chapter 2

Grace's POV:

Jessica's laughter rang through the empty studio like a cracked bell, her manicured nails clicking against her phone screen as she transferred the money.

"Look at you, negotiating like you still have leverage. That's adorable."

The notification buzzed against my hip—five hundred dollars deposited, the other half dangling like bait on a hook I'd already swallowed.

"Fine. A thousand it is."

She leaned in close enough that I could smell her designer perfume, the same brand I'd once worn without thinking.

"But Grace? You'd better put on a good show. Sebastian likes his water girls... enthusiastic."

The implications in her voice made my skin crawl, but I kept my expression neutral as she pressed a St. Jude Athletics water bottle into my hands.

The plastic was cold against my palm, branded with the university crest that had once meant prestige but now felt like a cruel irony, silently mocking everything I'd lost.

They swept past me in a cloud of perfume and cruel satisfaction, their laughter echoing down the hallway long after they'd disappeared.

I stood there for a moment, gripping the water bottle hard enough to make the plastic creak, before my phone vibrated with an incoming message.

Noah's name lit up the screen, and despite everything, I felt my lips curve into the first genuine expression I'd worn all day. My twin brother—my other half, my constant in a world turned upside down.

Hey sis. Made another $400 at the restaurant today. Already sent it to your account. Stop worrying about the money situation, okay? I've got this handled.

The text blurred as tears pricked at my eyes.

Noah, barely twenty like me, had taken a leave from school to shoulder our family's financial burden. He worked around the clock, juggling multiple jobs that left dark circles under his eyes and calluses on his hands that hadn't been there before.

As if sensing my guilt, Noah's next message popped up, his tone deliberately casual: *Hey, don't you dare feel guilty on me. You're killing it at ballet like always. Besides, someone's gotta be the talented one in this family, right? *

I wiped my eyes quickly, typing back with trembling fingers: Thank you, but please take care of yourself first.

His response was immediate: Don't worry about me, I'll take care of myself. Actually just landed another part-time gig tomorrow that pays really well.

Oh, and mom asked about you yesterday during a lucid moment. She was happy to hear you're still dancing ballet—it really brightened her day.

I'll come see her this weekend, I typed back.

I tucked my phone away and checked the time.

The hockey game would start soon. I wiped away the last traces of tears, gathered what remained of my composure, and headed toward the arena.

The water bottle felt heavier with each step toward the ice rink, weighted with more than just liquid. This was survival in its ugliest form—trading pieces of my dignity for the chance to keep my family afloat another day. But if that's what it took, then I'd deliver water to Satan himself.

The Glacial Palace loomed ahead, its modern architecture a testament to the Cross family generosity—or their need to mark territory, depending on perspective.

Even from outside, I could hear the crowd gathering, smell the mixture of ice and anticipation that preceded every game.

St. Jude took hockey seriously, and Sebastian Thorne was their golden boy—handsome, skilled, from a family just wealthy enough to matter but not so powerful as to be untouchable.

I'd barely made it through the entrance when the noise hit me like a physical force.

The stands were already packed, a sea of crimson and gold jerseys bearing player numbers and names.

The entire arena erupted in cheers for Sebastian. Whether it was his face or his skills on the ice, he drew screams and applause from every corner of the rink.

They were clearly dominating the game, maintaining a comfortable lead when the buzzer sounded for the first intermission.

I quietly found my seat in the Arts Department section and immediately felt someone's gaze on me. Looking around, I met Jessica's eyes—she was gesturing for me to deliver the water.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

Under Jessica's pointed gaze, I picked up the water bottle and made my way toward Sebastian's team rest area.

Security kept fans at a respectful distance, so I stopped at the barrier, holding up the bottle to signal him. The gesture sparked immediate whispers throughout the nearby crowd.

"What the hell is she doing?" someone gasped nearby.

"Is she actually delivering water? To Sebastian?" another voice pitched high with disbelief.

"Oh my god, does she think this is a basketball game? You don't just walk up to hockey players like that!"

"This is so embarrassing to watch..."

"Who does she think she is?" someone hissed behind me. "She's not that untouchable princess anymore."

"I always thought she was some untouchable goddess who was above us all," a girl laughed cruelly. "Guess once the money's gone, she shows her true colors just like everyone else."

"She's really degrading herself," someone else muttered. "Doesn't she have any pride left?"

Ugly comments drifted to my ears from every direction, but I forced myself to ignore them, keeping my eyes fixed on Sebastian as he skated over.

Sebastian's teammates immediately started whistling and jeering.

"Look at that—the ballet princess actually bringing us water!" one of them called out. "Never thought we'd see the day. Guess we're riding Sebastian's coattails now."

Another player chimed in with a crude laugh.

"Damn, Sebastian, your charm really is something else! Even got the ice princess melting for you!"

More players joined in the mockery, their voices carrying across the barrier.

"What's this about, White? Finally fallen for our boy here? Or is it true what they're saying—daddy's broke, and you need a new sugar daddy?"

I ignored their taunts and mockery, simply holding out the water bottle to Sebastian. He looked at me with a smile, taking the water bottle from my hands.

"Thanks, but you're not really my type, White," he said with casual dismissal, clearly enjoying their admiration and fully aware of his own appeal.