gave him wasn’t just panic. It was possessive. Expectant. As if he was hers. Like I never existed.
I didn’t hesitate. Stalking across the room, red sauce and defiance dripping in my wake, I didn’t stop until I made it to his table.
“Enjoying the show?” I asked, loud enough to hush the room.
Luke’s jaw ticked. He didn’t blink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laughed, low and humorless. “Right. Cowardly games. Whispered threats.” And because I was furious, I lobbed a blow beneath the belt. “Funny how the prince of Blackwood turned into his father’s puppet.”
I spat it at him, daring him to take it. And with every eye in the room on us, I sent the message: I’m not afraid.
Luke’s eyes darkened—the only reaction he gave—and that was enough.
Theo cleared his throat behind me. “Dude.”
All eyes flicked between him and Elise.
Luke didn’t answer Theo. He didn’t even blink. And that silence said more than any words.
Fine, he wasn’t going to own up? Whatever. I let my gaze cut to Elise. Funny—she wasn’t directly at his side, no matter how hard she pretended she was. She had underestimated me. And I never forgot who drew first blood.
I couldn’t stay. My chest was tight, and an outraged tremor shook my hands. I abandoned my tray where I left it, hightailed it out of the cafeteria, and headed to the bathroom.
I locked the bathroom door behind me, the echo a little too final. My hand still trembled from Elise’s tray smashing into my chest, but it wasn’t her I was spiraling about. Not really.
From my bag, I pulled out my backup shirt—a tight white tee.
I didn’t choose it to blend in but to be seen.
Once on, I studied myself in the mirror.
It hugged my body like a second skin, the faint outline of my bra visible beneath, my breasts strained against the fabric.
My gray eyes were smoky, filled with fire.
Fury lit me from the inside out. Let them come at me.
I yanked out my phone. My thumb hovered for a moment before tapping the contact I swore I wouldn’t. It rang twice.
“Mila?” My mom’s voice slid through as if she’d been holding her breath all day.
I leaned back against the cool tile wall, stared at the flickering light overhead. “Why are we really back here?” I needed to know the day-in, day-out torture was worth it.
A pause. Long enough to feel like an answer. “You know why. Blackwood Academy opens doors. You graduate from there, you get into whatever college you want. And this job will give us financial security. That was the deal.”
“Bullshit,” I said quietly. “That was the bait. What’s the hook?”
I could hear her exhale. A chair scraping in the background. Papers shifting.
“We agreed to a clean slate. I thought we could make it work—one year. Just enough for you to finish strong and move on.”
I didn’t believe her. It was the same canned answer she gave me before. It hurt. We’d always been a team. She told me her plans, her secrets, and I’d shared mine. But not now. From the moment she said we were moving back, she’d been a vault.
Hanging up, I pushed the unhelpful conversation with my mom aside, wishing it could’ve given me answers, or at the very least, helped take my mind off today’s latest shit show.
I didn’t want to care about any of it, especially Luke. But the thing about pretending not to care? It was harder when I remembered the last time he looked at me like he meant it. And when the thought hit, the memory rolled through my mind like a tidal wave I had no hopes of fighting.
The roof of the arena still radiated warmth from the sun, even though the night air had cooled.
I lay back on the worn plaid blanket, spine against steel, eyes lost in the kind of sky you only got in these places—far from city lights, where stars punched through the dark like tiny, stubborn rebellions.
Luke lay beside me, one arm bent under his head, the other stretched just enough that our hands brushed, knuckles ghosting against one another in lazy intervals. We hadn’t spoken in minutes. We didn’t need to.
Everything about tonight was quiet—our breath, the flick of wind curling around the building’s edge, the distant hum of the rooftop lights blinking behind us. It was the kind of quiet that filled you up and hollowed you out all at once.
Then it streaked across the sky. A shooting star. It burned silver and then was gone in a breath, but I felt it like an earthquake in my chest.
Luke turned his head toward me. “Did you see that?”
“Hard to miss.” I smiled, but my eyes stayed on the trail it left behind, already fading. “Quick, make a wish.”
He huffed a low breath. “You believe in that stuff?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Say it anyway.”
He didn’t speak right away. Just stared upward like the stars had answers he didn’t know how to ask for. Then: “Freedom.”
The word was simple. But his voice made it anything but.
I turned my head then. Studied the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his mouth pressed into a quiet frown. “From what?”
He didn’t look at me. “All of it. My name. The company. The weight I didn’t choose but can’t seem to drop.” He finally glanced over. “It’s as if I’m always holding my breath for a life that isn’t mine. Just once, I want to exhale.”
The ache in my chest deepened. I swallowed, voice tight. “I wish I had that kind of courage.”
His brow furrowed. “You do.”
“No.” I turned back to the sky, stars swimming in my vision.
“I wish I trusted myself enough to go after what I really want. That art wasn’t just some reckless dream to my mom.
That money didn’t have its claws in everything.
That I could believe my talent mattered more than making rent or playing it safe. ”
He didn’t interrupt, just listened, the way he always did when I cracked myself open, piece by piece. Things were different with him—he was the only person I had truly let in to see all of me. And it felt like I was the same for him.
“I wish wanting something didn’t feel like betrayal.”
My throat thickened. “I want to believe it’s okay to want more. Not just survival. But something that’s mine.”
There was a rustle beside me, and then his hand slid into mine. No words. Just a tether.
And in that moment, under a sky painted with a thousand silent promises, I believed him.
I believed that we could both choose something bigger than our bloodlines.
That hockey could be his oxygen. That art could be mine.
That we were two people caught in a world too heavy—and we were somehow holding each other up.
I rolled onto my side and pressed my lips to his. Soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that didn’t just say I want you. It said I see you. It said me too.
He smiled against my mouth. “Make your wish.”
“I already did,” I whispered.
A few weeks later, in the locker room after morning warm-ups, I waited until everyone cleared out. Luke’s bag sat in the corner, unzipped, his gear already half-spilling out like always.
I reached around my neck and unclasped it—the delicate white-gold chain he’d given me after that one night under the stars, the same one I never took off. A single star charm dangled from the center, catching the light like it remembered that night too.
I slipped it into the small zippered pouch on the inside flap of his bag. No note. No big moment. Just a quiet offering. I didn’t want him to know right away. I wanted him to find it later. After the game. When he needed a reminder of what we’d promised each other in the dark.
Luke
The cafeteria buzzed long after Mila had walked away. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t defend myself. Didn’t stop her. I just stood there. Let her accuse me. Let her tear into me—and maybe she had every right to.
“You good, man?” Theo nudged my shoulder as the team filtered out of the cafeteria.
“Fine.”
He didn’t believe me. “You didn’t say a damn thing.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t seem worth it.”
Jax scoffed behind me. “Looked like she hit a nerve.”
“Shut up.” I fought the urge to spin around and tear into Elise. But that wasn’t me in this situation. Not anymore. Not in front of everyone when I couldn’t back Mila. Not after what she’d done—or why she’d left. And especially after my father’s mandate.
The room drained of people. Only the four of us remained, the space feeling hollow. They shut up—not because they respected me but because they knew what I was capable of.
And because they knew what their own families were tied to. Chase’s dad worked closely with mine. Jax’s father handled contracts through Lorne—the cleaner behind King Enterprises’ more “strategic” moves. If anyone understood what it meant to have your hands tied by blood and legacy, it was them.
But I felt it. Cracks spreading. Mila knew my weakness. She’d tapped it. And my father? My brother? That looming empire? It was a twisted web I’d been crawling through without warning.
I locked eyes with Chase. His look said it all—he saw the fracture forming beneath the wall I’d erected. He heard the silent echo between Mila’s words and my silence.
“Elise’s next move?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to back her?”
I didn’t answer. Because no one could know what this war was doing to me. Not yet.