Chapter 15 SPIRIT FINGERS AND DIRTY LOOKS
POV SYLVIE
The Astoria Lions football field was a kaleidoscope of green turf, white lines, and the deafening roar of a Friday night crowd. Lights blazed down, making the air feel electric.
And I was in the middle of it.
Wearing a ridiculously short red-and-white cheerleading uniform.
"I still can't believe you roped me into this, Chloe," I hissed, trying to keep my pompoms from falling out of my sweaty hands. "My contract says 'public appearances,' not 'public humiliation involving synchronized kicks and jazz hands.'"
Chloe, looking perfectly at ease in her own uniform, just grinned. "It's for the 'school spirit' initiative! And it’s a perfect photo op for you and Nathaniel! Think of the Astoria Whisperer headlines!"
"I am thinking of the Astoria Whisperer headlines. They will say, 'Sylvie Belrose: Can Do a Backflip, Still Can't Afford a New Car.'"
Suddenly, the crowd erupted. The Astoria Lions ran onto the field, a blur of red and white helmets. And then, there he was. Nathaniel.
He wasn't in a helmet, of course. He was in the stands, surrounded by a group of his usual elite cronies, looking effortlessly cool in a letterman jacket that probably cost more than my tuition. But his eyes weren't on the game. They were locked on me.
He gave me a slow, infuriating smirk. He raised his hand, not in a wave, but in a taunting 'come hither' gesture that made my cheeks burn hotter than the stadium lights.
"He's making fun of me," I muttered, trying to remember the choreography for the opening cheer.
"He's flirting with you," Chloe corrected, nudging me. "And frankly, Belrose, you look kind of hot in that uniform. Like a very smart, very angry strawberry."
The music blasted, and I was forced to launch into the cheer. My arms moved stiffly, my kicks were more like hesitant taps, and I was pretty sure I looked less like a cheerleader and more like a confused scarecrow caught in a hurricane. Every time I had to do a high kick, I could feel the cold night air on my bare thighs, and I wanted to crawl into a hole.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.
Elena Vane. She was sitting in the VIP box, a glass of champagne in her hand, her eyes glued to me with a look of smug disdain. She looked like a predator watching its prey stumble. The thought of that video, the one she still had, the one that could ruin everything, made a fresh wave of ice-cold rage surge through me.
I forced a smile onto my face. A sharp, feral smile. If she thought she could break me with a grainy video, she had severely underestimated the power of a girl with nothing left to lose. I finished the cheer with more aggression than enthusiasm, practically punching the air with my pompoms.
The game started, and the first quarter was a blur of grunting players and frantic cheering. Every time our team scored, Nathaniel would clap slowly, his eyes still on me, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face. He even blew me a kiss once, a theatrical gesture that made me want to throw a rogue pompom directly at his perfectly coiffed head.
During a timeout, I jogged over to the sidelines, gasping for breath.
"You're terrible at this," Nathaniel’s voice said, echoing dangerously close.
He had somehow managed to leave the stands and was now standing by the fence, looking down at me with an amused glint in his eyes. He was holding a bottle of water.
"You’re one to talk, Cavill. I haven't seen you do a single cartwheel," I retorted, wiping sweat from my forehead.
"My athletic prowess is reserved for more... strategic endeavors. Like outmaneuvering my grandfather. Or cornering you in an argument." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur. "Or kissing you on a cold balcony after a gala."
My cheeks flushed crimson. "There are people here, Nathaniel!"
"Are there? I only see you." He handed me the water bottle. His fingers brushed mine, and the simple contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the cold night air. "You look beautiful, Sylvie. Even when you’re pretending to be a spirit finger enthusiast."
"I am not a spirit finger enthusiast!"
"You could have fooled me. You have a very aggressive spirit." He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His touch was feather-light, but it sent shivers down my spine. "About Elena..."
His voice hardened, and the playful glint in his eyes was replaced by something dark and dangerous. "She still has that video, doesn't she? The one from the garden."
I hesitated, then nodded. "She thinks she has us cornered. She wants me to break the engagement. To make me look like I used you, and then got cold feet."
"She’s an idiot," he said, his gaze sweeping over the field, briefly landing on Elena’s VIP box. A cold, calculating gleam entered his eyes. "But sometimes, idiots can be useful. What if we use her 'evidence' against her?"
"How?"
"Just trust me, Belrose. This game isn't just on the field. It’s in the stands. It’s in the press box. And tonight, we’re going to win both." He gave me a quick, intense look. "Just be ready for anything. And try not to trip during the halftime show."
He winked, and then he was gone, melting back into the crowd before I could even process what he had said. Be ready for anything. What did that even mean?
The halftime show began, a flurry of marching bands and a cheer routine that was thankfully much less embarrassing for me. But as I spun and jumped, my eyes kept drifting back to Nathaniel. He was no longer in the stands. He was on the sidelines, talking to the Astoria Lions coach, a notoriously gruff man who never spoke to anyone outside of his team.
Then, during the final moments of the halftime routine, the scoreboard suddenly flickered. And then, a message appeared, glowing red against the dark screen:
GO LIONS! ...AND REMEMBER, CONSENT IS EVERYTHING. #JUSTICESFORSYLVIE
The crowd fell silent. A collective gasp swept through the stadium. My stomach dropped. I looked at Nathaniel, who was now standing near the coach, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.
Then the scoreboard changed again. It showed a single image: a blurry, pixelated still frame from the video Elena had shown me—the one of Nathaniel leaning into me in the garden. But instead of the threatening caption, there was a new one, bold and unmissable:
UNAUTHORIZED SURVEILLANCE IS A CRIME. HARASSMENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AT ASTORIA UNIVERSITY. (CHECK YOUR CAMPUS MAIL FOR DETAILS ON THE NEW HONOR CODE POLICY)
The message was clear. It wasn't just a threat; it was a promise. Nathaniel had just publicly called out Elena, not with words, but with an official university announcement. He had used his power, not to protect himself, but to protect me.
The stadium erupted, but this time, it wasn't just for the Lions. It was for the scandal, for the drama, for the very public declaration that something much bigger was happening between the Cavill heir and the scholarship girl.
I looked at Elena’s VIP box. She was no longer smiling. Her face was ashen, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her worst nightmare had just played out on the jumbotron.
Nathaniel walked over to me, his eyes gleaming with a victory that had nothing to do with football. "I told you we’d win," he whispered, his voice dangerously pleased. "Arthur's been pushing for stricter digital privacy rules for months. I just gave him a very compelling reason to finally implement them. And to make a very public example of anyone who violates them."
"You... you put a university policy on the jumbotron?" I whispered, utterly stunned.
"It gets the message across. And it makes Elena look like a common criminal. Which she is." He reached out, taking my hand. "Now, let's go finish this game. And then, we celebrate."
He pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around my waist. The crowd was still buzzing, a million whispers turning into a tidal wave of speculation. But for once, I didn't feel exposed. I felt... seen. Protected.
"What if she still posts it?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the renewed roar of the crowd.
"She won't," Nathaniel said, his eyes locking on mine. "Because now, if she posts it, she's not just spreading rumors. She's admitting to a crime. And a Cavill never loses twice, Sylvie. Especially not when he's protecting what's his."
His words, possessive and unwavering, sent a thrill through me that was more dangerous than any cheerleading stunt. The game was far from over, but the lines had been drawn. And for the first time, I knew exactly which team I was on.