Chapter 4 Rules We're Starting to Break

Chapter 3: Rules We're Starting to Break

If I had a dollar for every time Ethan Carter got under my skin, I'd have enough money to transfer to a different planet.

Unfortunately, I was still here-on Earth. Still fake dating him. Still feeling things I had absolutely no business feeling.

And now he was late.

I stood outside the art building, hugging my sketchbook and trying to ignore the twisting in my stomach. We'd agreed to meet here at noon-"for appearances," he said. Something about his coach being suspicious and his team still not convinced I was "his type."

Whatever that meant.

I checked my phone. 12:17 PM.

Still no text.

Still no Ethan.

"He's not worth it," a voice said beside me.

I turned. Adrian.

He was holding two coffees-one of which he offered to me.

I hesitated. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." His smile was easy, calming. "You looked cold. And maybe a little annoyed."

"You're good at reading people," I admitted, taking the cup.

"I try."

We sat on the bench, and for a few blissful minutes, I forgot all about Ethan Carter and his stupid jawline.

"You know," Adrian said after a moment, "you and Ethan are... interesting."

My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

He sipped his coffee. "I mean, no offense, but you don't exactly run in the same circles."

I laughed softly. "You mean I'm not on the cheer squad, don't have six-digit Instagram followers, and don't throw raging parties every Friday night?"

Adrian winced. "That sounded harsh."

"It's okay. You're not wrong."

There was a pause.

Then: "So why him?"

I froze.

Why him?

I didn't even have a good fake answer, let alone a real one.

Thankfully, I didn't have to come up with anything-because right then, a shadow fell across our bench.

"I was late for fifteen minutes and you already replaced me?"

I looked up.

Ethan.

Hair still wet from practice. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Expression unreadable-but his eyes? They were fixed on Adrian's hand, which was just a little too close to mine on the bench.

"Ethan," I said, standing quickly. "This isn't-"

"Oh, I can see what it is," he cut in, voice low and tight. "You've got options."

Adrian stood too, calm and steady. "We were just talking."

"Didn't look like just talking."

I felt like I was watching a standoff. The tension between them crackled like static in the air.

Ethan turned to me. "Let's go."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Adrian spoke up. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with you."

Ethan's jaw clenched. "She's my girlfriend."

My fake girlfriend, I almost corrected. But somehow, the words wouldn't leave my mouth.

Ethan reached for my hand-gently, but firm enough to make a statement. "Come on."

I let him pull me away.

Which was mistake number one.

We didn't speak again until we reached the back of the library, near the old architecture wing no one used anymore. It was quiet. Empty.

He let go of my hand, pacing once before facing me.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, voice low.

"You tell me," I shot back. "You're the one who showed up acting like you own me."

"I don't own you."

"Could've fooled me."

He raked a hand through his hair. "I told you not to fall for me."

I stared. "Are you serious right now?"

"This is exactly why I have rules."

"Your rules don't get to control my life, Ethan!"

"You were blushing," he growled, stepping closer. "When he handed you that coffee. You were smiling like you meant it."

"Because I did mean it," I snapped. "He was being nice. You should try it sometime."

He flinched like I'd slapped him.

Then he leaned in, eyes locked to mine.

"I don't like the way he looks at you."

I swallowed. "This isn't real. You don't get to be possessive."

"Maybe I am anyway," he said, barely above a whisper. "Maybe I don't like sharing, even when I know it's fake."

The air between us was thick.

I could smell his cologne-clean and dark. I could see the way his chest rose and fell, the flicker of something wild behind his eyes.

Possession? Jealousy? Or something worse?

Desire?

"I told you not to fall for me," he repeated, voice cracking.

"And what if you're the one falling?" I whispered.

Silence.

Then, as if the moment was too much, he stepped back.

"This deal ends in five days," he said roughly. "Don't forget that."

I nodded, even though my chest ached in ways it shouldn't.

"Five days," I echoed.

That night, I sat on my bed staring at my phone, fighting the urge to text him.

Not because I liked him. Of course not.

It was because I hated the silence. The unfinished tension. The storm still brewing between us.

The kind of storm that promised to destroy everything if we kept pretending.

I shut my phone off, tossed it on the desk, and tried to ignore the stupid truth swirling in my chest.

The deal was fake.

But my feelings?

God help me... they were starting to feel real.

To be continued...