Roxy POV
The suffocating smell of expensive woodsmoke and the low hum of wealthy students whispering hit me the exact second we walked into the campus dining hall.
The air in the room felt thick, choke with the scent of expensive cologne, rich food, and the kind of casual privilege that money bought.
“Smile, Tutor,” Jaxon murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration right next to my ear.
“You look like you’re walking to a firing squad.”
“That would be preferable,” I muttered back through a tight, forced smile, my eyes fixed straight ahead.
The nightmare had started the very next morning, less than eight hours after I signed that cursed piece of paper in the freezing ice arena.
Jaxon didn’t waste a single second cashing in on our contract.
I had just stepped out of my macroeconomics lecture hall, my mind exhausted and my right hip still throbbing with a deep, dark bruise from my collision with the boards, when I saw them.
Jaxon was leaning against the stone pillar right outside the lecture hall doors.
He wore his thick, black and gold varsity hockey jacket, his broad shoulders easily cutting through the crowd of passing students.
He was surrounded by four of his teammates, all of them laughing loudly at something he had said.
The moment the double doors swung open and the students began pouring out, his stormy grey eyes locked directly onto mine.
The crowd seemed to part for him as he straightened up and walked straight toward me.
My heart did a sudden flip against my chest, and my grip tightened on the straps of my backpack.
Before I could say a single word, before I could even draw in a breath to steel myself, Jaxon closed the distance between us.
He didn’t hesitate.
He reached down and slid his large, calloused hand directly into mine, interlocking his thick fingers with my freezing ones in front of dozens of watching students.
My entire body went still at the sudden, intense warmth of his skin.
His hand was huge, enveloping mine, his rough palms scraping against my knuckles.
The heat radiating from his fingers felt like a shock wave traveling straight up my arm, making my breath hitch in my throat.
I instinctively tried to pull away, my muscles tensing to break the grip, but Jaxon’s fingers tightened immediately. The source of this chapter is g.com.
He held my hand with a firm pressure, keeping me to his side.
“Relax,” he whispered under his breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners as if he were sharing a private, loving joke with me.
“They’re watching. Look at me.”
I forced my head up, looking into his handsome, lying face.
All around us, the busy hallway fell into a sudden, stunned quiet.
I could see the girls from the sorority houses stopping dead in their tracks, their eyes wide as they stared down at our joined hands.
The whispers started instantly—sharp, quiet, and buzzing like a nest of hornets.
Is that Jaxon Montgomery?
Who is she?
Isn’t she that scholarship girl?
“Let’s go get some breakfast, babe,” Jaxon said, his voice loud enough to carry over the murmuring crowd.
The word ‘babe’ tasted like poison coming from his lips, but his expression was a flawless mask of affectionate charm.
He didn’t wait for my response.
He turned and led me down the long, wood-paneled hallway toward the grand dining hall, forcing me to match his long, easy strides.
My sneakers felt incredibly loud against the polished tiles floor compared to the expensive boots of the students walking past us.
Every single step felt like a march into a trap, my face burning with a mixture of intense humiliation and boiling anger.
“You didn’t warn me,” I whispered through my teeth, keeping my eyes locked on the grand wooden doors of the dining hall ahead of us.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me without warning.”
“I told you last night, public compliance,” Jaxon replied smoothly, his thumb casually brushing against the back of my hand, a gesture that made my skin prickle with heat.
“Waiting outside your class is standard boyfriend behavior. Get used to it, Roxy. This is what you signed up for.”
We pushed through the double doors into the main dining hall, and the effect was instantaneous.
The low hum of hundreds of wealthy students talking, the clattering of silverware against porcelain, and the quiet music playing from the speakers all seemed to grind to a sudden, screeching halt. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping . com.
Heads snapped toward us in unison.
The silence was heavy, thick, and suffocating.
It felt like every single eye in the room was drilling a hole straight through my cheap denim jacket.
Jaxon acted as if nothing had changed.
He kept his grip tight on my hand, pulling me along the center aisle between the long rows of dark wooden tables.
I could see Nate Miller sitting at one of the hockey tables in the back.
He had a cup of black coffee in his hand, his dark eyes tracking our entrance with that same quiet, unreadable expression from the night before.
He didn’t look surprised, but his jaw was tight as he watched Jaxon parade me through the room.
We neared the center of the hall, where the most expensive, elevated tables sat—the section reserved for the legacy students, the ones whose family names were carved into the stone buildings outside.
Suddenly, the loud, sharp scrape of a chair cutting across the floor shattered the silence.
Chloe Owen stood up from the center legacy table.
As the hockey coach’s wealthy, popular daughter, she ruled the social hierarchy of Kingston Academy with an iron fist.
She was stunning, dressed in a flawless designer sweater, her blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders.
But right now, her beautiful face was twisted into a look of ugly disbelief.
She marched out from behind the table, blocking our path in the middle of the aisle.
Her eyes, flashing with venom, dropped down to lock onto our interlocked fingers, before snapping up to stare at my face.
The entire room held its breath, the silence stretching so tight it felt like it was about to snap.
“Jaxon,” Chloe said, her voice cutting through the quiet room like a whip as she pointed a manicured finger at me.
“What is this trash doing on your arm?”