EVAN'S POV
The puck slams into the net so hard the goal shakes.
Game over. We win.
My teammates explode around me, screaming and crashing into my back, but I barely feel them. My lungs burn. My muscles scream. I've been skating for three hours straight—two hours of official practice, then another hour pushing myself until Coach threatened to lock me out of the rink.
"THAT'S OUR CAPTAIN!" Derek, my center, crushes me in a hug that smells like sweat and too much body spray. "Undefeated season, baby! We're going to nationals!"
Everyone's cheering. Chanting my name. Evan. Evan. EVAN.
I pull off my helmet and force a smile—the one I've practiced in the mirror since I was eight years old. Confident. Easy. Like winning is as natural as breathing.
Inside, I'm drowning.
"Party at Delta Sigma tonight!" someone yells. "Crane, you better be there!"
"Wouldn't miss it," I lie, skating toward the bench.
My phone is buzzing in my bag. It's been buzzing for the past hour, but I ignored it. I know who it is. I always know.
I peel off my gloves and check the screen.
Mom: The gala is tonight. You're bringing Madison. The Pierce family expects a proposal by New Year's. Don't embarrass us.
Mom: Are you ignoring me?
Mom: Evan Alexander Crane, answer your phone RIGHT NOW.
Twelve missed calls. Twenty-three texts. All from her.
I throw the phone back in my bag and sit down hard on the bench. My hands are shaking, but not from the game. They shake every time she messages me. Every time she reminds me that my life isn't mine—it belongs to Crane Industries, to the family legacy, to whatever business deal my parents are making this week.
"You okay, man?" Derek drops down next to me, frowning. "You've been weird all practice."
"I'm fine."
"You scored eight goals. Nobody scores eight goals in practice unless they're running from something."
He's too smart for his own good.
"Just stress," I say, pulling off my skates. "Finals. Family stuff."
"The Madison situation?"
Everyone knows about Madison Pierce. Beautiful, rich, boring Madison who my parents handpicked when we were sixteen. We've been on-and-off for years—mostly off, because she's more interested in my last name than my actual name. She posts photos of us on social media with captions like "power couple" and "future Mrs. Crane."
I've never told her I love her. I don't think she's noticed.
"My mom wants me to propose." The words taste like metal.
Derek whistles low. "Dude. You're twenty-two."
"Tell that to my parents." I stand up, grabbing my bag. "I gotta go. See you tonight."
"You're really going to that boring gala instead of the party?"
"Family obligation."
What I don't say: if I don't show up, my mom will freeze my trust fund. Again. Last time I missed a family event, she cut off my credit cards for a month. I had to borrow money from Ash to buy groceries.
The locker room is empty now. Everyone else left for dinner or parties or normal college kid things. I stand under the shower until the water runs cold, trying to wash away the feeling of being trapped.
I think about the girl from the coffee shop.
I don't know why. She's nobody—a scholarship student who works three jobs and dresses like she shops at thrift stores. Last week, she spilled coffee on my jersey because she was carrying too many cups at once. Her hands were shaking. She looked terrified.
I yelled at her. Called her clumsy. Made her cry in front of everyone.
My friends laughed. She apologized over and over, trying to clean the stain with napkins, her face bright red. I saw her name tag: Nora.
Later, I felt sick about it. I wanted to apologize, but Evan Crane doesn't apologize. Evan Crane doesn't show weakness. That's rule number one in my family.
My phone buzzes again.
Ash: Are you going to the gala?
My twin brother. The one person who understands what it's like to be a Crane.
Me: Don't have a choice. You?
Ash: Yeah. There's someone I need to see.
Me: Who?
He doesn't answer.
Ash has been weird lately—secretive, distracted, spending all his time sketching in that coffee shop. The same coffee shop where Nora works.
No. He wouldn't.
My brother knows the rules. We don't date scholarship students. We don't date anyone our parents wouldn't approve of. Ash especially can't break rules—he's too fragile, too broken from what happened when we were fifteen.
I saved his life once. I won't let him destroy it now by falling for the wrong girl.
I'm pulling on my suit in the empty locker room when my phone rings. Not a text—an actual call.
Mom's photo fills the screen. Ice-blonde hair. Perfect makeup. Smile that never reaches her eyes.
I answer. "I'm coming to the gala. I'm bringing Madison. Everything's fine."
"It better be." Her voice could freeze fire. "The Pierce merger is worth fifty million dollars. You will propose to Madison by New Year's Eve, or I'm removing you as heir to Crane Industries. Your father agrees."
My stomach drops. "You can't—"
"Watch me. You've had twenty-two years of freedom, Evan. Time to do your duty."
She hangs up.
I stare at my phone, my reflection staring back from the black screen. I look like my father—same sharp jaw, same cold eyes, same face that hides everything.
I hate it.
The locker room door bangs open. "Evan! You still here?"
It's Tyler, one of my teammates. He looks excited, breathless.
"What?"
"Dude, you gotta see this. Someone just posted a video of your brother."
He shoves his phone in my face. It's an Instagram story from someone at the coffee shop.
The video shows Ash—my quiet, antisocial twin—talking to a girl at the counter. She's small with dark curly hair and wide eyes. Even through the grainy phone video, I can see she's pretty.
It's Nora. The scholarship girl.
And Ash is smiling at her like she's the only person in the world.
The video caption says: "OMG is Ash Crane actually talking to someone?? 👀 Plot twist of the century!"
"Your brother's finally getting some action," Tyler laughs. "About time. He's been stalking that girl for like two years—"
I'm not listening anymore.
Ash likes her. Ash likes the scholarship girl I humiliated last week. The one I made cry.
My phone buzzes with a new text.
Unknown Number: Your brother asked her to the gala. If you care about him, you'll stop this before it starts. She's going to destroy everything. Trust me.
My blood turns to ice.
"Who is this?" I type back.
Unknown Number: A friend. Your brother is making a mistake. The girl is using him. She's after Crane money. I have proof. Come to the east garden entrance at the gala tonight. Come alone. I'll show you everything.
The message deletes itself.
I watch it vanish from my screen like it never existed.
Tyler is still talking, laughing about something, but I can't hear him anymore.
Someone is threatening Nora. Or warning me about her. I can't tell which.
And Ash—my fragile, broken brother who tried to kill himself seven years ago—is walking straight into whatever trap this is.
I grab my jacket and run for the door.
I have three hours before the gala.
Three hours to figure out who sent that message.
Three hours to protect Ash from making the biggest mistake of his life.
Three hours to decide if Nora Winters is a victim or a villain.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Mom: Madison's wearing red tonight. Make sure you match.
I look down at my suit—already laid out, already chosen for me.
It's red.
Of course it is.