The Smell of Revenge
Noelle's PoV:
I didn't come to Harlow University to fall in love. I came to destroy a family.
The Harlow University hallways smelled like fresh floor wax and too many bodies rushing between classes.
I was walking fast, arms full of new textbooks and a notebook balanced on top, trying to get to the ice rink for my first shift. My mind was running through the plan on repeat: get the job, stay invisible, and watch Cole Whitmore from a safe distance. Nothing more.
Then it happened.
I turned the corner too quickly and slammed straight into a tall, solid wall of someone.
Books flew everywhere. My notebook skidded across the floor. A pen rolled under a bench. I stumbled back, nearly losing my balance, and felt strong hands catch my elbows to steady me.
"Whoa ,sorry about that!" a deep, warm voice said.
I looked up and froze.
Cole Whitmore stood right there, surrounded by two of his teammates. He was in a hoodie and jeans, no hockey gear, but still looking like he owned the hallway. His friends laughed behind him, one of them already bending down to help pick up my scattered books.
Cole crouched quickly, grabbing my heavy pre-law textbook before it could get stepped on. "You okay? I didn't see you coming around that corner."
My heart slammed against my ribs. This is not how the plan was supposed to start.
"I'm fine," I said, keeping my voice steady. "My fault. I was walking too fast."
One of his friends , the tall one with the easy grin, Marcus handed me my notebook. "Girl, you almost took out our star player. That would've been a headline: 'Freshman assassinates hockey captain with advanced calculus.'"
Cole laughed, a low, genuine sound. He stood and offered me the heavy textbook. "Marcus is right. You've got some dangerous books there. Pre-law?"
I took the book, our fingers brushing. I pulled back quickly. "Yeah. Pre-law."
"Nice. Serious stuff." Cole tilted his head, still smiling. "I'm Cole, by the way. These clowns are Marcus and Jake."
"I know who you are," I said before I could stop myself. "Number 19. The team talks."
Marcus snorted. "See? Already famous."
Cole rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, welcome to Harlow. Try not to take out any more hockey players with your textbooks, okay? We bruise easily."
I forced a polite smile. "I'll be more careful."
"No problem at all," Cole said, his eyes lingering on me. "See you around."
I walked past them, my heart still racing.
He has no idea, I thought. No idea I'm the girl who's going to burn his family down.
I pushed open the door to the rink area, the cold air hitting me like a slap. My shift was about to start. I adjusted my lanyard and stepped behind the equipment desk.
Diane, my supervisor, was sorting through a box of old donated gear.
"New hire?" she asked without looking up.
"Yes, ma'am. Noelle Mercer."
Diane grunted. "Grab those donation logs and file them. Some of this stuff goes back years."
I knelt beside the box and started sorting. That's when I saw it.
A faded manila folder, tucked at the bottom, half-hidden under a broken skate. On the tab, written in sharpie: Whitmore Industries – Equipment Donation – 2019.
My hands trembled as I pulled it out. Inside: a single sheet of paper. An inventory list. But at the bottom, someone had handwritten a note:
See legal file 14-C. Off-site storage, Chicago.
I stared at the words.
14-C. The same number from my father's old lawyer. The box that contained the evidence.
It was real.
And someone at this rink knew about it.
I slipped the paper into my pocket just as Diane looked up.
"Find something?"
"No," I said, my voice steady. "Just old junk."
She nodded and walked away.
I stood there, the paper burning against my thigh.
The plan had just taken a massive step forward. But also a terrifying one.
What if someone here , in this rink, knows something about the case
And I had no idea if they were friends or enemies.
My phone buzzed.
Eli: You start today? How's it going?
I typed back: Found something. Meet me later.
Then I added: Don't tell anyone.
I put my phone away and looked out at the ice.
Cole was already on the rink, laughing with Marcus, completely unaware that I'd just found a thread that could unravel his entire family.
The plan was working.
But for the first time, I wasn't sure if I was the hunter or the hunted
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Some things should stay buried.
I frowned, my grip tightening around my phone, looking around to see if someone was watching
Then, a second message came in.
Unknown Number: So should you.
A chill slid down my spine.
Slowly… I turned around.
