Page 81 of The Sweetest Revenge

In the history of Westbrook University, girls belonged to their team. Dancers and cheerleaders belonged to the football players, and figure skaters belonged to the hockey team. It was just how it worked here. Ariella Ledger was mine. I wasn't going to share her with the football team or EJ. So what happened would have happened regardless of my revenge plot or not.

The plan had always been to destroy everything good in Ariella's life. I wanted to isolate her from the football team, to claim her as my own. I never once regretted those intentions—until I discovered the truth. It honestly never crossed my mind that she might be kicked off the team for what happened. Now, I had to fix this.

"Go to practice," I said, voice rougher than intended. When I reached to brush a strand of hair from her face, she flinched away from my touch. "I will handle this."

"Oh," she huffed out a humorless laugh. "You have nothing to worry about. You're not losing your spot on the team because it's completely acceptable behavior from you." My eyes widened as the realization that she was being punished, but I wasn't for something that was ultimately my fault, sank in.

"Ariella—"

"Leave me alone," she growled. "I'm going home to pack my things, and then I'm going back to my dad's."

"You can't go back to your dad’s because you have class this afternoon."

"Are you not freaking hearing me?" Each word came out razor-sharp. "There are no more classes." Her laugh was brittle, dangerous. "No more team. No more scholarships." With each statement, she advanced another step. "No more anything." I held my ground on the ice. "I'm suspended pending further investigation, which I'm sure will end in expulsion. I don't have classes anymore." She pressed both palms against my chest before shoving me. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

I let myself slide back, allowing her to pass. She could leave now. Go home and calm down because her suspension would be lifted before she made it home.

CHAPTER38

ZAIDEN

My fingers trembled against Coach Hillard's door, not from fear, though. Rage had a way of making everything sharper, clearer, like the first time I'd stepped onto fresh ice at dawn. Everyone in this school preached about integrity while dealing in favors and secrets. I'd learned that lesson freshman year, watching them break their own rules whenever it suited them. Now, at least, I played their game better than they did.

I stood silently listening as muffled gasps and the sound of skin slapping together echoed through the door. A smile twisted my lips. How convenient that giving a blow job off campus was grounds for suspension, but apparently screwing someone's husband during school hours was perfectly acceptable.

If it had been anyone else in the school other than Dean Sweeney, this might have been a different situation, but I had plenty of dirt on her, and I knew she'd reverse her decision.

Digging through the pocket of my jeans, I pulled out my keys.

My fingers traced the cold metal. The master key had been my first real conquest at Westbrook. Freshman year, while everyone else memorized locker combinations, I memorized the janitor's schedule. Three months of careful observation, two weeks of strategic friendliness, and one staged emergency later, every locked door on campus became mine. Back then, I'd only wanted late-night access to the ice arena, a place to practice when no one was watching. Now, as the key's familiar weight settled in my palm, I appreciated how power rarely stays small once you get a taste for it.

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I slid it open before clicking on the camera button and switching it to video. I eased the key into the lock, careful not to make a sound. I didn't want to disturb the lovebirds before I got the footage I needed. Not that I didn't have plenty of other things to hold over Dean Sweeney's head. This just simplified everything.

I inched the door open, wide enough for my phone's lens. The ancient hinges stayed silent as I steadied my hand. Through the screen, I watched Dean Sweeney arch her back, her usually pristine blonde hair wild across Coach's desk. Last year, when she'd cornered me after practice with hungry eyes and whispered suggestions, I almost took her up on her offer. Almost. Now, watching her squirm under Coach Hillard, I was satisfied with my decision.

Dean Sweeney was fairly young for her position and incredibly hot. She had long wavy hair that was typically pulled back, and black framed glasses covered her dark brown eyes. She was thin and had decent curves, but she couldn't even hold a candle next to Ariella.

Dean Sweeney's cry of pleasure cut through the air, then choked into silence as her eyes met mine. For one perfect moment, time crystallized: her lips still parted in ecstasy, the realization dawning in her widening eyes, the blood draining from her face. I let my smirk build slowly as she scrambled to push herself up from the desk, dignity scattering like the papers beneath her.

"What are you—" The words died in her throat.

"Get the fuck out!" Coach's voice pitched high, his authority crumbling faster than his reputation was about to. The man lecturing his team about discipline couldn't keep his pants up.

I leaned against the doorframe, savoring the moment. "Please, don't let me interrupt." My tone dripped with honey-sweet venom. "Though I have to say, Coach, your form needs work."

"Knight." He spat my name like a curse, jabbing a trembling finger toward the door. "Out. Now." Coach's voice cracked between rage and terror, the mighty authority figure reduced to a man with his pants around his ankles. Each second of their panic was delicious.

"Well, okay then," I sauntered into the room, ending the video and shoving my phone in my pocket. I rounded the chairs in front of Coach's desk as they scrambled to find their clothes. "I think we need to talk." I dropped down into the chair.

"If this is about—" Sweeney's hands trembled as she searched for her clothes scattered across the office floor.

"That's exactly what it's about." I settled deeper into the chair, enjoying how she flinched at my relaxed tone.

"Well then," she managed, yanking her shirt over her head. The silk caught on her necklace. "You have nothing to worry about. You won't be punished." Her fingers smoothed her skirt compulsively, again and again. "Though I would suggest being more discreet in the future."

I huffed out a laugh. "I could say the same."

Coach zipped his pants. "If that's all, please see yourself out."

---