Chapter 3 Chapter three

Chapter Three

Sophia’s POV

“You're hiding something from me.”

I nearly choked on my lukewarm coffee, coughing into a paper napkin as I glared across the library cafe table.

Mia was sitting with her chin propped in her hands, her hazel eyes narrowing into two slits.

“I'm not,” I rasped out, clearing my throat.

“You are.”

“I'm really not, Mia.”

“Sophia, you literally bolted to the bathroom and threw up twenty minutes ago just because you smelled my lunch.”

“It smelled disgusting,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest.

“It was grilled chicken.”

“Exactly. It was greasy and full of misery.”

Mia didn't even crack a smile. She had been my roommate for two years, and she had this terrifying radar for when I was lying through my teeth.

For the past two weeks, she had watched me drag myself out of bed completely exhausted, dodge every meal that had garlic or meat in it, and slip out between classes for unlisted clinic visits.

Her gaze softened, the aggressive interrogation fading into a look of concern that made my stomach knot up.

“Is it your heart?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I went completely silent.

My throat tightened, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth. I hated that look. I hated seeing the panic flicker in her eyes every time my Fading Heart Syndrome came up. She had sat by my bed in the dorm during my worst flare-ups, holding an ice pack to my forehead while my pulse fluttered erratically, and I couldn't stand the thought of making her carry that burden again.

Before I could come up with a sarcastic deflection, my hand moved on instinct, my fingers resting lightly over the flat denim of my lower stomach.

Mia’s eyes tracked the motion instantly and she froze.

Her mouth parted slightly, her gaze snapping from my hand straight back to my face.

“Sophia...” Mia breathed, the blood visibly draining from her cheeks. “Are you pregnant?”

Silence fell over the small corner table. I didn't nod, and I didn't say a single word, but the sudden heat rushing up my neck answered the question for me.

“Holy shit,” Mia gasped, reaching across the table to grab both of my trembling hands. “You're... you're actually pregnant?”

There was no judgment in her voice. If anything, there was only shock.

“I found out a few days ago,” I admitted, my voice barely audible over the sound of the espresso machine behind the counter.

“Who is the father?” she asked immediately, leaning closer. “Sophia, who did this? Is it someone on campus?”

A dark ache settled right behind my ribs. It didn't matter. The jerk didn't ever want to admit to knowing me. This was stupid

Never seen that one before.

The memory of his arrogant drawl made my blood simmer with fresh, burning rage. He remembered. I knew he remembered by the way every trace of humor had vanished from his face the second his eyes met mine. But then again, I wasn't supposed to care.

“It doesn't matter,” I said flatly, pulling my hands back and picking up my backpack. “He's nobody. He's not in the picture, and he's never going to be.”

“Sophia, you can't just.....”

“I have to get to the west wing before my shift,” I interrupted, standing up from the chair. “Come on. Walk with me.”

We exited the student union into the cool autumn breeze, cutting across the courtyard toward the athletic annex.

We were halfway across the plaza when a tall guy in a charcoal athletic jacket stepped directly into our path, holding two protein shakes.

He was broad-shouldered, with awesome features and messy sandy-blonde hair, carrying that distinct, unmistakable swagger of an elite varsity athlete. I didn't know his name, but I recognized his face from the billboards hung outside the sports complex.

“Hey,” he said, stopping right in front of me with an easy, curious grin. “Sophia, right? From the analytics department?”

I blinked, stopping in my tracks. “Yeah. Do I know you?”

“Damon,” he introduced himself smoothly, offering a casual nod. “Varsity forward. Look, I’m only stopping you because of that email you sent to the athletic department server on Tuesday. Your analysis saved us against Westbridge.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “You were playing?”

“Yeah,” Damon said, grinning wider. “Started on the first line.”

“Oh.”

He tilted his head, amused. “You sound disappointed.”

“I was hoping you'd say you were the head coach,” I replied dryly. “At least then someone with actual authority would be reading my breakdowns.”

Damon barked out a sudden, genuine laugh, completely unbothered by the bite in my voice.

“Can I bother you again when I need someone smarter than our coaching staff?” he asked, stepping slightly to the side to let us walk.

I gave a tiny, noncommittal shrug. “Depends. Are you paying?”

“I can definitely arrange that,” he chuckled, giving me a two-finger salute as he backed away toward the training facility. “I'll find you later, Sophia.”

Mia stared at his retreating back, her mouth hanging open. “Did Damon Crest.....the captain of the secondary division and the heir to the Crest pack.....just hit you up for hockey advice?”

“He asked for math, not a date,” I muttered, though a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Thirty minutes later, the brief high of that conversation completely dissolved.

I was sitting in the campus medical center’s private exam room, staring down at the glowing EKG monitor while the old physician reviewed my heart scans with a dark, grim expression.

“Your condition is progressing faster than we expected, Sophia,” Dr. Roberts said, setting his tablet down with a sigh. “The arrhythmia episodes are clustering, and your cellular degradation markers are spiking.”

A cold dread wrapped around my throat, squeezing tight.

“How long do I have?” I asked, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

Dr. Roberts didn't give me a number.

He just looked at me with tired, sympathetic eyes that told me everything I didn't want to hear. “Without a stabilizing bond or specialized treatment that we simply cannot provide here, we are looking at months, not years. You need to reduce your physical strain immediately.”

The implication was terrifying.

I walked out of the medical center in a complete daze, the cold air hitting my face like a slap.

I couldn't tell Mia. I couldn't tell the school. And I would rather die on my own terms than beg Alexander Blackwood for pity just because his baby was growing inside a dying body.

I kept my head down, hurrying along the cobblestone path behind the library to avoid the afternoon crowds.

Suddenly, a strange, electric scent washed over the wind.

Cedarwood. Dark bourbon. Well, that smelt way too familiar.

My erratic pulse suddenly hitched in my chest.....and then, in an instant, the violent fluttering against my ribs stopped completely. A wave of unnatural calm washed through my veins, my heart steadying into a slow, perfect, rhythmic beat for the first time in forever.

I froze in the middle of the empty path. Slowly, my breath catching in my throat, I turned around.

Alexander was standing ten feet behind me under the shadow of the brick archway. He wasn't wearing his usual cocky team grin. He wasn't surrounded by cheering fans, teammates, or cameras.

His dark eyes were wide, fixed entirely on me, his chest heaving under his black jacket as if he had just sprinted across campus.

He was staring at me in disbelieving shock.....and for the first time since that night, I saw the ice-cold control on his face completely crack.