Chapter 3 #3

{Ace's P.O.V}

I had three rules when it came to Melanie Sanders: don't look at her, don't talk to her, and never, under any circumstances, let myself think about how fucking attractive she was.

For two years, I’d managed it.

I built a wall of pure ice between us, treating her like a ghost on the court and a shadow off it. It was the only way to survive. She was Zayn’s little sister—my best friend’s blood—and she was completely, off-limits.

But now, she was sleeping in the bedroom right across the hall from mine, her scent of vanilla clinging to every piece of furniture in my house.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the closed door separating us, my knuckles white as I gripped my phone. The house was quiet, but my mind was a chaotic wreck.

She thought I hated her. She thought I looked at her like toxic waste every time she stepped onto the floor.

She had no idea.

The truth was, watching Mel play basketball was a brutal form of torture. She wasn't just good; she was phenomenal.

In a league dominated by men who thought speed and raw power were everything, Mel moved so smoothly on the court. Her vision was elite, her footwork was lethal, and her jumper was smoother than anyone else’s in this entire program.

She didn't get a roster spot because of a publicity stunt or charity. She earned every single inch of hardwood she stood on.

And nobody saw how hard she worked for it like I did.

The rest of the team showered and went home after Miller blew the final whistle, but Mel never left.

Night after night, while the arena lights dimmed and the building went dark, I’d sit in my truck in the parking lot, watching through the high glass windows as she stayed behind for three, four hours at a time.

She’d run drills until her legs caved. She’d shoot free throws in the dark until her hands bled. She pushed herself to absolute exhaustion just to prove she belonged in a space that constantly tried to push her out.

I’d watched her bleed for this game. And watching her break down in my hallway tonight...watching the terror in her eyes as her world crumbled around her...had nearly ripped my chest open.

I stood up, running a hand over my face as I began pacing my room.

It was maddening. Having her here, right next door, was a slow-burning hell. I couldn't get her out of my head.

I couldn't erase the memory of how she looked standing in front of me earlier, her chest heaving, her big eyes glistening with tears of pure rage, looking so dangerously, mouth-wateringly beautiful that every instinct in my body screamed at me to pin her against the wall and kiss her until neither of us could breathe.

She had no clue how hard it was for me to keep my hands off her. Every time she walked into the locker room with her hair pulled back in that tight ponytail, every time she wiped sweat from her collarbone, every time she flushed red after a hard drive to the basket—it took every ounce of my willpower not to pull her into a quiet corner and ruin us both.

And now? Now my best friend’s sister—the only girl who had ever made my pulse go completely out of control—was living under my roof. Sleeping ten feet away from my bed.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand, breaking the silence.

I picked it up. A new message flashed on the screen from a blocked number:

“Tell your point guard that fake-dating you isn't going to save her. She owes Ken, and if she doesn't deliver, Zayn's life isn't the only one we're going to wreck.”

My blood turned to liquid fire in my veins. My jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

I stared at the screen, my grip tightening until the glass nearly cracked under my fingers. They thought they could scare her. They thought they could use her brother’s mess to crush her dreams, degrade her, and force her into corners she never belonged in.

Ken had put his dirty hands on her. Just the thought of that scum touching Mel, blackmailing her, making her feel trapped and helpless, made a dark, vicious urge ignite deep inside my gut.

I walked out of my room, my footsteps silent on the hardwood floor.

I stopped in front of her door. I could hear the faint, uneven sound of her breathing inside, soft and heavy with sleep after hours of panic and exhaustion.

I pressed my palm against the cool wood of the door, leaning my forehead against it.

She thought I was doing this for Miller. She thought I was doing this to save the team's reputation.

She was wrong.

I didn't give a damn about Miller, the athletic director, or the press conference tomorrow morning. I didn't care about the toxic fans or the media firestorm.

I was doing this because the moment I saw that photo, the moment I saw her drowning in a scandal she didn't deserve, I realized I’d tear the entire world down before I let anyone destroy her.

Zayn was my brother, but Mel... Mel was the only thing that mattered.

"Sleep, Mel," I whispered into the quiet hallway, my voice barely a thread, low and rough with a promise she couldn't hear yet. "Let them talk. Let them come for you."

I straightened up, turning back toward my room, my chest tight with a fierce, possessive warmth that scared the hell out of me.

"I'll burn every single one of them to the ground before I let them touch you again."