6. Connor

Waiting for Brooke Westwood to walk into the dean"s office felt like the culmination of a long-awaited storm. This was the moment her life would unravel, and I found a dark part of myself looking forward to watching the fallout. However, when she finally appeared, something inside me stuttered. There she was, her dark blonde hair framing her face, her dark green eyes bright with a mix of determination and vulnerability. Her lips, as soft as they looked, were set in a firm line, betraying her attempt to appear unshaken. The school uniform she wore did little to mask the intensity of her presence, and it irked me how even in this attire, she managed to stir something within me.

As much as I wished to forget the night we shared years ago, it haunted me. Her mere presence in a room was enough to elicit a response from my body that I loathed to admit. I hated her for it, for the involuntary reaction, for the memories it dredged up.

Today was no exception.

Despite the purpose of our gathering, despite the anticipation of her impending downfall, I found myself momentarily lost in the past.

She walked in, and the briefest flicker of recognition crossed her face before it hardened. She knew, as well as I did, that today was going to change everything. Even so, I couldn"t shake the lingering effect of our shared history. It was a weakness, one that made me despise her even more for holding such power over me.

When her father began to speak, outlining the solution he had found to their problem, I could see the tension in Brooke"s shoulders, the way she braced herself for the inevitable blow. It was a strange feeling, watching her in this moment of vulnerability. Part of me, the part that remembered all too well the warmth of her skin and the depth of her laugh, wanted to protect her from what was coming. Another darker part relished the thought of her world coming crashing down.

Her gaze shifted towards me, confusion and defiance lighting her eyes. The anticipation of her reaction, of the pain and realization that would soon dawn on her, filled me with a bitter satisfaction and an unexpected pang of regret.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, turning her fierce gaze from her father to me. The confusion and challenge in her eyes were unmistakable, and I couldn"t help but admire her spirit, even now. "And why is he here?"

I pushed off from the wall, standing to my full height, a small smirk playing at the corners of my mouth despite the gravity of the situation. "Why do you think I"m here?" I asked, the words laced with an underlying tension that had always simmered between us. It was a game of cat and mouse, one we"d played for years, except this time, the stakes were higher than ever.

Her gaze didn"t waver, dark green eyes locked on mine, searching for an answer in the silent standoff that had ensued.

As much as I wanted to relish in the satisfaction of seeing her world come crashing down, a part of me recoiled at the thought. It was a complexity of emotions I hadn"t expected, a conflict that gnawed at the edges of my resolve.

Despite the animosity, despite the years of rivalry and the pain of unresolved issues, seeing her in this moment of impending doom stirred something within me. A flicker of concern, perhaps, or maybe just the remnants of what had once been. Regardless, as I stood there watching her process the reality of her situation, I couldn"t shake the feeling that today would change everything. For better or for worse, the lines between us were about to be redrawn.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice laced with an edge as she turned to her father, waiting for an answer. Her book bag thudded onto the chair, but she remained standing, poised for whatever was coming next.

"Professor Bradley has offered to help—" Her father began but was abruptly cut off.

"What?" Brooke didn"t let him finish. "Absolutely not. We can"t do this. We can"t go to him. I can"t believe you went to him, out of all people!" The disdain in her voice was palpable, her refusal instant and vehement.

"Calm down, young lady," her father commanded, an attempt to restore some semblance of control over the escalating situation.

Brooke immediately stopped, though her glare remained fixed, fierce and unwavering.

"We are in a precarious position, and this is our only feasible option given the time constraints placed on us by the Wolfes," he explained, trying to rationalize his decision.

"You," I interjected, drawing their attention to me. It felt necessary to clarify the dynamics at play here.

"Excuse me?" Westwood looked at me, clearly not expecting my intervention.

"You keep saying we as if Brooke"s a willing participant in this," I pointed out. "She"s not. This is your problem, and you"ve weaseled her into solving it for you."

"Do you think I can"t come up with the money?" Brooke challenged her father, her desperation tinged with a faint hope. "I was going to call Stephen right now and see–"

"Stephen?" I couldn"t hide the skepticism in my voice, the edge sharpening as I spoke Stephen Hanson"s name.

"What business of it is yours?" she retorted, her teeth clenched in defiance.

"Only the fact that that kid doesn"t have one point five mill just lying around," I countered, unable to keep the disdain from my voice. "And even if he did, I highly doubt he"d give it to you...no matter what you offered him."

Brooke"s sneer faltered as reality seemed to dawn on her. "I wouldn"t—" She paused, turning back to her father with a newfound realization. "What do you mean, one point five? I thought it was five hundred thousand."

The conversation had turned, the stakes laid bare in the open. Despite our tangled past and the animosity that seemed to define our interactions, there was a part of me that couldn"t help but feel for her situation, even as I braced myself to play my part in the unfolding drama.

"Yes, well, I might have miscalculated—" her father began, his voice trailing off as he avoided her gaze.

"He lied to you," I stated flatly, cutting through the tentative excuses with a harsh truth that needed no embellishment.

"Dad?" Brooke turned to him, her voice laced with disbelief, momentarily ignoring me.

"It"s one point five," he confirmed, finally meeting her eyes with a resigned acceptance of the situation.

"Then why would you tell me—" She started to challenge him, but he lifted a hand, silencing her with a gesture of finality.

"It doesn"t matter what happened," her father interjected, his voice firm. "What matters is Professor Bradley is willing to offer a solution. He"s going to give me the money."

"No," I corrected, drawing their attention back to me. "I"m giving her the money." I nodded at Brooke, ensuring there was no misunderstanding about my involvement.

"Me?" Brooke echoed, disbelief and a trace of hope mingling in her voice.

"You," I confirmed with a smirk, enjoying the slight shift in power dynamics this revelation brought.

"Why?" she asked, a question directed more towards her father than to me.

"That"s a question for your father," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and fixing Dean Westwood with a long, pointed look. "Go ahead, dean. Tell her. Tell her what she needs to do in order to get that money that"ll save her from belonging to Leo Wolfe."

The fight in her seemed to dim slightly as she looked between us, searching for answers in a situation that had spiraled far beyond her control.

"Dad...?" she prodded, her voice carrying a mix of desperation and hope for some semblance of guidance.

In that moment, despite the tangled web of our past and the animosity that had defined so much of our interactions, I couldn"t deny the complex swirl of emotions that Brooke"s plight stirred within me. As much as part of me relished the thought of her downfall, another, unexpected part wished to shield her from the storm that was about to break over her.

"He"ll give us the money...but only if you agree to...to belong to him," her father said, the words seeming to choke him as they came out.

"What?" she screeched, her reaction as visceral as I had anticipated. "I thought the whole point of finding help was so I don"t belong to anyone? How is this fair? I didn"t do this! I was just trying to help!"

"No good deed, am I right?" I couldn"t help but interject, reveling in her outburst. It was a rare pleasure to see her so unguarded, so raw.

"Shut up," she snapped, her glare piercing me as if she could actually inflict physical harm with her eyes alone. "Just shut up. You"re only doing this because you got divorced today and your ex won"t shut up about it. And now you"re taking it out on me."

"Oh, no." My head shook in amusement, not letting her see how her words might have hit closer to home than she realized. "I"m going after you because you got me fired and blacklisted from the NHL."

"What are you talking about?" Brooke"s confusion was almost convincing, but I knew better.

"That innocent act might work on your father and idiots like Stephen Hanson, but it won"t work on me," I countered, my gaze locked with hers. "You know what you did. And now, after waiting, I"m going to make you pay for it."

"That"s enough," Dean Westwood interjected, but his attempt to regain control of the situation was feeble at best.

"The deal doesn"t concern you," I stated coldly. "It concerns her. She has to figure out if she loves you enough to agree to belong to me in the first place."

"I hate you," Brooke said, the venom in her voice unmistakable.

"Don"t worry," I replied with a smirk. "The feeling is mutual."

"Then why are you doing this?" she demanded, her defiance flickering in the face of uncertainty.

"I already explained myself," I said, the satisfaction of having the upper hand clear in my tone. "The puck"s in your rink, princess. What"re you going to do?"

The tension in the room was heavy, a perfect storm of anger, desperation, and unresolved history swirling between us. Watching Brooke struggle with the realization of her situation, I felt an unexpected twinge of something that was neither satisfaction nor pleasure. It was a reminder that the lines between us were more blurred than I cared to admit.

As the storm of emotions played across Brooke"s face, I couldn"t help but be fascinated by the transparency of her reactions. Each subtle shift in her demeanor, from the clench of her jaw to the flash of fear in her eyes, was an open book to me, betraying her inner turmoil and the inevitable acceptance of her defeat. Watching the resignation settle into her gaze, I felt a surge of triumph wash over me. This was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment of victory where I could see, clear as day, that I had won. It was exhilarating, a testament to my strategic prowess and the sweet culmination of my efforts.

The satisfaction of having Brooke finally realize the extent of her situation, the moment her defiance crumbled under the weight of her new reality, filled me with a profound sense of achievement. It was more than just winning a game; it was about proving a point, about showing her that actions have consequences, and now she was living through the consequences of hers. Her vulnerability, laid so bare and unguarded, didn"t evoke sympathy from me; instead, it bolstered my sense of victory, reinforcing the righteousness of my cause and the justness of her capitulation.

This win was not just a notch on my belt but a declaration of my resolve and determination. The power dynamics between us had shifted, and I relished the control I now held. Brooke"s struggle to accept her fate, the visible battle within her as she faced this new reality, only sweetened the victory. It was a moment of clarity for both of us, a harsh lesson in the realities of our world. As she finally looked up at me, resignation clear in her eyes, I couldn"t suppress the smirk that formed on my lips. I had won, and the taste of victory was as sweet as I had imagined it would be.

"Well?" I asked, my anticipation thinly veiled behind a facade of casual interest.

"You already know," she snapped, her eyes ablaze with a mix of anger and a stubborn resolve.

"I want to hear you say it," I demanded, maintaining a composed exterior despite the inner turmoil that threatened to surface.

Her reply was swift and sharp, her tone venomous. "Fuck you," she retorted.

I wagged a finger at her, adopting a tone of mock reproof. "Such hostility won"t be tolerated," I admonished, striving to maintain a semblance of levity despite the weight of our confrontation. "Now, ask me nicely."

She sought refuge in her father"s gaze, hoping for an ally, but I quickly cut off her escape. "Don"t look at him," I commanded, my voice hardening. "He can"t help you anymore. It"s me. Only me."

The fury that radiated from her was palpable, her entire being tensed as if ready to strike. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was barely more than a strained whisper, a begrudging compliance with my demand. "Can you help?" she managed to utter, each word a battle against her pride.

My response was calculated, intended to test her further. "Hmm. I don"t think you asked nicely enough," I mused, letting my gaze linger in a deliberate challenge. "Get on your knees."

"What?!" she exclaimed indignantly, her eyes darting to her father in a desperate plea for intervention.

But I was quick to quell any hope of rescue, my hand raised in a silent bid for the dean"s silence. "Get on your knees," I repeated, my tone brooking no argument, "and beg me."

"I hate you," Brooke snapped, her words heavy with loathing, and I found a perverse satisfaction in her admission.

"I know," I conceded with a smug grin. "This is why it"s so much more fun."

Her appeal to her father was met with a shrug of resignation, a clear sign of his withdrawal from the fray.

In that moment, as she begrudgingly lowered herself, I experienced an unexpected emotion. It was akin to hunger, a sentiment I hadn"t anticipated feeling. Fuck, I wanted her. Maybe even more than I had that night.

"Well?" I prompted once more, my tone now tinged with a reflective softness, influenced by the complex emotions stirring within me.

"Do it," her father commanded, his voice cold and detached. "Get it over with."

Brooke"s desire to resist was palpable, but her survival instincts prevailed. She knelt, her gaze searing into me with a newfound intensity. It was in this moment, as she looked up at me, that I was struck by her resolute beauty, by her strength even in capitulation.

"Please," she said, her voice laden with a myriad of unvoiced feelings. And then, she repeated it, softer and more sincerely, "Please."

I felt an internal shift. I had secured my victory, yet the triumph felt hollow.

Not because of her predicament, but because how fucking weak for her I still seemed to be.

"See? That wasn"t too hard, was it?" I remarked, trying to shake such sentimentalities off of me.

She glared with such intensity, my cock twitched.

"As much as I love the sight of you like this," I continued, my voice carrying a blend of mockery and an undertone of something more, something I hadn"t expected to feel, "you can get up. Pack your dorm. You"re moving in with me. Tonight."

Her reaction was immediate; she stiffened, her gaze locking with mine, fiery and defiant. "And if I refuse?" she challenged, her voice steady, a testament to her inner strength despite the circumstances.

The edge of a smile played on my lips, more out of habit than amusement. "You don"t really have a choice, do you?" I took a step closer, closing the distance between us, fully aware of the dominance my presence exerted. "This is the deal. And we both know you"re not in any position to negotiate."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating, as she looked away, her silence speaking volumes of the battle raging within her. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft I had to strain to hear. "Fine. But don"t think for a second this changes anything between us."

Watching her, I felt a stirring of something I couldn"t quite name. This wasn"t just a win; it was a game-changer, a line crossed that could never be redrawn. "Oh, I wouldn"t dream of it," I replied smoothly, though the sharpness in my voice could slice through steel. "See you tonight, princess."

She stomped out without another look at me…or her father. When she slammed the door, the reality of the situation dawned on me: Brooke Westwood was mine. And I intended to make sure she never forgot it.