CHAPTER ONE- My popular hockey boyfriend

CHLOE POV

"What the hell are you doing here, Chloe?"

Julian grabbed my upper arm and dragged me out of the St. Evermont College ice rink’s locker room corridor. His grip was tight enough to leave marks through my thick cardigan, but it wasn't the physical pinch that hurt. It was the burning sting of humiliation.

Around us, a few of his hockey teammates looked over, already laughing mockingly.

“Julian you have a new fat crush!” They said bursting into laughter.

"I just wanted to bring you this," I said, my voice shaking as I held up a small, neatly wrapped tupperware container. "I made those lemon bars you like. The ones with the extra zest? You said last week you were feeling stressed about the upcoming finals, so I thought—"

"You thought?" Julian cut me off, rolling his brown eyes as he yanked me into the empty, sterile-smelling stairwell. He let go of my arm with a rough shove. "That’s your problem, Chloe. You don't think. Look at you. You’re sweating, your hair is a mess, and you’re parading yourself around my locker room looking like… this."

He gestured vaguely at my body. I instinctively pulled my oversized cardigan tighter around my waist, trying to make myself smaller, a habit I had spent years perfecting.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, looking down at my worn sneakers. "I just wanted to surprise you."

"Well, consider me surprised. Now get out of here before the coach sees you hanging around like a lost puppy," he snapped, running a hand through his damp brown hair. He didn't even take the container from my hands. "I have practice. Go home."

He didn't wait for my response. He just turned on his heel and walked back toward the rink, the heavy fire door slamming shut behind him.

I stood alone in the cold stairwell, clutching the warm tupperware against my chest. The familiar, hollow ache in my stomach started to bloom, the one that always told me I wasn't enough. Not pretty enough. Not thin enough. Not worthy of being treated like a real girlfriend in public.

But I forced a small, practiced smile anyway. He’s just stressed, I told myself, swallowing the lump in my throat. The campus prince has a lot of pressure on his shoulders. He doesn't mean it.

But deep down, I knew he did. Because Julian’s cruelty wasn't just reserved for public locker rooms. It followed us behind closed doors, too.

My mind drifted back to the previous night.

The lights in his private apartment had been dimmed. The scent of his expensive cologne filled the air, and for a few minutes, when his hands were on my waist, I had allowed myself to believe that he actually loved me. I had allowed myself to feel safe.

We were in his bed, the sheets tangled around us. But as the minutes ticked by, the illusion began to crack. I lay there on my back, staring up at the ceiling, pretending to be swept away by the passion. I forced out soft gasps and fake moans, trying my absolute best to look like the girls in the movies, the girls who looked effortless and beautiful when they were being loved.

In reality, I felt entirely disconnected from my own skin. Every time Julian moved, I was hyper-aware of how my thighs pressed together, how my stomach shifted, how the mattress dipped under my weight. I was performing, wearing a mask of pleasure just to keep him happy.

Then, abruptly, Julian pulled away. He didn't smooth my hair or kiss my forehead. He just rolled off me, letting out a loud, frustrated sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned to me.

"God, Chloe," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Julian? What's wrong?" I asked, my voice small as I pulled the duvet up to my chin, suddenly feeling completely naked and exposed.

"Nothing. It's just..." He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at me with an expression that looked dangerously close to disgust. "It’s like trying to move a boulder. You’re just so... big, Chloe. You just lay there."

The words felt like a physical slap. "I... I was trying—"

"I mean, look at the other girls on campus," Julian continued, totally ignoring my defense. He stood up, completely unbothered by his own nudity, and walked over to his dresser to grab a pair of sweatpants. "Look at the cheerleaders. Look at Scarlett. They have flawless bodies. Toned, tight, easy to handle. I have an image to maintain, Chloe. Do you know what people say when they see us together? They wonder why the hockey captain is hanging around an oversized scholarship girl."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back. I couldn't let him see me cry. If I cried, he would call me dramatic. He would tell me I was playing the victim.

"You should be grateful a guy like me even looks at you," he added, pulling his shirt over his head. His voice was casual, as if he were simply commenting on the weather. "I give you status. I give you a reason to feel like you belong at St. Evermont. The least you could do is lose a few pounds and try to be a bit more exciting."

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the empty room, because by then, Julian had already walked out to the living room to play video games, leaving me alone in the dark with my shattered self-esteem.

I had gone home that night and eaten three leftover cinnamon rolls in the quiet kitchen of my own house, using the sugar to numb the sharp edges of his words. Food was the only thing that never judged me. It never told me I was too big, or too quiet, or not enough. It was just there, warm and comforting, shielding me from a world that felt entirely too hostile.

The memory faded as I walked back to my car, but the determination inside me didn't.

I tightened my grip on the untouched container and drove home, refusing to let today's humiliation break me. Maybe if I baked Julian's favorite cake for our anniversary tomorrow, things would finally change.

The moment I stepped through the front door, setting my keys on the hallway table. Before I could call for anyone, a vase shattered upstairs. Then a voice echoed through the mansion with terrifying urgency.

"Chloe Hart!"

My blood ran cold.

It was Vivian.

And she sounded absolutely furious.