The Mascot's Fake Fiancé

Chapter 5

Maya didn't sleep that night.

She lay in the ridiculously comfortable guest bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the press conference. Derek's hand on her back. The way he'd looked at her when he said she was the only person who'd ever been honest with him. The way her heart had stuttered in response.

It's acting, she told herself. It's all acting.

But if it was acting, why did it feel so real?

She grabbed her phone and opened her blog dashboard. The Sideline Scribe had been silent for three days now, and her followers were getting restless. Hundreds of comments demanding updates. Speculation about where she'd gone.

And then there was the death threat.

She'd almost forgotten about it in the chaos of the engagement announcement. But now, scrolling through her messages, she saw it again.

"Sideline Scribe, keep writing about Derek Cross and you'll regret it. I know who you are. Watch your back."

She should be scared. She was scared. But she was also angry. How dare someone threaten her for telling the truth? How dare they try to silence her?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened a new draft and started typing.

@SidelineScribe: So Derek Cross has a fiancée. And apparently, she's a sports agent from a struggling agency. How convenient. A PR stunt if I've ever seen one. Let's break down the facts:

1. He's been spotted with different women every week for the last two years.

2. His reputation is in freefall.

3. Suddenly, he's engaged to a "childhood friend" no one's ever heard of?

Call me cynical, but this looks like damage control. And the only person who's going to get hurt is the woman caught in the middle.

I've been watching Derek Cross for years. I know his patterns, his excuses, his carefully crafted image. And trust me when I say: this isn't love. It's strategy.

To his so-called fiancée: run while you still can.

—The Sideline Scribe

She stared at the post, her finger hovering over the publish button.

This was a mistake. Derek had asked her to write about him. He'd told her the truth about his reputation, about the pain he carried. And here she was, tearing him apart again.

But the blog was her voice. Her platform. The only way she'd ever been able to fight back against people like him—people who used their power to crush others.

She hit publish.

Then she closed her laptop, rolled over, and tried to forget what she'd just done.

---

Morning came too quickly.

Maya was in the kitchen, making coffee, when Derek walked in. He was already dressed, hair still wet from the shower, and he was holding his phone.

"Maya," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "We need to talk."

She froze. "About what?"

He held up the screen. "About this."

She felt the blood drain from her face. The post was already trending. Hundreds of comments. Thousands of shares.

"The Sideline Scribe calls out Derek Cross's engagement."

"Is it real or just a PR stunt?"

"The Scribe never misses."

"I can explain," she started, but Derek cut her off.

"You wrote this. After everything we talked about. After I told you the truth about my reputation." His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "You wrote this and didn't tell me."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? He was right.

"The point of the blog," he continued, "was to expose people who deserved it. People who lied, who cheated, who hurt others. And I get it—I was that person. But I trusted you. I thought you saw something different."

"I do see something different," she said quietly. "That's why I wrote it."

He stared at her. "What?"

She took a breath. "I wrote it because I had to protect myself. Because I'm scared." She met his eyes. "I'm scared of what's happening between us. I'm scared that this is just going to end with me getting hurt. And I'm terrified that I'm actually starting to believe the things you said yesterday."

Derek was silent for a long moment.

"That's not an excuse," he said finally. "But I understand it."

She blinked. "You do?"

"Maya." He stepped closer. "I've been running from my reputation for years. I've made mistakes—real ones. I've hurt people. But I'm trying to change. And I need you to trust that." He paused. "Not as the Sideline Scribe. As the woman I'm pretending to be engaged to."

"Those aren't the same person," she said quietly.

"No," he agreed. "But maybe that's the problem. Because the Maya I've been spending time with doesn't look at me like I'm the enemy anymore. And I don't want to lose that."

She looked away, her chest tight. "I don't know if I can do this."

"I know." His voice was soft. "But I'm asking you to try."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Derek's assistant poked her head in. "Mr. Cross, your practice is in thirty minutes."

He nodded, not taking his eyes off Maya. "We'll finish this later."

When he was gone, Maya sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She was in too deep. The blog. The engagement. The way her heart raced every time he looked at her.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind, a quiet voice whispered:

Maybe you're not pretending anymore.