Page 24 of Faking the Rules

Attached is a photo taken through what must be my dorm room window—Declan and me, asleep in my bed, his arm around me, my head on his chest. The angle is from below, probably from the courtyard outside, but clear enough to identify us both.

Ice floods my veins as implications crash through me. Someone has been watching us. Someone knows about our arrangement.

"What's wrong?" Declan asks, immediately alert to my changed demeanor.

Wordlessly, I hand him the phone. His expression darkens as he reads, the muscle in his jaw ticking with tension.

"Kaitlyn," he says, the name a curse. "Has to be."

"Your ex?" I remember Mia mentioning someone Declan dated casually for a while, a flash of blond hair moving through the crowd at the Sigma party. God, that seems so long ago now.

“She was never my girlfriend.”

“How would she know about our arrangement?"

Declan runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, reluctance written across his features. "She… guessed, after seeing us together. Called me out on it last week."

The revelation lands like a slap. "And you didn't think to mention this?"

"I handled it," he says, defensive. "Or I thought I did. Told her she was wrong, that what you and I have is real."

"But it's not," I say automatically, then wince at the hurt that flashes across his face. "I mean, it wasn't. When she confronted you."

"No," he agrees, his voice carefully neutral. "It wasn't then."

The implication hangs between us—that it is real now, or becoming so. But the text message has cast a shadow over the fragile new thing growing between us, reminding us of how this whole thing started.

"We need to be careful," I say, pushing myself into a sitting position, putting more space between us. "If someone's watching, taking photos..." The intrusion makes me shiver.

"I'll deal with Kaitlyn," Declan says, his tone hardening. "This stops now."

"How?" I challenge. "By confirming her suspicions? By telling her she's right, that this whole thing has been fake from the start?"

"Nothing about last night was fake," he says fiercely. "Nothing about how I feel when I'm with you is fake."

The intensity of his declaration steals my breath. This is so far from the arrangement we agreed to. This is messy and complicated.

And I'm falling headlong into it, despite every instinct for self-preservation screaming at me to retreat.

"I should get to practice," Declan says when I don't respond. "Coach scheduled an early session before tomorrow's game." He hesitates, searching my face. "Will you be there? The game?"

"Of course," I say, the answer automatic now. "I said I would."

Relief softens his features. "We'll figure this out, Ellie. The picture, Kaitlyn, all of it." He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "And... us. We'll figure us out too."

Us. Such a small word to hold so much terrifying potential.

I watch him gather his things, transform back into the public version of himself—Declan Wolfe, hockey star, campus celebrity. But now I've seen behind the mask, glimpsed the vulnerability beneath the confidence, felt the tenderness in hands built for dominance on the ice.

At the door, he pauses. "Text me later?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. When the door closes behind him, I collapse back onto my bed, emotions swirling like autumn leaves in a windstorm. The sheets still smell like him—that indefinable mix of clean laundry, expensive cologne, and something uniquely Declan that makes my body respond even in his absence.

I close my eyes, drifting in and out of sleep until my phone buzzes again. With a surge of anxiety, I check it, half-expecting more threats from Kaitlyn.

Instead, it's Mia:EMERGENCY. Meet me at Central Café ASAP. The internet is exploding.

I'm showered, dressed and out the door in record time, my still-damp hair pulled into a messy bun, minimal makeup applied to hide the sleepless shadows under my eyes. The crisp morning air clears my head somewhat, but anxiety churns in my stomach as I speed-walk across campus.

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