The night was unusually quiet.
Even the soft humming of city traffic outside our window couldn’t distract me from the storm in my head. Jake was already asleep, his arm slung protectively over me, but my eyes refused to close. The image of that envelope… that photo… was burned into my brain.
And Ethan’s face kept flashing behind my eyelids.
I remembered him—really remembered him now. Not just the forced smiles or casual insults at matches. I remembered how he’d cornered me at the party last semester, reeking of ego and cheap cologne.
“Jake’s just a pretty boy with good luck, Tiya. You could do better… with someone who knows how to win the real way.”
I had laughed it off, but Jake hadn’t. Ethan was always looking for ways to provoke him on the field—and off it.
And now? That same Etha
