Chapter2

I deliberately pushed the door wide open.

Chloe’s hand sprang away from the mouse. She spun around, a smile plastered across her face.

"Oh, you're back. I wanted to borrow a tissue."

She waved the piece of tissue in her hand and brushed past me. The bathroom faucet squeaked on behind her, the rush of water filling the entire room.

I stood in front of my desk. The screen was still glowing. Without a word, I pressed the screen shut.

The next morning, Chloe was chatting and laughing with Mia in the hallway. When I walked past, Mia's laughter hitched. Chloe didn't look at me.

Three weeks later, freezing rain pelted the concrete steps outside the gymnasium.

Clutching the heavy-duty cortisone shot I had just sprinted three kilometers to the ER to secure, I found Ethan. He sat on a bench beneath the overhang, staring blankly at the medical report in his hands.

"The team doctor gave me an ultimatum. A secondary meniscus tear." His voice was hoarse as he buried his face in his hands. "If I can't play next month, my full athletic scholarship is gone. Aria, I'm done."

I fought down the violent dizziness of a 102-degree fever and stepped in front of him.

"No, you're not." I shoved the pharmacy bag into his hands and gripped his shoulders hard. "Give me tonight. I'll hammer out that market projection paper right away. As long as I secure the massive grant from the top academic award, I'll pay for your surgery and your tuition."

Ethan looked up at me. His lips moved, but he didn't say a word.

"Find somewhere dry. Wait for my text."

Ignoring my burning forehead and completely soaked clothes, I yanked my backpack straps tight and sprinted back into the downpour.

A few minutes later, a sleek black Porsche pulled up in front of Ethan.

Chloe rolled down the window. "Ethan."

"It's too late."

"Your knee." That was all she said.

"Get in."

He hesitated for five seconds. Then, he pulled the car door open.

Inside the car, Chloe turned to him, skipping the pleasantries. She angled her phone screen toward him—a photo, a screenshot of the title page of Aria's paper.

"Your girlfriend has a model on her laptop. A complete one," Chloe said. "You copy it for me, and my family can put your name straight into the Sterling subsidiary's Sports Development Fund. Medical bills, scholarships, an agent—a full package deal. You won't have to play another game to be set for the rest of your life."

Ethan stared at the screenshot. "That's hers."

"She's a fast writer." Chloe pulled her phone back, her tone entirely dismissive. "It's just a paper. If she loses it, she can rewrite it. But your knee—how many more chances do you have to start over?"

Ethan fell silent for a long time. He looked at the screenshot on the phone, his fingers unconsciously gripping his pants.

"How do I get it?"

"You know her password better than anyone," Chloe said.

"Let me think about it."

2:00 a.m. A secluded corner of the library.

The red line on the thermometer was nearing 103 degrees. Tightly wrapped in my thin jacket, I downed the last mouthful of cold coffee and hammered away at the keyboard.

The final line of the risk-control code was vetted.

The Sterling Conglomerate: Core Projection Model for Global Market Returns Over the Next Decade was officially compiled and generated.

This was not just a paper. It was my ultimate trump card to prove to my father that I was worthy of a hundred-billion-dollar throne. It was a bargaining chip I had traded my life to forge.

The second I hit the enter key to save, I collapsed completely onto the desk.

After I fell asleep, someone pushed open the library door.

Footsteps approached from the other end of the corridor. They were light, and then they stopped right in front of me.

I felt a shadow fall over me. Someone stood very close to me, watching me. For a long time.

Hovering between sleep and wakefulness, I sensed a hand reaching out, but it froze in mid-air and pulled back.

My fever was so high that I couldn't tell if this was a dream or reality.

The keyboard was bumped.

Then, something was plugged into the computer's side port. Blue light spilled from the edges of the screen. Even through my closed eyelids, I could feel it. I desperately wanted to open my eyes, but I couldn't.

The person remained completely silent. Not a single word was spoken throughout the entire process. But I caught a scent.

A muffled click sounded, and the footsteps began moving toward the door.

When they reached the doorway, the footsteps paused, as if the person were hesitating. Then, the sound faded away. The door clicked shut.

Outside the window, the rain kept falling.

The library returned to silence. A trail of wet footprints stained the floor, stretching from the door to my desk, and then back again. But my eyes remained closed.

That scent still lingered in the air. A faint hint of soap, mingled with the dampness of a rain-soaked jacket.

My breathing was shallow.

When I woke up tomorrow, I would probably only remember having a very, very long dream. In that dream, someone stood beside me, standing there for a long time. But I couldn't call out his name.