The Hockey Captain's $300,000 Fake Fiancée

Eloise POV:

My father was dying, and I was on my third Hinge date in a week.

I sat in the Boston restaurant Prezza, feeling less like a person and more like a product on display. Across from me was an empty seat reserved for Kevin Price, an investment-banking analyst and tonight's candidate.

Dad's liver cancer was terminal. He didn't have much time left, and the one thing he couldn't let go of was the thought of me facing the rest of my life alone. So I had promised him I would seriously try to find someone-just enough to let him believe I would be loved after he was gone.

Breathe, I told myself. This is for Dad.

The doctor's words echoed in my head. Targeted therapy might buy him more time, but the drugs might as well have been made of gold, and our savings had turned to ash long ago.

Kevin was fifteen minutes late.

He slid into the booth, complaining about Boston traffic. A gleaming Rolex on his wrist caught the light as he gestured.

His eyes scanned me in a quick, dismissive appraisal. "Eloise, right? Briar University, art major... an interesting choice. Though going to an expensive university when your family was already broke seems pretty irresponsible. And art, of all things? You spent four years burning money on a hobby degree just to end up working at a coffee shop." He drew out the word interesting until it dripped with contempt.

My fingers tightened on the fabric of my dress. I forced a smile. "And you, Kevin?"

"Goldman Sachs. You know," he said, as if the name itself were a holy decree.

The food hadn't even been ordered before his interrogation began. "Your father's illness, I heard. Unfortunate. The medical bills must be a huge problem, right?"

The question was so direct it felt like a slap.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I wasn't here to beg. "We're figuring it out."

Kevin laughed. It was not a kind sound. "I ran the numbers. Your brother's cochlear implant surgery, that's about fifty thousand dollars. Your father's ongoing treatment, the targeted drugs plus hospital stays, you're looking at two hundred fifty thousand a year, minimum. That's three hundred thousand total. How exactly do you plan to 'figure it out'? Working at the coffee shop?"

Each number was a knife, twisted with precision.

He had researched me.

My blood ran cold. This wasn't a date. It was an interview. A humiliation priced out for his amusement.

"I don't mean it like that," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm just saying, be realistic, Eloise. The right partner can solve a lot of problems."

He leaned forward, a wave of cloying cologne washing over me. "Look, I have a great salary, a condo, a car. My social circle is top-tier. For your situation, your family's... predicament... I can provide a 'solution.'"

He glanced at my hands as though evaluating livestock. "Obviously, your little art career would have to go. A woman in your position doesn't need to play entrepreneur. Honestly, you should've become a tradwife years ago. You're going to end up relying on a man anyway, so you might as well make yourself useful and take care of his home."

Before I could speak, he continued, "And we'd start trying for children right after the wedding. Women who wait too long don't bounce back as well, and I wouldn't want my wife letting herself go. My family needs a son to carry on the Price name. If the first one is a girl, we'd try again. Two girls, same thing. We wouldn't stop until I had a boy."

My stomach churned. I thought I might be sick.

I stood up, my voice trembling with a rage I could barely contain. "You're right about one thing, Kevin. Marriage can solve problems. But marrying you would create a lifetime of them-and unlike my father's treatment, you're not worth the expense."

His face darkened. "Don't be ungrateful, Eloise. Who else do you think would be willing to take on your family's mess?"

I didn't answer. I just walked away, his stare clinging to my back like something venomous.

Outside, the cold Boston night air hit my face, but I couldn't feel it. All I felt was the burning shame.

Tears finally came, hot and fast. I leaned against a cold brick wall, a single, desperate thought screaming in my mind.

Is there really no other way?

I wiped my eyes and pulled out my phone, the Hinge icon making me feel nauseous. I swiped, my thumb hovering over the delete button.

But then Dad's face flashed in my mind. Pale. Tired.

No. I couldn't give up.

I took a deep breath and opened the app again, bracing for the next Kevin.

At the top of my Discover feed, a "Most Compatible" recommendation was waiting for me.

Numbly, I tapped on it. The photo showed a blond, blue-eyed man leaning against the boards of a hockey rink, his helmet tucked under one arm. Tousled golden hair fell across his forehead, framing a clean-shaven face with sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and a dazzling, effortless grin. His broad shoulders filled out his navy jersey, but there was something unmistakably boyish in the way he smiled at the camera-the kind of popular college athlete who could walk into any party and instantly become its center. He looked so handsome, so young, and so full of life.

His profile listed Briar University, and one of his prompts read, "Failing Philosophy. Need a tutor to save my GPA."

It was so different from the endless parade of "financial elites" and men "looking for a soulmate." It was almost a joke.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The irony. I couldn't even save my own life; how was I supposed to save someone else's GPA?

My thumb moved toward the black X.

I should have pressed it. Instead, against every instinct, I tapped the heart beneath his philosophy prompt and sent him a Like.

I had barely lowered my phone when it vibrated.

Harrison matched with you.

A second notification appeared almost immediately. This time, it was a message.

"Hey, I'm Harrison. Your portfolio is amazing-especially the lighthouse under the stars. It feels lonely, but not hopeless. How did you make it do both?"

I froze.

One of my prompts mentioned my small Etsy shop by name. No one had ever bothered to look it up.

No one had ever looked closely enough at that painting to understand what I had been trying to say.

His sudden praise, so specific and unexpected, was like a single matchstick struck in the dead of a long, dark winter.

I knew it was probably just another line, a new kind of trap.

Still, my gaze drifted back to his photograph, and my heart gave a quick, traitorous flutter. He hadn't asked about my family's problems or calculated what I might cost him. He had looked at something I created and somehow seen the feeling hidden inside it. For one reckless second, the warmth spreading beneath my ribs felt dangerously close to hope.

My thumb hovered over the screen. I should have closed the app. Instead, my fingers moved on their own.

"Because a lighthouse can stand alone and still guide someone home. If you want the rest of the answer, Harrison, you'll have to ask me over coffee."

Eloise POV:

The next day at The Daily Grind, I wiped down the counter, my movements automatic. Kevin's words from last night were a toxic mantra in my head.

Three hundred thousand dollars for Dad's cancer treatment and my brother Leo's surgery.

The number was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I watched the Briar students outside, laughing and carefree, and felt like I was separated from them by a wall of glass.

The bell on the door chimed.

Harrison Scott walked in.

I recognized him instantly. Not just from the Hinge photo, but because he was the captain of the Briar hockey team. A campus legend.

Tiffany Sharp, the queen bee of Briar's business school, had looped her arm possessively through his, although Harrison's hands remained in his pockets and he made no move to encourage her.

"My dad finally got me that limited-edition Dior bag," Tiffany announced. "It cost more than most people's cars, but it'll be perfect for the Kappa gala on Friday. You should come with me. Everyone will lose their minds when we walk in together."

Harrison looked bored. He gently but firmly pulled his arm free. "Tiffany, I already told you I'm not going to the gala with you."

Her smile vanished. "You haven't listened to a word I've said. Do you ever care about anything besides hockey?"

"You're not interested in me," Harrison said evenly. "You're interested in being seen with the captain of the hockey team. And I'm not interested in being your accessory. So let's stop wasting each other's time."

Tiffany's face flushed. "You're unbelievable." She tossed her hair over one shoulder and stormed out of the cafe.

Only then did Harrison's eyes scan the room.

Then they landed on me.

A knot formed in my stomach. I instinctively wanted to duck behind the espresso machine. Did he recognize me?

He started walking toward the counter. "Black coffee, thanks," he said to me. His voice was deeper than I'd expected.

I nodded, turning to the machine, feeling his gaze on my back.

Just then, the bell chimed again.

My nightmare walked in. Kevin Price.

He spotted me immediately, a smug, predatory smile spreading across his face as he sauntered to the bar.

"Eloise. Fancy seeing you here," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. He leaned against the counter. "So, have you considered my 'offer' from last night? It's still on the table."

The cafe chatter died down. Eyes turned toward us. My face was on fire. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

I was about to tell him to get lost when a hand reached past me and took the cup of black coffee I'd just made.

Harrison Scott had moved to stand between me and Kevin, his tall frame a sudden, solid shield.

"She already turned you down last night. Didn't you get it?" Harrison's voice was cold, edged with an authority that commanded attention.

Kevin was taken aback, clearly not expecting the hockey star to intervene. "Who are you? This is between me and her."

Harrison let out a short, humorless laugh. He turned his head slightly, his blue eyes meeting mine. They held an expression I couldn't decipher. "Honey, didn't you tell him we're together?"

The cafe went silent.

I was completely stunned, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Kevin's face cycled through shades of white, red, and a sickly green. "You... you two?"

Harrison's expression hardened. "That's right. And listen carefully, Price-her family isn't a mess, and she isn't some bargain you get to price. She's worth more than a man like you could ever understand."

He placed a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter. "For the coffee. Keep the change." Then he grabbed my wrist. "We're stepping outside."

His touch was firm, a jolt of electricity. I was pulled along, a puppet on a string, as he led me out of the cafe. I could feel Kevin's furious glare and the shocked stares of everyone else on my back.

The cold air outside finally snapped me out of my trance. I yanked my hand back. "What was that all about?"

Harrison leaned against his GMC Sierra, a massive pickup truck that seemed out of place for a student. He watched me with an unreadable expression. "Helping you out. It was clear you couldn't handle a guy like that."

The truth of his words stung. "I don't need you to fight my battles."

"Really?" He arched an eyebrow. "So what's your plan for your father's medical bills? Your brother's surgery? More dates with guys like Kevin?"

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. I stared at him, my blood turning to ice. "You... you investigated me too?"

"Not exactly," he said, completely unfazed. "Before I propose a partnership, I like to understand my potential 'partner.'"

"Partnership?" I was lost.

"Yes." He straightened up, his expression turning serious. "I need someone to play the part of my girlfriend in public. It would help me get rid of annoyances like Tiffany, and it would clean up my playboy image with my coach and sponsors."

He paused, his gaze sharp. "And you," he continued, "you need a respectable 'fiancé' to give your father peace of mind. And you need money. A lot of it."

"In exchange," he dropped the bombshell, "I'll take care of the three hundred thousand dollars. Also, my philosophy grade needs to be an A. You're a top student in the arts department; your logic and writing skills can't be bad. You'll be my tutor, and you'll play the part of my fiancée until your father is satisfied."

My mind went blank. This was insane. It was a fantasy.

Seeing my shocked expression, he added, "It's a proposal, Eloise. A contract. No emotions, just a transaction. Think about it."

He handed me a business card with just a name and a phone number. Then he opened the door to his truck, a vehicle that screamed money far more than a "normal student" could afford, and got in.

The roar of the engine jolted me back to reality. I looked at the card in my hand, then thought of my father's pale face and Kevin's sneering voice saying "three hundred thousand."

Harrison POV:

I drove away, catching a glimpse of Eloise Combs in my rearview mirror. She was still standing there, looking like a startled deer.

A small, satisfied hum escaped my lips. I spun the championship ring on my finger. Step one of the plan had gone even smoother than I'd anticipated.

My phone buzzed. The name "Cierra" flashed on the screen. My jaw tightened. I hit ignore.

Cierra Sweet. My ex-girlfriend. She had dumped me during my slump last season, when one bad game after another sent my stats plunging. Apparently, dating a losing captain had become an embarrassment in her sorority house, and she couldn't stand being the object of her sisters' pity.

Now that my performance had rebounded and the sports media was calling me one of college hockey's hottest stars again, Cierra wanted me back. Not because she missed me, but because she wanted to reclaim her place as the girlfriend of college hockey royalty. When I refused, her attempts to win me back quickly devolved into a constant stream of calls and threats to go to the press. It was starting to affect the team's reputation and my NIL deals.

Coach had already pulled me aside twice, warning me that one more negative headline would cost me the captaincy.

What almost no one at Briar knew was that the captaincy wasn't my only future. I was also the secret heir to Scott Sports Dynamics, the global sports conglomerate controlled by my family. Until I graduated and the board formally announced its succession plan, my status as the company's designated heir was known only to a small circle of relatives and senior executives. To everyone else, I was simply Harrison Scott, Briar's hockey captain. Behind closed doors, I was already being trained to inherit a multibillion-dollar empire.

So, I needed a girlfriend. A clean, respectable girl who wouldn't cause drama. Someone to signal to the world that I was in a "stable" relationship. Eloise Combs was the perfect candidate.

She was tough, kind, and would do anything for her family. But there was a line she wouldn't cross. I could see it in her eyes. She wasn't a puck bunny looking for a quick score.

I dialed my assistant, Lucas. "It's me."

"Mr. Scott." Lucas's voice was, as always, calm and professional.

"Send me the full file on the Combs family. I want more than the preliminary report you gave me this morning. And prepare three hundred thousand dollars in a clean private account. Wait for my signal."

"Understood." Lucas never asked unnecessary questions. That's why I employed him.

I hung up and opened the email he'd just sent. The full report revealed that the Combs family's situation was even worse than the preliminary background check had suggested. Eloise's father, Walter Combs, was a former firefighter who had been forced into early retirement by an on-the-job injury. Now he was fighting stage-four liver cancer. As if that weren't enough, Eloise's younger brother, Leo Combs, had been born profoundly deaf and was still waiting for cochlear implant surgery...

A strange weight settled in my chest. This felt like more than just a "transaction."

My original plan was just to find a shield. But now, I found myself genuinely wanting to help this girl who was drowning.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me. Not with the adoration or lust I saw in other girls' eyes, but with caution and distance. It was refreshing.

Maybe it was her Etsy shop. The art was vibrant and full of life, a stark contrast to her own suppressed demeanor.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Eloise. One word.

"Okay."

I smiled. The little deer was in the trap.

I texted back: "Tomorrow, 3 PM, top floor of the library. Our first 'philosophy tutoring' session. Don't be late, Miss Tutor."

Just as I sent it, my other phone rang-the family line. I put in my Bluetooth earpiece.

"Harrison, the European market quarterly review starts in five minutes. Are you ready?" It was my friend, Asher Knight, the president of Scott Sports Dynamics' European division.

My posture straightened. My voice shifted, becoming cool and authoritative. "I'm already online, Asher. Have Paris report first."

The truck glided silently into the garage of my private off-campus apartment, far from prying eyes.

As I was about to dive into the transnational conference call, Eloise's number flashed on my personal phone. An incoming call.

I put the family line on hold and switched over. "What's wrong?"

Her voice on the other end was a choked sob, her breathing ragged. "My dad... my dad is trying to leave the hospital! He says he doesn't want to die there!"

Her panic and helplessness hit me like a physical blow.

My brow furrowed. "Send me your location," I said, the decision instantaneous.

"What?" she choked out.

"Drop a pin. I'm coming to you." My tone left no room for argument.

I ended the call. A second later, her location appeared on my screen. She was outside an apartment building across town.

I switched back to the family line. "Asher, push Paris back ten minutes. Something urgent came up."

There was a brief pause before he answered. "Understood."

I disconnected and immediately dialed Lucas.

"Find out who Walter Combs's attending physician is. Make sure he isn't cleared for discharge under any circumstances. And send the best private security team to the hospital to ensure the patient's safety. Be discreet."

"I'll handle it," Lucas said.

I started the engine of the truck I had just parked. Eloise's location was already loaded into the navigation system. I wrenched the wheel and peeled out of the garage, following the route toward her.

Damn it. Why are there always so many complications?

I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and rubbed my brow with the other. I told myself this was just to ensure our "contract" could proceed smoothly.

That's all it was.