/1/126354/coverbig.jpg)
I spent the entire afternoon baking a chocolate lava cake to surprise my boyfriend of two years for his birthday.
But when I quietly unlocked his apartment door, I found him tangled in the sheets with my inseparable best friend.
They didn’t even scramble apart. Mason just glared at me with pure annoyance, treating me like an unwelcome intruder who had ruined their intimate moment.
Kennedy shamelessly hid behind his back, wearing his shirt and whimpering that it “just happened.”
I smashed the birthday cake directly into his cheating face, threw my apartment key at his feet, and ran out into the freezing night.
Right then, my mom called, cheerfully urging me to hurry up with our wedding plans. Her words were like salt poured into my shattered heart. I had wasted two years of my life on two dogs.
Crying behind the wheel, I nearly ran over a tall, arrogant stranger walking on the highway in the pouring rain. He was freezing and penniless, so I impulsively brought him back to my apartment for the night.
The next morning, a frantic pounding echoed through my front door.
“Harper! Open up! Mom’s here to see you!”
My mom had made a surprise visit, and she thought I was still happily engaged to Mason.
Desperate, I grabbed the handsome stranger’s arm.
“Please, pretend you’re my boyfriend!”
The penniless man looked at my panicked face and smirked.
“Fine. But you owe me.”
My “Broke” Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God Chapter 1
HARPER’S POV:
My hand trembled violently as I pushed the half-open bedroom door wide.
The scene that met my eyes didn’t just break my heart; it shattered my entire reality into jagged, bleeding pieces.
They were bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Mason was hovering over her, his broad, muscular back flexing as he moved. His hands—the hands I knew so well, the hands that had held mine just days ago—were gripping Kennedy’s hips with a desperate, hungry possession. Kennedy’s head was thrown back against the pillows, her fingers tangled in his dark hair, her lips swollen and parted as she pulled him down for a deep, lingering kiss. The raw, undeniable heat between them was suffocating.
My boyfriend. And my best friend. The two people I trusted most in this world, destroying me together.
A strangled, pathetic gasp escaped my throat.
Kennedy shrieked, a sharp, panicked sound, violently shoving Mason off her and fumbling to drag the duvet over her bare chest.
Mason’s head snapped toward me. The heavy-lidded passion on his face instantly curdled into shock. “Harper? What are you doing here?”
A roaring sound filled my ears, drowning out the world. I stared at the man I had loved for two years, the man I thought I would marry. Then I looked at Kennedy—the girl who was like a sister to me, knew all my secrets.
A wave of pure, acidic nausea churned in my gut. I couldn’t breathe.
The walls felt like they were closing in on me. I turned on my heel without a word and stumbled blindly down the hallway.
I made it to the kitchen, my movements stiff and robotic. My tear-filled eyes landed on the pristine white bakery box sitting on the kitchen island.
Six hours.
Just an hour ago, I had been so incredibly happy. I had spent six grueling hours in my kitchen, tossing out a burnt first batch and meticulously tempering dark chocolate for the second, all to create the perfect chocolate lava cake for Mason’s twenty-sixth birthday.
He had canceled our last three dates, blaming exhausting hockey practices and endless team meetings. Captain’s duties, he had texted, brushing off my disappointment. But I had foolishly told myself today would be different. I just knew he’d carved out this one night for us.
I had slid my spare key into his apartment door, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm of anticipation. I had slipped inside, quiet as a mouse, whispering a soft “Surprise” to the empty, dim living room.
But instead of Mason’s boyish smile, I was greeted by an unfamiliar perfume—a rich, intoxicating blend of vanilla and sandalwood. Kennedy’s signature fragrance.
Then I saw her familiar denim jacket tossed carelessly over the sofa.
I had tried to rationalize it, telling myself she just dropped off a gift early.
But then came the soft, breathless moans. The low, gravelly murmurs. The discarded clothes on the floor.
I had walked into this apartment overflowing with love, only to be suffocated by the stench of their betrayal.
“Harper, wait!”
Mason’s voice, laced with panic, snapped me back to the agonizing present.
He came running out into the kitchen, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist, his chest still heaving. “Harper, listen to me. It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” A bitter, jagged laugh tore from my throat, scraping my vocal cords. “What is it, then? Were you two practicing your hockey checking techniques in bed?”
Kennedy appeared in the hallway behind him, clutching one of Mason’s oversized button-down shirts around her trembling frame. Tears streamed down her face, a pathetic picture of fake innocence. “Harper, please… it was an accident! We didn’t mean for this to happen. It just… it was a mistake!”
“An accident?” I repeated, the sheer audacity of the word leaving a metallic taste of blood in my mouth. My sorrow instantly hardened into blinding, white-hot rage. “You accidentally stripped naked and fell into my boyfriend’s bed?”
I looked down at the cake box again. Six hours of love, patience, and blind trust. Wasted on a lie.
Without a second of hesitation, I opened the box, lifted the heavy, perfectly baked pastry, and smashed it directly into Mason’s face.
Rich, dark chocolate and warm lava filling exploded across his stunned features, splattering onto his bare chest and the hardwood floor. Kennedy let out a horrified gasp, jumping back.
“Happy birthday, Mason,” I said, my voice as cold and dead as the future I had just lost.
“We’re done.”
I didn’t look back. I wrenched the front door open and ran into the night.
My “Broke” Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God Chapter 2
HARPER’S POV:
The biting night air slapped my face, and only then did I realize hot tears were streaming down my cheeks.
A yellow cab sped past. I waved my hand frantically, but it didn’t even slow down.
“Harper!”
Mason’s voice cut through the traffic noise. I turned to see him jogging toward me, wearing nothing but hastily zipped jeans, his bare chest exposed to the freezing wind.
He reached me, his hand clamping down on my wrist with a tight, bruising grip. “Just let me explain!”
“Don’t touch me!” I ripped my arm out of his grasp, my nails scraping hard against his skin. “You disgust me.”
Kennedy hurried up behind him. She was wrapped tightly in that new denim jacket. She looked small, shivering, and utterly pathetic. “Harper, please don’t be like this. Mason, he…”
“Shut your mouth,” I snarled, every ounce of my polite upbringing vanishing into the cold night. “You don’t get to say my name. Not anymore.”
A few passersby slowed down, their eyes lingering on the spectacle we were making. I didn’t care. Let them look.
Mason took a step closer, a flicker of genuine impatience crossing his handsome face. “Is it really necessary to make such a scene out here? We’re adults, Harper.”
His words sliced into me, a fresh, agonizing wound. “Adults?” I let out a harsh, breathless laugh. “So adults get to screw their girlfriend’s best friend and feel completely justified about it?”
Kennedy’s face crumpled, and she started to cry. “It was my fault,” she wailed, clutching the collar of the jacket. “I seduced him. Please, don’t blame him, Harper. Blame me.”
I stared at her, the girl who had held my hair back when I was sick, the girl who knew my deepest fears. The betrayal crashed over me, heavy and suffocating. Her pathetic, self-sacrificing act was laughable. She wasn’t protecting him; she was marking her territory, showing me they were already a team.
“Save the performance, Kennedy,” I spat, the irony tasting like ash in my mouth. “You two deserve each other.”
I spun on my heel and walked briskly toward the subway station, desperate to escape the toxic air around them.
Halfway down the block, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. The screen glowed in the dim streetlights with a single word: Mom.
My throat instantly tightened. I sank onto a nearby bus stop bench, taking a deep, shuddering breath before answering. I had to keep my voice steady.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, are you with Mason?” her cheerful, oblivious voice chirped through the speaker.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“I was just calling to ask how the wedding plans are coming along!” she continued. “Your Aunt Susan’s daughter is getting engaged next month, you know. You and Mason need to get a move on!”
Each word was like coarse salt poured directly into my open, bleeding heart. Just this morning, I had been looking at flights, planning to finally bring Mason home for Thanksgiving to officially meet my parents. I had spent weeks imagining the proud look on my mom’s face when I introduced the man I was going to marry.
Now, that beautiful future was nothing but a grotesque joke.
I glanced down the street. Mason and Kennedy were still standing there, watching me from a distance like I was some tragic street-side entertainment.
A sudden, fierce spark of anger ignited in my chest, burning away the tears. I wouldn’t let them see me break. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of watching me run away like a defeated victim.
“Mom, I have to go,” I interrupted, my voice suddenly hard. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hung up before she could reply.
Instead of heading down into the subway, I turned around and marched right back to where they stood.
Mason looked relieved for a split second, probably thinking I had come back to talk. But I didn’t look at his face. I dug my hand into my purse, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the spare key to his apartment—the one he had given me six months ago, calling it a “milestone.”
I pulled it out and threw it hard at his feet. It bounced off his shoe and clattered onto the concrete.
“That’s the last piece of you I’m carrying,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Stay out of my life.”
Mason stared down at the key, his jaw clenching, his face hardening into an unreadable mask.
Kennedy opened her mouth, fresh tears welling in her eyes, but I silenced her with a single, icy glare that made her snap her mouth shut.
I didn’t wait for a response. I turned my back on them for the final time, walked down the stairs into the subway station, and didn’t look back.
Inside the rattling train car, I leaned my head against the cool, vibrating glass, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon. I felt utterly, devastatingly alone.
With trembling hands, I took out my phone.
One by one, I deleted every photo of me and Mason. The vacations, the birthdays, the lazy Sunday mornings.
Then, I went to my albums and deleted every photo of me and Kennedy. Two years of friendship, erased in a matter of minutes.
When the screen finally showed No Photos, a hollow emptiness settled deep in my chest.
Two years of my life. Wasted on two dogs.
My “Broke” Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God Chapter 3
BECKETT’S POV:
Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study, the violent storm outside matching the suffocating tension inside.
I stared at my father, Beckett Montgomery III. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk like a king on his throne, dictating the lives of his subjects.
“I’ll say it one last time,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, though my jaw was tight enough to crack my teeth. “I am not marrying Victoria Carlisle.”
He slammed a thick, leather-bound file onto the desk. “This isn’t a request, Beckett. It’s an order! The Carlisle merger secures our controlling stake in the new arena. This is about the family’s future!”
A surge of pure, unadulterated frustration boiled in my veins. I was so sick of being treated like a pawn in his corporate chess games. “The family’s future, or your business empire?” I shot back. “My marriage is not a bargaining chip for your board meetings.”
“Everything you have, I gave you!” he roared, his face flushing purple as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Your status, your contract, that damned ‘C’ on your jersey! Without my influence, you are nothing! You cross me on this, and I’ll make sure you never step foot on the ice again. You can kiss your hockey career goodbye!”
That hit a nerve. The anger I’d been holding back finally snapped.
“I earned that ‘C’ with my own blood, sweat, and broken bones!” I yelled, stepping closer to the desk. “You didn’t skate those grueling drills. You didn’t take those hits against the boards. Hockey is mine. You don’t own it, and you sure as hell don’t own me.”
I met his furious gaze without flinching. “So go ahead. Take it all away.”
For a second, genuine shock flickered in his cold eyes, quickly replaced by a deeper, vindictive rage. “You think I won’t?”
He snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed a number. “It’s me. Freeze every credit card, bank account, and trust fund under the name Beckett Montgomery IV. Yes, all of them. Effective immediately.”
He hung up and stared at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “As of now, you are disowned. Let’s see how long you survive in the real world without the Montgomery name.”
I expected to feel panic. Instead, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. I felt no fear. Only a fierce, burning relief. “Suits me just fine.”
I turned on my heel and walked out of the study, the heavy oak doors shutting behind me with a final thud.
In the grand foyer, our longtime butler, Thomas, tried to stop me. He held out a set of keys, his eyes full of worry. “Mr. Beckett, please. It’s pouring outside. At least take the car…”
I reached out instinctively, but then I stopped. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. “Oh, right. He bought the car, too.” I shook my head and tossed the keys back to Thomas. “Whatever. He can have it all back.”
I shrugged off the suffocating, custom-tailored suit jacket I was wearing, letting it drop carelessly to the pristine marble floor. Dressed in just a thin white dress shirt and trousers, I pushed open the front doors and walked out into the raging storm.
The freezing rain soaked me instantly, plastering my shirt to my skin, but as I walked down the long, winding driveway of the estate, leaving the golden cage behind, I felt freer than I had in years.
I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. I just needed to put as much distance between me and that house as possible.
I kept walking along the shoulder of the dark highway, the rain blurring my vision. Cars sped past, their tires splashing icy, muddy water onto my already freezing body.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Gino, my teammate. I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to walk.
But after two miles, the adrenaline began to wear off. I was soaked to the bone, shivering violently, and my stomach growled with a hollow ache. A sharp sliver of regret pricked at my frozen skin.
Damn it. Maybe I should have kept the jacket. Or at least called an Uber before he cut off my phone plan. Pride was a warm concept, but it did absolutely nothing against a torrential downpour.
Just as I was cursing my own impulsiveness, blinding headlights washed over me from behind.
A piercing screech of tires on wet asphalt ripped through the night. The car fishtailed, sliding wildly before slamming to a halt mere inches from my legs. I could feel the aggressive heat radiating from its engine.
Before I could even process how close I had just come to getting run over, the driver’s door flew open, and a woman stormed out into the pouring rain.
“Are you insane?” she screamed, her voice cutting through the thunder. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the harsh glare of the headlights. Through the heavy downpour, I saw a small, furious figure marching toward me.
/1/126358/coverbig.jpg)
/1/126408/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25617/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25615/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25614/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25613/coverbig.jpg)
/1/126328/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25599/coverbig.jpg)
/0/25601/coverbig.jpg)