Chapter 2

Jillian Bridges POV:

The heavy wooden door slammed violently against the interior wall and bounced back with a loud thud, shaking dust loose from the doorframe.

Inside the VIP locker room, the two figures jumped apart like startled animals. Dalvin fumbled to pull down his rucked-up custom jersey, the blood draining from his face as he stared at me in the doorway.

Delina let out a shrill scream, yanking a white gym towel off the bench to cover her chest before her brief panic twisted into haughty disdain.

I stood on the threshold and stared at Dalvin's disheveled clothes. No tears came to my eyes, and no screams tore from my throat; my chest felt as still as dead water.

"Jillian... let me explain. This isn't what it looks like."

Dalvin stammered, taking a hesitant step toward me with his hands raised.

I looked straight into his eyes without backing down an inch, my voice stripped of all warmth.

"It's not what it looks like? Then what is it, Dalvin? Are you tutoring her on how to apply for low-income financial aid?"

Dalvin's face flushed red and then went pale. He gritted his teeth, dropping the guilty act altogether.

"Fine, since you saw everything, there's no point hiding it anymore."

He pointed an accusing finger at my faded, washed-out cotton T-shirt, his voice rising with sudden self-righteousness.

"Look at yourself! You reek of cheap sweat and fryer oil every single day. If I stay with you, I'll be stuck rotting at the bottom of the barrel for the rest of my life!"

I looked at the man I had poured two years of my youth into supporting, and my stomach churned at how repulsive his face looked right now.

"Delina can give me everything I actually need—connections, capital, and a ticket into high society. A broke nobody like you could never give me that in ten lifetimes!"

Dalvin spoke faster and louder, acting as if selling himself out was some noble ambition.

I let out a cold laugh and stepped inside the locker room, locking my eyes on him as I closed the distance.

"So me working three part-time jobs for two years to buy your designer clothes was just me being a stepping stone for you to climb the social ladder?"

Dalvin flinched at the frost in my eyes and instinctively took a step back, bumping straight into Delina's shoulder.

Delina shoved him aside impatiently, wrapped the towel tighter around herself, and lifted her chin high.

"Stop wasting your breath on her, Dalvin. Bottom-feeders like her are too stupid to understand how the real world works."

I turned my head toward Delina, the corner of my mouth curving into a mocking smile.

"The real world is you digging through my trash to pick up a piece of leftover garbage who goes into heat the second someone waves a dollar bill."

Delina's face turned livid. She shrieked and swung her open palm toward my cheek.

"You filthy little beggar, how dare you talk to me like that!"

Before her palm could reach my face, my hand shot up and clamped around her thin wrist like an iron vise, squeezing hard enough to make her cry out.

"Let go! You're hurting me!"

Delina thrashed her arm, her carefully made-up face twisting in pain.

"Jillian, have you lost your mind? Let her go right now!"

Dalvin lunged forward and grabbed my shoulders with both hands.

Without holding back an ounce of strength, he shoved me backward with all his weight.

Caught off guard, my sneakers slipped on the slick tile. I crashed hard onto the floor, my right elbow slamming against the sharp iron edge of the locker bench. A blinding pain shot up my arm, making my vision blur for a second.

Dalvin didn't even glance down at me. He immediately pulled Delina into his arms, cradling her reddened wrist and blowing on it with an anxious, doting expression.

"Are you okay, baby? Did she scratch you?"

Dalvin's gentle tone filled the room while I sat bleeding on the cold tiles.

I braced my left hand against the floor and slowly pushed myself upright. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down my temple, but I bit my lip and refused to make a sound as I stared at the two of them.

"Dalvin, you make me sick."

I spoke slowly, every word ringing clear in the quiet locker room.

Dalvin looked over his shoulder and glared down at me with pure disgust.

"I make you sick? Your pathetic, clingy poverty is what's sickening. We're done, Jillian."

"Done? You got that right."

I gripped the wooden bench with my good hand, pulled myself to my feet, and brushed the dirt off my jeans as if wiping away something foul.

I raised my head, my gaze completely dead and empty of the affection I used to carry for him.

"From this second on, we are strangers. You better pray that whatever you bought by selling your spine lasts you the rest of your life."

I turned my back on them without a backward glance and walked toward the door with my spine straight.

My scraped elbow throbbed with warm blood, and my chest ached like it had been hollowed out, but I would rather choke than let a single tear fall in front of them.