Chapter 14
Amara
Happiness is a dangerous anesthetic. It numbs you to the risks. It makes you believe that the laws of gravity—and consequences—have been suspended just for you.
For the last three weeks, I had been high on it.
I was living in a state of perpetual, terrifying bliss. My collection was almost finished. My grades were up. And every night, I fell asleep wrapped around the hardest, most complicated man on campus, who looked at me like I was the only source of light in his monochrome world.
We were invincible.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself as I walked across the quad toward the Design Studio, humming a song that had been stuck in my head since Ezra sang it in the shower this morning. (Yes, the Iceman sang. Badly. It was adorable.)
I was wearing his scarf. Not hidden under my coat this time, but wrapped proudly around my neck. It was cashmere, charcoal grey, and smelled faintly of his cologne.
“Hey, Vane!”
I turned, flashing a smile. It was Miller, one of Ezra’s teammates. He was jogging to catch up with me, his breath puffing in the cold air.
“Hey, Miller. What’s up?”
“Just heading to the library,” he said, falling into step beside me. He glanced at the scarf. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Nice scarf. Looks expensive. Looks… familiar.”
I felt a flutter of panic, but I shoved it down. Miller was harmless. He was Ezra’s friend.
“It’s a loan,” I said smoothly. “Ezra felt bad about the draft in the penthouse. He’s very chivalrous.”
“Right. Chivalrous.” Miller chuckled. “Listen, Amara. The guys are… we’re happy for you. For both of you. Cap’s been different lately. Less… robotic. He actually laughed at a joke yesterday. It was weird, but good.”
I smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest.
“He’s human, Miller. He just hides it well.”
“Yeah, well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. We need him loose for the playoffs.”
He winked and veered off toward the library.
I watched him go, feeling a swell of pride. I wasn't just the fake girlfriend anymore. I was part of the ecosystem. I was helping.
I walked into the Design Studio feeling like I could conquer the world.
My dress form was waiting for me. The oxblood leather gown was nearly done. It was structured, fierce, and architectural. I had named it The Fortress.
“Morning, genius,” Jules called out from her station. She was wrestling with a bolt of tulle. “You look disgustingly cheerful. Did Sterling buy you a pony?”
“Better,” I said, dropping my bag. “He made coffee. And he didn't criticize my shoe choice.”
“True love,” Jules deadpanned.
I laughed and started pinning the hem of the dress.
I was in the zone. The music in my headphones was loud, the fabric was cooperating, and life was perfect.
I didn't hear the door open.
I didn't notice the sudden silence that fell over the front of the room.
“Miss Vane.”
The voice was cold, sharp, and unmistakably authoritative.
I spun around, almost swallowing a pin.
Dean Hammond was standing at the entrance to my workstation. But he wasn't alone.
Standing next to him, looking like a polished statue of corporate malice, was a man I recognized instantly from the photos in Ezra’s office.
Cyrus Sterling.
Ezra’s father.
He was wearing a suit that cost more than my entire education. His silver hair was perfectly coiffed. His eyes—the same ice-blue as Ezra’s, but without any of the warmth—were locked on me.
The air left the room.
“Mr. Sterling,” I breathed. “Dean Hammond. Is… is everything okay?”
Cyrus stepped forward. He moved with a predatory grace that made the hair on my arms stand up. He looked around the chaotic studio with a sneer of distaste, his gaze lingering on Jules’ paint-splattered overalls before settling back on me.
“We were just passing through,” Cyrus said. His voice was smooth, cultured, and terrifying. “I’m on campus for a board meeting. Dean Hammond was showing me the improvements to the Arts facility—funded, in part, by my generous donation.”
“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s… it’s an honor to meet you.”
Cyrus didn't offer his hand. He just stared at me. He was analyzing me. Weighing me. Looking for the debits.
“Ezra speaks highly of you,” he said. It sounded like an accusation. “He tells me you are… focused. Committed to your studies.”
“I am,” I said quickly. “Very committed.”
“Good. Because focus is essential, Miss Vane. Distractions are expensive.”
He took a step closer. He was in my personal space now. I could smell his cologne—it was the same brand Ezra wore, but on Cyrus, it smelled chemical. acrid.
“I received the signed contract,” he said, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “Wise decision. It shows a certain… pragmatic survival instinct. I appreciate that in an acquisition.”
My stomach churned. Acquisition.
“I’m happy to help Ezra,” I whispered.
“Help him?” Cyrus chuckled dryly. “Let’s be clear, Amara. You are not helping him. You are pacifying him. You are a temporary measure to ensure his compliance through the playoffs. Once the season is over… well, we’ll reassess the portfolio.”
He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
“Enjoy the scarf, my dear. It looks a bit… heavy for you.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, Dean Hammond trailing nervously behind him.
I stood there, frozen. My hands were shaking. I felt dirty. I felt small.
“Amara?” Jules was at my side instantly. “What the hell was that? Who was that guy? He looked like he wanted to foreclose on your soul.”
“That was Ezra’s dad,” I whispered.
I reached up and touched the scarf. It suddenly felt like a noose.
Once the season is over… we’ll reassess.
The bubble popped.
I wasn't invincible. I was on a timer.
I needed to see Ezra.
I needed to tell him his father was here. I needed him to tell me it was going to be okay.
I skipped my afternoon class. I walked straight to the rink.
Practice was just ending. I waited by the players' entrance, pacing back and forth in the snow.
When Ezra walked out, he wasn't alone. He was walking with Coach Ramsey.
They were talking seriously. Ezra looked tense. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed.
I stepped back into the shadows of the building, not wanting to interrupt.
“The knee looked good today, Sterling,” Ramsey was saying. “But you’re still favoring it on the turn. The scouts noticed it last week.”
“I know,” Ezra said. “I’m working on it.”
“It’s not just the knee, son. It’s the head. You seem… split. Half of you is on the ice, and the other half is somewhere else.”
Ezra stopped. He looked at the ground.
“I’m focused, Coach.”
“Are you? Because I heard a rumor that your father is in town. And I saw you leaving the locker room early yesterday. You got a girl, Ezra? Because if you do… and she’s messing with your head…”
Ezra looked up.
“She’s not messing with my head,” he said firmly. “She’s the reason I’m still standing.”
Ramsey sighed. He clapped a hand on Ezra’s shoulder.
“Just be careful. This is the big leagues, kid. One slip, one distraction, and it’s over. Don’t let a pretty face cost you the dream.”
Ramsey walked away toward his car.
Ezra stood there for a moment, watching him go. He looked exhausted. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world again.
I stepped out of the shadows.
“Ezra.”
He spun around. When he saw me, his face softened instantly. The tension drained out of his shoulders.
“Amara,” he breathed. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
He walked toward me, closing the distance in two long strides. He reached for me, pulling me into his arms right there on the sidewalk.
“I needed to see you,” I said, burying my face in his chest. “Your dad came to the studio.”
Ezra stiffened.
“What? When?”
“This morning. With Dean Hammond. He… he threatened me, Ezra. Sort of. He called me a temporary measure. He said he’d reassess the portfolio after the season.”
Ezra pulled back, gripping my shoulders. His eyes were blazing with anger.
“He said that to you?”
“Yeah. He made me feel like… like a rental car he was planning to return.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Ezra growled. “I’m actually going to kill him.”
“Don’t,” I said quickly, grabbing his hands. “Please. He’s looking for a reaction. If you blow up, he wins. He’ll say you’re unstable.”
Ezra closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was fighting for control. I could feel the tremors in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry he touched you. He won’t do it again. I promise.”
He opened his eyes. They were fierce. Protective.
“Come here.”
He kissed me.
It was reckless. We were on the sidewalk outside the rink. Anyone could see us. Coach Ramsey could still be in the parking lot. Leo could be walking out.
But neither of us cared.
We kissed like we were trying to erase his father’s words. We kissed with a desperation that bordered on panic.
“Hey! Get a room!”
A car drove by, honking. A group of students leaned out the window, cheering.
We broke apart, breathless.
Ezra looked at the retreating car, then back at me. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.
“They have a point,” he murmured. “We should get a room. Specifically, mine.”
“Ezra, people saw us,” I said, glancing around nervously. “Like, really saw us. That wasn't a ‘fake dating’ kiss. That was a ‘soulmates’ kiss.”
“Good,” he said. He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Let them see. I’m done hiding, Amara. Let my dad see. Let Coach see. I don’t care.”
He pulled me toward his car.
“Wait,” I said, digging my heels in. “What about the contract? What about the distraction talk?”
“Screw the contract,” he said. “And screw the distraction talk. You’re my fuel, remember?”
He opened the door for me.
“Get in. We’re going home. And I’m going to make you forget the name Cyrus Sterling existed.”
I got in.
But as he drove us away, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
We were flying too close to the sun. And Cyrus Sterling was waiting with a pair of scissors to clip our wings.
That night, we were careless.
We ordered pizza. We drank wine. We made love on the living room rug with the curtains open, the city lights watching us.
We talked about the future again. The loft in New York. The dog.
Ezra fell asleep with his head in my lap while I sketched in my notebook.
I looked down at him. He looked peaceful. The lines of stress around his eyes were smoothed out.
I traced his eyebrow with my pencil.
“I love you,” I whispered to the sleeping man.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I reached for it, expecting a text from Jules.
It was a notification from a campus gossip site, The Blackwood Buzz.
Tag: #EzraSterling #AmaraVane #Scandal
My heart stopped.
I opened the app.
There was a photo.
It was blurry, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. It was us. Tonight. Outside the rink.
We were kissing. Ezra’s hands were in my hair. My legs were wrapped around his waist (when did I do that?). It was passionate. It was raw.
The caption read:
“Looks like the ‘Fake Relationship’ isn’t so fake anymore. But sources say Vane signed a contract to be the Captain’s arm candy. Is it love? Or is it a transaction? And what does Daddy Sterling think about his son buying a girlfriend?”
I stared at the screen. The comments were already rolling in.
“She’s a gold digger.”
“He bought her? Gross.”
“Wait, there’s a contract? Spill the tea!”
Someone had leaked the contract.
Or at least, someone knew about it.
I looked down at Ezra. He was still sleeping.
If he saw this… if the team saw this…
They would think he was paying me for sex. They would think our love was a lie.
And Leo.
Oh god, Leo.
If Leo saw this headline… “Daddy Sterling thinks about his son buying a girlfriend”…
He would assume the worst. He would assume Ezra had humiliated me publicly.
I felt sick. The pizza turned to stone in my stomach.
I needed to delete it. I needed to fix it.
But I couldn't. It was out there.
The phone buzzed again.
From: Leo
To: Amara
Time: 11:42 PM
Tell me this isn't true. Tell me you didn't sign a contract to be his whore.
I dropped the phone. It clattered onto the table.
Ezra stirred.
“Mmm? What’s wrong?” he mumbled sleepily.
“Nothing,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Go back to sleep.”
He reached up and grabbed my hand, squeezing it.
“Okay. Love you.”
He drifted back off.
I sat there in the dark, staring at the city lights.
The trap had sprung.
Cyrus hadn't just threatened us. He had planted a bomb. And someone—maybe Leo, maybe a jealous ex, maybe just a cruel student—had just lit the fuse.
I looked at Ezra.
He was going to wake up to a storm.
And it was all my fault. I had signed the paper. I had let him kiss me in public. I had been careless.
I pulled my hand away from his.
I stood up.
I needed to leave. Before he woke up. Before he saw the look on my face.
I needed to find Leo and explain. I needed to do damage control.
I grabbed my coat. I grabbed my bag.
I looked back at Ezra one last time.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I walked out of the penthouse.
The elevator ride down felt like a descent into hell.
I walked out into the cold night air. The wind whipped my hair around my face.
I checked my phone again. The comments were multiplying.
“Sterling is a predator.”
“Vane has no self-respect.”
I started walking toward Leo’s apartment.
I didn't know if he would open the door. I didn't know if he would ever speak to me again.
But I had to try.
Because if I lost my brother… and then I lost Ezra…
I would have nothing.
And the ledger would finally be balanced at zero.