Lena Hayes could feel the pressure building beneath her skin sharp and hot, like a live wire humming just under the surface.
The overhead lights of the packed arena burned too bright, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood. The echo of squeaking sneakers and sharp, barking calls filled the air, merging with the low, restless hum of the crowd.
Final quarter. Tied score.
Three minutes left on the clock.
This was it. No second chances. No do-overs.
Across the court, Kendra Ross six feet of muscle and cocky swagger, bounced the ball between her hands, dark eyes locked on Lena with predator-like focus. Kendra was the best point guard in the league. A future first-round draft pick. A problem.
"Lena!" Zoe's sharp voice cut through the noise.
Lena crouched low, muscles coiled, reading the tension in Kendra's stance. Kendra's left foot twitched. A tell. Lena surged right as Kendra cut left, and
SNAP!
Lena's hand shot out, knocking the ball loose. Kendra's eyes widened as Lena swiped the ball clean, spinning on the balls of her feet.
Fast. Clean. Ruthless.
Lena shot down the court like a bullet, heart hammering, her breath burning hot in her throat. A defender lunged toward her. She twisted mid-air, body arching, the court flipping beneath her.
Three seconds left.
The basket was wide open.
She took the shot.
The ball soared in a clean arc. Time slowed, stretching painfully thin as the ball spun toward the hoop
Swish.
The buzzer screamed. The ball hit the floor. The crowd erupted.
"Lena!" Zoe's scream cut through the chaos.
Lena stumbled back as Zoe slammed into her, arms wrapped tight around her neck. "You're a goddamn machine!"
Around them, the team surged in a wave of cheers and chaotic energy. Arms slapped Lena's back. Coach Rivera's rare smile broke through his hard exterior from the sideline.
Lena's chest heaved, sweat slick on her skin. Her legs felt like jelly.
She should have felt invincible.
She didn't.
Because this wasn't just a game.
This was survival.
"Lena."
Coach Rivera's voice cut through the noise. Sharp. Clipped. Controlled.
Lena peeled away from the celebrating crowd, her heart rate still thrumming beneath her ribs. She pushed through the tangled bodies of teammates and opposing players until Rivera's hard, assessing gaze locked on her.
"Scouts are waiting." His eyes narrowed. "Don't blow this."
She nodded, swallowing the hard knot in her throat. "Got it."
Rivera didn't waste words. He turned and disappeared into the depths of the arena, leaving Lena standing there, sweat cooling against her skin.
She needed this contract.
For Jordan.
For her mother.
For her future.
A contract would mean an NBA-level salary. It would mean no more worrying about medical bills, no more late nights trying to figure out how to stretch a dollar into two. Jordan would finally get the treatment he needed.
She just had to keep winning.
Keep pushing.
No room for distractions.
She took a steadying breath and turned toward the locker room.
"Lena Hayes?"
The voice was smooth, low, and far too confident.
She turned and froze.
A man in a tailored black suit stood at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. Blonde hair styled in that effortless, careless way only rich boys could pull off. His sharp jawline could have been cut from marble, and the slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth was pure arrogance.
Everything about him screamed money.
And trouble.
"Who's asking?" Lena said coolly.
The man's blue eyes gleamed beneath the sharp arena lights. "Jaxon Cole."
Lena's stomach dropped.
Jaxon Cole. The billionaire heir to the Cole family empire. His family practically owned half of New York. He was on the cover of Forbes before he turned twenty-one. His dating history was tabloid gold models, actresses, politicians' daughters.
And now he was standing here looking at her like she was next.
"Nice game," Jaxon said, stepping toward her with the easy confidence of someone who'd never heard the word no.
Lena narrowed her eyes. "Thanks. Not looking for compliments."
"Good thing I'm not offering one." His gaze slid over her, sharp and assessing. "I'm looking for conversation."
"Well, I'm not interested."
Lena turned toward the locker room, pulse racing and not from the game.
"You haven't even heard what I'm offering."
His voice chased her down the hall. Smooth. Dark. Tempting.
Lena's feet slowed despite herself. "Offering?"
Jaxon's smile sharpened. "Come to the after-party. Rooftop of the Mayfair Hotel. You'll want to hear this."
Lena scoffed. "And why exactly would I care about some rich boy's party?"
"Because it's not just my party." His gaze darkened. "My father will be there."
Her pulse stumbled. "And I care why?"
Jaxon leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Because he's been pulling strings behind the scenes."
"What strings?"
Jaxon's mouth curled. "The kind that could affect your contract."
Lena's blood went cold.
She should have walked away.
Should have let it go.
Instead, she turned to face him fully. "You're lying."
Jaxon's gaze was steady. "Come to the party and find out."
Lena's fists curled at her sides. This was dangerous territory and she knew it.
But if Jaxon's father was messing with her future, she needed to know why.
"Fine," she said. "But don't get comfortable, Cole. I'm not the type of girl who plays games."
Jaxon's smile sharpened. "Good thing I don't lose."
Lena turned and stalked toward the locker room without looking back.
Her heart was still pounding.
And it had nothing to do with the game.
Lena Hayes knew better than to chase trouble.
And Jaxon Cole was nothing but trouble wrapped in billionaire silk.
Yet here she was standing in the elevator of the Mayfair Hotel, heart hammering beneath her ribcage as the smooth hum of classical music filled the small, mirrored space.
The rooftop button glowed beneath her fingertip.
She should have walked away.
She should have gone home.
But Jaxon's words were still circling in her head like a predator stalking its prey.
"My father's been pulling strings."
And Lena couldn't afford to let anyone mess with her future, not even the Cole empire.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
A warm breeze hit her first, the sticky-sweet scent of jasmine and expensive champagne clinging to the summer night air. Beyond the glass doors, the rooftop stretched wide beneath the dark Manhattan sky, the city lights burning like scattered diamonds below.
The party was already in full swing bodies draped in designer couture and effortless wealth. Girls in glittering dresses, guys in tailored suits, the kind of crowd that belonged in the pages of Vogue and Forbes.
Lena's worn leather jacket and scuffed white sneakers made her feel like a walking glitch in the system.
Just get the information and get out.
She took a step toward the crowd and almost collided with a tall, dark-haired waiter carrying a silver tray of champagne flutes.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Can't say I'm surprised."
Her pulse tripped.
Jaxon Cole stood just beyond the glass doors, leaning casually against a marble pillar with a glass of dark amber liquor in his hand. His blonde hair was tousled in that perfectly careless way, and his black suit clung to his frame like it had been hand-stitched onto him.
But it was his smile that made Lena's breath tighten. That lazy, dangerous smile that promised trouble and follow-through.
"You're late," Jaxon said, stepping toward her.
"I didn't say I was coming."
"True." His gaze drifted down her body and back up. "But here you are."
Lena forced her pulse to settle. "You said your father's been messing with my contract. Start talking."
Jaxon's gaze sharpened. "Not yet."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
Jaxon stepped closer so close Lena could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne and whiskey on his breath. "If we start talking business, this night will end quickly." His smile curved. "And I'm not ready for that yet."
Lena's jaw tightened. "I'm not here to play games, Cole."
"And yet…" His gaze slid toward the champagne tray behind her. "You're standing on my rooftop."
Lena's lips parted with a sharp retort, but Jaxon was already moving. He took her hand and she stiffened but he didn't stop. His fingers curled lightly around hers, his touch steady and warm.
"Relax, Hayes," Jaxon said. "It's just a drink."
Her eyes flashed. "I don't drink with strangers."
"Good thing I'm not a stranger." His blue eyes glinted beneath the soft rooftop lights. "Not anymore."
She let him lead her toward the marble balcony at the far side of the rooftop. The city stretched wide below them glittering lights and the hum of traffic drifting up from the streets.
Jaxon handed her a glass of champagne. Lena stared at it for a beat, then took a cautious sip. Bubbles fizzed sharp against her tongue.
"I don't have time for this," Lena said.
Jaxon's gaze darkened. "You will."
"Talk."
Jaxon leaned casually against the glass railing, swirling the liquor in his glass. "My father likes control. He likes power. And he likes winning."
"Sounds familiar."
Jaxon's mouth twitched. "He's been working with Ryan Kingston."
Lena's stomach dropped. "Kingston?"
"He's trying to secure a major deal one that involves controlling the team you're trying to sign with."
Lena's pulse hammered in her throat. "Why would your father care about me?"
Jaxon's gaze slid toward her, sharp and knowing. "Because you're a threat."
Her brows furrowed. "To what?"
"To the narrative." His eyes narrowed. "An underdog from Brooklyn defying the odds and becoming a star? My father doesn't like wild cards."
Lena's jaw tightened. "So, what's his play?"
"Leverage." Jaxon's expression darkened. "If you don't play along, Ryan will cut you from the deal. Your career is the bargaining chip."
Lena's hand curled around the champagne glass. "So, what I'm supposed to fall in line?"
Jaxon's gaze sharpened. "No. That's why I'm here."
Her eyes narrowed. "And why would you care?"
Jaxon's smile faded. For a moment, Lena saw beneath the mask the quiet intensity lurking beneath the polished surface.
"Because I know what it's like to be treated like a pawn in someone else's game."
Lena's breath hitched.
"You don't owe me anything," Jaxon said quietly. "But if you want to fight back if you want to win you'll need help."
Lena's heart hammered in her chest. "And you're offering… what? Protection?"
Jaxon's smile was sharp. "More like strategy."
"And what do you get out of this?"
Jaxon's gaze drifted toward her mouth then back to her eyes. "The satisfaction of watching my father lose."
Lena's pulse spiked.
"This is dangerous," she said.
Jaxon's smile turned wolfish. "So is walking away."
Their eyes locked a silent, razor-sharp line of tension cutting between them. Lena's breath quickened.
Jaxon pushed off the railing, stepping toward her. Close enough that the heat of his body brushed against her arm.
"Let me help you, Lena." His voice was low, steady. "You don't have to play by their rules."
Lena's chest tightened. Every instinct screamed to say no to walk away.
But her career was on the line.
Jordan's future was on the line.
And Jaxon's gaze…
It wasn't just offering strategy.
It was offering a choice.
"Fine," Lena said softly. "But if this goes south, Cole…"
Jaxon's smile was dark and dangerous. "Then we burn it all down together."
Lena's breath hitched.
Jaxon lifted his glass toward hers. "To winning."
Lena's glass hovered beneath his.
"To not losing," she corrected.
Their glasses clinked softly beneath the glow of city lights.
And Lena couldn't shake the feeling that the game had already started.