Roxy POV
A phone screen flashing red with thousands of toxic notifications before the morning alarm even sounded was the first sign that my life had disintegrated overnight.
I didn’t even have to tap the screen.
The lock display was a relentless, scrolling waterfall of hatred.
My cracked screen glowed bright red under the weight of thousands of tag notifications, private messages, and news alerts.
@KingstonElite_Leaks: Scholarship slut uses cheap tricks to trap hockey prince Jaxon Montgomery live on national TV!
@TrustFundTalk: Look at her dress.
She probably stole it.
#AshenvaleTrash #GoldDigger
@CassandraBelmont_FanClub: Who let this poor charity case anywhere near the Blackwells?
Cancel her scholarship!
My stomach violently turned over.
I sat up in my tiny dorm bed, my heart racing as my trembling thumb swiped open a viral link circulating on the university app.
My breath hitched in my throat, a suffocating pressure crushing my chest.
Someone had created a fake account dedicated entirely to ruining me.
There were photos of my family’s modest, worn-down home in Ashenvale—the peeling paint on the porch, the dented sedan in the driveway, even a zoomed-in shot of my mother walking out the front door in her worn nurse scrubs.
Beneath the photos were fake financial ledgers, claiming my mother was taking bribes to pay off our family debt, framing me as an opportunistic parasite who targeted Jaxon to leech off his family’s billions.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, my voice breaking in the quiet room.
Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I forced them down with enough willpower.
I couldn’t afford to break.
If I broke now, Richard Montgomery won.
Cassandra Belmont won.
I threw off my thin blanket, dressed in my usual worn blue jeans and a plain black hoodie, and tied my dark hair back into a tight, neat bun.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, refusing to look at the screen as it vibrated continuously against my hip.
I had two morning classes and a shift at the campus library.
I wasn’t going to hide like a criminal for something I didn’t do.
The second I stepped out of the dorm building onto the concrete pathways of Kingston Academy, the atmosphere shifted.
The morning air was freezing, but the glares directed at me were colder.
Group after group of wealthy students stopped talking the moment I walked past.
Whispers rippled through the courtyards like a wave of poison.
People pulled out their phones, snapping photos of my face, laughing openly as I kept my chin up and eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Look, it’s the gold-digger,” a girl in an expensive cashmere sweater sneered, intentionally stepping directly into my path on the library steps.
She didn’t move.
She stood there with her friends, arms crossed, forcing me to stop.
“Move,” I said, keeping my voice flat, firm, and devoid of any emotion.
“Or what?” her friend mocked, taking a step closer.
“Going to cry to Jaxon so he fights for you on television again? You don’t belong here, Ashenvale. We all know your family is broke.” This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
I didn’t give them the satisfaction of a response.
I stepped off the stone path, walked around them through the damp grass, and kept moving toward the main humanities hall.
My hands were balled into tight fists inside my hoodie pockets, my short nails digging deep into my palms to keep from shaking.
When I entered the narrow, crowded hallway of the academic building, the hostility escalated from cold whispers to pure intimidation.
Students deliberately bumped their shoulders against mine as they walked past.
Someone even kicked the back of my scuffed sneaker, making me stumble forward before I quickly regained my footing.
I gripped my canvas tote bag tighter, my jaw locked so tight my teeth ached.
I turned the corner toward my macroeconomics classroom, holding a paper cup of hot black coffee I had bought from the campus cart to keep my fingers warm.
Suddenly, a tall guy in a varsity jacket stepped out from behind a line of lockers, blocking the narrow corridor completely.
It was Chad—one of Jaxon’s wealthy, arrogant teammates who sat on the bench during the games.
Beside him stood Chloe, wearing a vicious, triumphant sneer.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the university charity case,” Chad spat, stepping directly into my personal space.
“Get out of my way, Chad,” I said, looking him dead in the eye.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Chloe laughed, stepping up beside him.
“You think taking a ride on the Montgomery bank account is going to save your trashy family? You ruined Jaxon’s engagement. You made Cassandra look like a fool on live news.”
“Jaxon didn’t tell me he and Cassandra were an item,” I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my veins.
“Now step aside before I report both of you to campus security.”
“Report us?” Chad barked out a laugh.
“With what authority, Brooks? Your scholarship is getting pulled out anyway. You’re nothing here.”
Before I could respond to him, Chad flicked his wrist with sudden force.
“Paff.”
He slapped the hot cup of coffee straight out of my hand.
The paper cup exploded against my chest, splashing scalding black liquid across my black hoodie and soaking straight through to my skin.
I let out a gasp of pain, stepping back as the hot liquid burned my chest, the cup clattering uselessly against the floor.
Loud, cruel laughter erupted from the crowd of twenty students who had gathered in the hallway to watch the show.
“Oops,” Chad sneered, mocking a fake apology.
“My hand slipped, Ashenvale.”
“Clean it up with your cheap clothes,” Chloe smirked, pulling out her phone to record my soaked hoodie.
A dangerous heat flared in my chest.
I wiped the wet fabric from my skin, my eyes locking onto Chad with fury.
I took a step forward, ready to shove him back regardless of the consequences—
A sudden blur of motion crashed through the crowd.
Before Chad could even register the movement, a large, thick hand shot out of nowhere, gripping Chad’s leather varsity collar with terrifying strength.
“Slam.”
Chad was shoved backward so hard his spine slammed into the metal lockers, the impact echoing through the corridor like a thunderclap. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
The crowd’s laughter died instantly, replaced by a wave of terrified gasps.
Jaxon Montgomery stood towering over Chad, his face a terrifying mask of dark, murderous fury.
Jaxon wasn’t wearing his team jacket.
He wore a black coat, his sharp jawline bruised, the cut on his cheek covered by a fresh white bandage.
His stormy grey eyes were burning with a fire as he pulled Chad’s collar tighter, lifting the guy two inches off his feet against the lockers.
“Touch her again,” Jaxon growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that made every student in the hallway freeze in terror.
“And I swear to God, Chad, you won’t walk onto an ice rink for the rest of your life.”
Chad’s face went completely pale, his hands clawing uselessly at Jaxon’s iron grip.
“Jaxon—man, it was just a joke—”
Jaxon shoved Chad sideways, sending him sprawling awkwardly onto the floor.
Chloe shrank back against the wall, her phone slipping from her fingers as Jaxon turned his head, his cold glare sweeping over the crowd of silent students.
Nobody dared to breathe.
Nobody dared to make a sound.
Jaxon didn’t glance at Chad again.
He turned slowly toward me, his boots stepping over the spilled coffee on the floor.
His grey eyes softened a little as he looked down at the dark, wet stain on my hoodie, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle throbbed in his cheek.
Without a word, Jaxon reached out, grabbed my wrist with a firm, protective grip, and pulled me away from the crowd, leading me down the hallway toward the side exit.
“Jaxon, stop,” I said as soon as we burst through the double doors into the quiet courtyard.
I pulled my wrist from his grip, my heart hammering against my chest.
“I had it under control.”
Jaxon stopped and turned around to face me.
He looked huge, dangerous, and unbothered by the chaos we had just left behind.
“You call getting hot coffee thrown on you under control, Brooks?” Jaxon demanded, his deep voice laced with a tension that cut through the freezing morning air.
“They’re doing this because of the kiss!” I snapped, my emotional walls threatening to crack under the pressure.
“Your father, the blogs, the pictures of my family’s house… my whole life is being dragged through the dirt because of your stunt last night!”
Jaxon didn’t flinch.
He took one step closer, towering over me, his shadow blocking out the harsh morning sun.
His bare fingers reached out, gently hooking under my chin to lift my face toward his.
“My father wants to play dirty,” Jaxon rasped, his thumb brushing over my lower lip where his blood had rested hours ago.
“He thinks he can isolate you. He thinks if he makes your life hell on this campus, you’ll run back to Ashenvale and leave me alone.”
“It’s working, Jaxon,” I whispered, my voice trembling despite myself.
“I’m losing my scholarship.”
“No, you’re not,” Jaxon said, his tone flat, final, and unbreakable.
His hand moved from my chin to grasp my waist, pulling me firm against his side just like he did on the ice.
“Pack your bags for tonight, Brooks,” Jaxon ordered, his stormy eyes locking onto mine with an undeniable promise.
“You’re not hiding from these anymore. It’s time for my first payback night.”