SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
The lively chatter of students filled the university courtyard, where a crowd of girls gathered in eager anticipation. Some stood on their toes, craning their necks for a better view, while others clutched their wallets, ready to bid. At the center of it all, June stood atop a low brick wall, her confident smirk widening as she held up a makeshift auction paddle.
"Ten Leones going once, going twice"
"Fifty Leones!"
June's eyes flickered toward the girl who had just raised the bid, a nervous-looking freshman clutching a crumpled bill. June arched a brow, impressed but unsurprised. She had spent months perfecting this operation, turning high school fantasies into a profitable business.
The target of today's bidding? Rolland Deen.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly cool, he was the undisputed heartthrob of campus. The kind of guy who made girls whisper when he walked by and left trails of broken hearts without ever trying. If there was one guy every girl wanted, it was him.
And June? She had figured out how to monetize that desire.
Her business was simple: girls paid her to get close to their crushes. Whether it was passing a note, setting up a "coincidental" meeting, or planting just the right words into conversation, June made it happen. She wasn't just a matchmaker, she was a strategist. A professional. And business was booming.
"Fifty Leones going once, going twice.."
"five hundred Leones."
The courtyard fell silent.
June's stomach flipped slightly at the bold number. She turned toward the source of the voice, her eyes settling on a figure standing at the edge of the crowd.
Mis Beauty.
The nickname wasn't an exaggeration. With her perfect hair, flawless skin, and designer outfits, she was one of the most admired girls on campus. But admiration often bred resentment, and the way the other girls turned to glare at her only confirmed the unspoken hierarchy, Mis Beauty wasn't just popular, she was envied.
June's lips twitched in amusement as she met the girl's unwavering gaze.
"I'll give you a hundred dollars," Mis Beauty repeated, her voice calm but firm. "But you have to do exactly as I say."
June tilted her head, feigning indifference. "And what do you want?"
Mis Beauty stepped forward, her manicured nails tapping against the strap of her designer bag.
"You'll write love letters to him for a week, on my behalf," she said smoothly. "Make them poetic, make them irresistible. You'll spy on him, learn everything he likes, everything he dislikes, things no one else knows. And most importantly…" She leaned in slightly. "You'll make him fall for me."
A slow smirk played on June's lips.
"That's a lot of work," she mused, tapping a finger against her chin. Then, with an easy shrug, she added, "A thousand Leones ."
Mis Beauty narrowed her eyes.
"Take it or leave it," June said, folding her arms.
A beat of silence passed, then..
"Deal."
The other girls groaned in disappointment, some throwing their hands up in frustration. But the moment Mis Beauty pulled out a crisp bundle of cash, June knew she had just sealed one of her most lucrative deals yet.
THE GAME BEGINS
For the next week, June became Rolland Deen's silent shadow.
At dawn, she slipped handwritten notes under his desk before the first lecture began. In the afternoons, she found ways to drop them near his locker, making sure they were always discovered in a way that felt organic, like fate, rather than design. Each note was carefully crafted, a mixture of mystery and flattery, tailored to intrigue a man like him.
By the third day, Rolland had begun to take notice.
June observed the way he lingered when picking up a note, the slight smirk that tugged at his lips as he read the words scribbled in neat, feminine handwriting. She saw the way his eyes searched the room subtly, scanning the crowd as if trying to match a face to the letters.
What he didn't know was that the girl he was searching for was the same one watching from the shadows.
But writing love letters wasn't enough.
June needed intel, details that would make the deception feel real.
She followed him discreetly, memorizing his routine. She learned that he started every morning with a black coffee, no sugar, no cream. That he always wore a leather wristband, twisting it absentmindedly when deep in thought. That he had a habit of staring up at the sky just before stepping onto the basketball court, as if grounding himself before a game.
She learned the music he hummed under his breath, the subjects he loved, the ones he barely tolerated. She learned that he read poetry when no one was watching, and that, despite his smooth exterior, there were moments when he looked almost… lonely.
Every detail she gathered, she reported back to Mis Beauty.
And each time she did, the girl's excitement grew.
"He likes poetry?" she had asked one afternoon, her voice tinged with surprise. "I never would have guessed…"
June had simply smiled, watching as Mis Beauty clung onto every word, absorbing every secret as if they were rare gems.
But what Mis Beauty didn't know,what June didn't anticipate, was that somewhere along the way, the game had shifted.
Rolland wasn't just reading the letters anymore.
He was looking for her.
And June?
She had started to wonder, just for a fleeting second, what it would have been like if those words had been hers all along.
And now at the present she was big introduced, "June, meet Rolland. He's an investor, Linda announced, her voice carrying an air of excitement.
June's stomach dropped.
Of all the investors in the world, did it really have to be him?
She forced a tight smile, her mind scrambling for composure. The last thing she needed was for Rolland Kamara the man she had once made a business out of stalking, to remember every single thing she had done to him.
"Hi," he said smoothly, extending his hand toward her.
June hesitated, then plastered a wary smile onto her lips. "Hi."
Instead of shaking his hand, she kept hers firmly at her side, hoping, praying, that luck was on her side, that maybe, just maybe, he had forgotten.
But the gleam in his eyes told her otherwise.
"You know," Rolland mused, tilting his head slightly, "your star host and I are old buddies. Aren't we, June?"
June's brows lifted in surprise. A small shrug was all she offered in response, but the way her shoulders tensed betrayed her unease.
"Really?" Linda turned to her with a curious smile. "June, you never told me you knew Rolland."
June let out a short breath, muttering under her breath, "Even I didn't know that."
Her mind spun back to those university days, when she had spent weeks tracking his every move, taking pictures of him to sell to his admirers. She had evaded his privacy countless times, collecting intel for her paying clients. She had even, on several occasions, sold him out when girls were chasing him—sacrificing him to the frenzy while she collected her earnings.
And now, here he was.
"We attended the same university," Rolland continued, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. "And trust me, she was quite the stalker."
June's face twisted in a scowl.
"Hell no," she shot back. "I was only stalking you because I was being paid. I had nothing to do with you beyond that."
Her words came out sharp, but as soon as she saw the brief flicker in his expression, the slight tightening of his jaw, a strange feeling curled in her chest.
Rolland's fingers twitched, clenching into a loose fist at his side. He wasn't surprised—he had always suspected something wasn't right back then.
At first, he had thought the letters were from her. He had hoped they were from her. He had seen her watching him, sneaking after him, taking pictures when she thought he wasn't looking. And despite knowing it was invasive, he hadn't minded. He had found it—cute.
But then the truth had surfaced.
The letters weren't hers, not truly. The admiration he thought she had for him was nothing more than a business transaction. The notes were written for someone else, and the photos weren't taken out of admiration—they were taken for profit.
And now, standing in front of her, he wondered if she had ever thought about that moment the way he had.
Before either of them could say another word, a voice cut in.
"Oh, Mr. Deen," May interrupted, drawing both their attention.
June turned just in time to see Dave closing the distance toward her, his presence commanding and unwavering.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his gaze locking onto hers.
June held his stare for a moment before nodding. "Yeah."
She had promised to take him out, and if there was one thing Dave didn't let slide, it was a promise.
Rolland's gaze flickered to him, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in every detail. The confidence in the way he stood, the way he spoke to June as if he had every right to claim her time.
Who was he?
And more importantly—why was he standing so close to her?
A strange irritation settled in Rolland's chest. He wasn't sure why, but the sight of this man at her side sent a prickle of annoyance through him.
"If you're busy, I can come back later," Dave said, his voice smooth but carefully measured.
"I'm not," June replied quickly, then hesitated. She didn't owe him an explanation, but for some reason, she felt the need to clarify. "This is Rolland, the investor for my show. Linda just introduced us."
It wasn't necessary to say it, but the words left her lips before she could stop them.
And the second they did, something twisted in her gut.
Why did she care what Dave thought? Why did it suddenly feel important that he didn't misunderstand?
No. That wasn't happening.
She wouldn't let that happen.
Rolland observed the subtle shift in her expression, his brows lifting slightly in curiosity. Before he could say anything, he extended a hand toward Dave.
"Hi, you're—"
But Dave didn't shake his hand.
Instead, his arm slid around June's waist, pulling her effortlessly into him.
The fresh scent of his cologne wrapped around her, a familiar blend of mint and something undeniably masculine. The warmth of his touch settled against her, strong and possessive.
June's breath hitched.
Her gaze snapped up to his, searching his expression, but all she found was calm certainty.
"Boyfriend," Dave said, his voice firm. "I'm her boyfriend."
The room seemed to shrink.
Rolland's eyes darkened, his posture shifting ever so slightly. He had expected many things when he walked into this room—but this?
His gaze flickered between them, taking in the way June leaned slightly into Dave's hold, the way her fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach for something. The way she wasn't pushing him away.
"Boyfriend?" Rolland repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.
For a moment, June could only stare.
Her mind screamed at her to correct Dave, to shove him away, to laugh it off—but her heart…
Her heart betrayed her.
Because, despite her high walls and years of resistance, she couldn't stop the way her stomach fluttered at the way he held her. The way he claimed her. The way she felt safe—shielded—against his side.
And deep down, beneath all her walls and careful indifference, she knew the truth.
She had never wanted to resist him in the first place.
….
The evening sky stretched over the ocean, hues of deep orange fading into a soft twilight blue. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the sea into the open-air restaurant where June and Dave sat, the flickering candlelight casting a golden glow over their table. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore mixed with the soft hum of distant music, creating an ambiance of serene elegance.
June had been in a good mood, relieved, even, at how the evening had unfolded so far. Dave had accepted her invitation to dinner, which was already a small victory, considering how guarded he was about food. True to form, he had refused to eat anything prepared in the restaurant, sticking only to the sealed water bottle he had insisted on purifying with a napkin before drinking. But at least he had come, and for June, that was enough.
Or at least, it had been.
Until he brought up her father.
"Have you thought about visiting your dad?" Dave's voice was calm, almost casual, but the words sent an immediate chill through her.
Her fork, mid-air, faltered. She looked up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why would you ask that?"
"Hey, I know it's not my place," he admitted, watching her reaction carefully, "but I'm just concerned."
"Well, don't be." She stabbed her fork into her steak with more force than necessary. "Just drink your water, and let's enjoy the meal."
Dave exhaled, watching as the light in her eyes dimmed, the joy she had shown earlier now slipping away. He had taken something from her just now—he could feel it.
"I'm being your therapist here," he said, forcing a small smirk to lighten the mood.
"I didn't ask you to be," she snapped. "Can you just not ruin this meal?"
Her grip on the fork tightened, her fingers pressing white against the handle. Each slice into the bleeding steak felt like an outlet for something she couldn't voice aloud.
But Dave didn't let up. "Why do you hate your dad so much?"
Her head shot up, eyes flashing. "Shut up."
"Is it because he left you and never came back?"
"I said shut up!"
A few heads turned in their direction, curious stares pressing in on her, but she ignored them. Dropping her silverware onto the plate with a sharp clatter, she pushed her chair back and stood abruptly.
"I'm full. You can enjoy the treat yourself," she said, turning for the exit.
Dave sighed, running a hand through his hair before standing to follow her. As soon as they stepped outside, he moved in front of her, blocking her path.
"Stop," he said firmly. "Just tell me—why do you carry so much hatred for him?"
She tried to push past him, but his steady gaze held her in place, demanding an answer she wasn't ready to give.
Finally, she exhaled sharply. Her body slumped slightly, as if the weight of the question had finally crushed her resistance.
"Because he abandoned me," she confessed, voice quieter now. "He left years ago and never came back."
Her throat tightened, but the words kept pouring out.
"I hate myself because I don't despise him." She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "After all these years, I still have hope. Hope that he'll come back, hope that I'll get to see him again. Hope that—" Her voice cracked. "Hope that he'll embrace me like he used to."
And then, she broke.
The floodgates of her emotions crashed open, and for the first time in years, she let herself cry for the man who had walked away.
Dave didn't say anything at first. He didn't try to give her some generic line about how everything would be okay. Instead, he simply stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
"It's okay," he murmured against her hair. "It's okay to feel that way. You don't always have to be strong. Sometimes, it's okay to lean on others."
For a moment, she resisted. But then, her body melted against his, surrendering to his warmth, his quiet reassurance.
This was new.
She had never let herself be this vulnerable with anyone before. Not with friends. Not with past lovers. Only with her pillows and teddy bears late at night, when no one could see her walls crumble.
But with Dave, she let them fall.
The heaviness of the conversation lingered, but Dave refused to let it ruin the night. So when he saw the outdoor dance floor by the water, where couples twirled beneath the glow of fairy lights, he grabbed her hand.
"Come on."
"What?" she sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
"Dance with me."
She scoffed. "I don't dance."
"Well, now you do."
Without giving her a chance to protest, he pulled her into the crowd. The soft hum of a romantic ballad played, and she found herself caught in the slow rhythm, her body moving instinctively to his lead.
She wasn't sure how it happened, but soon, laughter bubbled in her chest.
Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation.
Maybe it was the alcohol they had downed earlier.
Maybe it was just him.
Whatever it was, she didn't fight it.
They danced. They drank. They stumbled through the night like two people who had no worries, no pasts, no responsibilities.
By the time the night reached its peak, they were leaning against each other, the city lights a blur in the distance.
"Tell me something," Dave murmured, voice thick with the remnants of whiskey.
"Hmm?"
"If your dad showed up tomorrow… what would you do?"
She was quiet for a long moment before she finally answered.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe… maybe I'd listen."
Dave smiled. "Then that's enough."
He pulled her close again, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. And as she leaned into him, her heart a little lighter than before, she realized something.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel alone.