My entire body stilled. The Khaelon Dravik. Star hockey player. Heir to the Dravik fortune. Captain of the undefeated Hockey Team. The face on every student poster, the name on every varsity jersey. The one everyone talked about like he was myth wrapped in flesh. Unreachable and my ultimate crush.

My first love even if he never knew it.

I used to watch his games through a cracked laptop screen, memorizing the sharp angles of his jaw under his helmet, the vicious grace of how he skated across the rink like a storm no one could stop. He didn’t just play, he dominated. And now, here he was.

Tall, powerful, and walking through the cafeteria like he owned the oxygen we were all breathing.

He wore the Dravik crest on his black varsity jacket like it was a crown. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing lean, veined forearms that flexed as he scrolled through his phone. His hair was a chaotic, perfect mess. And those eyes were cold, unreadable, glacial blue swept over the cafeteria, pausing only briefly in my direction. My stomach twisted. No.

There was no way he was looking at me. I was just a face in the crowd. Less than that. I was the poor girl with secondhand shoes and library patches stitched on her backpack. He didn’t know me. He couldn’t. I dropped my gaze.

And then I heard them, the two girls from earlier.

The blonde with her wine-colored lipstick and the brunette with her perfect brows leaned forward as he passed their table, voices louder than necessary.

“Oh my God, Khaelon,” the blonde said in a mock-sultry tone, “can you believe they let charity cases into the lunchroom now?”

“Maybe the admissions board was just desperate for good press.”

Laughter followed. It was fake. Sharp. And it pierced straight through me.

I clenched my hands under the table, trying to stay still. Ignore it. Just breathe. You’ve survived worse. But then the room dropped into silence again. Thicker and Colder. Like the air had frozen mid-laugh.

I looked up slowly.

Khaelon had stopped.

Right in front of their table.

The blonde’s smile flickered, faltering under his expression.

“K-Khaelon?” she asked, the flirt gone from her tone.

He turned his head slowly, like it took effort to even acknowledge them. His gaze was blank, no warmth, no humor. Just raw, simmering disdain.

“You done?” he asked. His voice was deep and low, each word deliberate. “Or are you still competing for who sounds more pathetic?”

The brunette blinked. “We were just joking…”

“Didn’t sound like a joke.” He cocked his head slightly, voice still terrifyingly calm. “Mocking someone for earning a scholarship? That’s what you think is funny?”

The blonde laughed nervously. “She’s just a scholar…”

“And that’s supposed to be an insult?” he cut in, voice ice-sharp. “She’s a scholar, which means she earned her spot. You got yours because your family paid enough to keep the endowment happy.”

Gasps rippled across the cafeteria. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Everyone was watching now.

“You think legacy matters more than ability?” Khaelon continued, stepping in just slightly. “You think your last name makes you better? It just makes you spoiled.”

Both girls sat frozen, their faces flushed.

“She got into Dravik because she’s brilliant,” he added coldly. “You got in because your dad signs checks. Know the difference.”

And just like that, he turned away from them.

And walked directly toward me.

My blood turned to static. I froze in my seat, tray untouched. He was coming here. My lungs seized as his long strides ate the space between us. My mind screamed a dozen things at once. “Say something. Look normal. Don’t pass out.”

He stopped in front of my table. For one stretched, unbearable second, I thought maybe he was just walking by. Then he pulled out the chair across from me and sat.

Khaelon Dravik. Star of the hockey team. Heir to the Dravik family. My ultimate crush, and the one person who absolutely, definitely shouldn’t be within five feet of me. And yet here he was, elbows on the table, eating like this was just another Tuesday and not my personal emotional apocalypse.

My heart was thundering in my ears so loud I could barely hear the scrape of his fork against the tray.

He didn’t say anything. Not a glance, not a nod. Just calmly cut into his food.

I sat frozen, barely breathing. Every nerve ending in my body buzzed like live wires. My hands trembled under the table, resting in my lap like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Should I say something?

Should I just… sit here and pretend this was normal?

My voice caught in my throat. “Uh…”

He didn’t look up, but his brows twitched slightly.

“No one’s sitting here,” he said flatly, eyes still on his tray. “Unless you want to leave.”

“I…I was just about to.”

“Then go.”

Ouch.

His words were smooth, cold, and deliberate. Like everything about him. My stomach knotted and I nodded quickly, pushing my chair back. I couldn’t do this. I was one wrong word away from bursting into flames or vomiting on my tray or both.

But as I stood, my bag strap snagged on the chair leg. My balance tilted, tray shifting with it. I gasped as my feet scrambled for grip too late.

I tipped forward.

And Two strong arms caught me.

One around my waist, the other bracing my shoulder, firm and controlled. My body jolted against his chest as he caught me with shocking ease. I could feel his breath, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his palm splayed across my back. Our faces were inches apart. Ten, maybe less. I blinked up at him, frozen.

He blinked down, eyes narrowed slightly, searching mine.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice lower than before. Not annoyed. Not cold.

“I…I’m sorry,” I whispered, heat rushing up my neck. “I didn’t mean..”

“Yeah,” he said, still holding me. “You didn’t.”

My lips parted, and I swore time slowed around us. My heart forgot how to beat. His gaze was cutting and unreadable.

“Just stay,” he said.

My heart beat fast at the same time my eyes widen. I want to answer but no words came out. Suddenly a woman from the distance called me.

“Ms. Moretti!”