Love Me Like A Champion
Xander Savage plays with footballs.
Freya Woods plays with hearts.
The other plays to win, one plays for fun.
Xander is the campus football champion, gentle, gorgeous, misunderstood. Everyone thinks he's a player, but he's actually the only good boy in school.
Freya is the campus play girl, bold, wild.
When fate throws them together, sparks fly...Neither knows their souls have met before...long ago, in another life, where they loved passionately and broke disastrously. But this time? They're destined to rewrite their ending...can they actually re write the stars?
LOVE ME LIKE A CHAMPION is a reincarnation campus romance about a boy who loves too deeply and a girl who's terrified to be loved.
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Chapter 2
Chapter Two: Grumpy footballer
The evening air at The Savage mansion was calm, but the private football pitch behind the house was anything but.
The sound of a ball hitting the net echoed sharply. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Xander Savage was alone on the pitch, dressed in a black training kit, boots digging into the grass as he practiced relentlessly. Sweat rolled down his temple, his breathing heavy, controlled but his mind was far from calm.
He sprinted forward, struck the ball hard, and watched it slam into the goalpost. He didn't celebrate. He turned, jaw tight, eyes dark. Another ball rolled to his feet, he kicked again. Harder.
"Brooding again?" a voice called out.
Xander didn't turn.
Wendy walked onto the pitch, phone in hand, blue hair tied up casually. She wore an oversized hoodie and trainers, chewing gum as she approached him like this was a normal evening-which it was.
"You're going to break something if you keep doing that," she said lightly. "Relax, bro."
Xander finally stopped, hands on his hips. "What do you want, Wendy?"
She grinned. "Wow. Someone's grumpy."
She held up her phone. "Look."
Xander glanced at the screen. Pictures from the match filled it-him scoring, him celebrating, him shaking hands with Wendy. His face hardened instantly. He walked over, grabbed the phone, scrolled fast, then tossed it onto the grass.
Wendy gasped dramatically. "Excuse you!"
"She blocked me," Xander said flatly.
Wendy blinked, then burst out laughing. "Oh my God," she said between laughs. "Is that what this is about?"
Xander stared at her. "I'm serious."
"So am I," Wendy replied, wiping her eyes. "You're acting like she deleted you from existence."
"She blocked me on Snapchat," he snapped. "No explanation. Nothing, just ghosted."
Wendy bent down, picked up her phone, and dusted it off. "Relax. It's not that deep."
Xander scoffed. "Not that deep?"
"It's Snapchat, Xander. People block each other for breathing wrong or mood wings."
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "We were talking. For two weeks."
"Exactly," Wendy said. "Two weeks. Not two years."
"She laughed at my jokes. She stayed up late with me. She sent voice notes." His voice lowered. "Then she blocked me."
Wendy raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky."
"Lucky?" he repeated sharply.
"Yes," she said. "Because no one knows she was your talking stage. Imagine if that leaked."
Xander stopped pacing. "Why would it leak?"
Wendy smirked. "Because you're Xander Savage. People breathe and it trends."
He clenched his jaw. "How can she play me like that?"
Wendy shrugged. "Freya plays everyone."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," Wendy said. "That's literally her reputation."
Xander stared at the grass. "Then why talk to me at all?"
"So you just noticed her like two weeks ago?" Wendy softened slightly. "Well, maybe she liked you. Maybe she didn't want to."
"I only noticed her three weeks ago from a photograph she took of me." He laughed bitterly. "But her attitude makes no sense. She approached me herself."
"It does make sense for someone like her."
Xander looked up. "You're still going to be friends with her, aren't you?"
"Obviously," Wendy said easily. "We're not really friends but we talk."
His eyes darkened. "You'll still talk to her even after this?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "She didn't do anything to me."
"She embarrassed me."
"You embarrassed yourself by catching feelings," Wendy shot back.
Silence fell between them. Then Wendy sighed. "Look, bro. She blocks people when things feel real. That's her thing."
Xander's fists clenched. "That doesn't make it okay."
"No," Wendy agreed. "But it makes it her."
She turned to leave. "Try not to break the goalpost."
"Wendy."
She paused. "Yeah?"
"If she talks to you about me..."
"I won't tell you," Wendy finished. "Good night, Savage."
She walked away, leaving him alone under the dim pitch lights. Xander stood still for a long moment, then he ran. He charged toward the ball and kicked it with all the anger in his chest. The ball flew violently into the net, he didn't stop.
***
The next day, Freya Woods sat upright in a quiet waiting area, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her camera bag rested at her feet. Her portfolio was placed carefully beside her. Her heart was racing.
She exhaled slowly, then whispered, "Please."
She had applied for the position of Assistant Photographer and Fashion Stylist at LEGACY, one of the most respected creative companies in the UK.
Fashion. Media. Influence. Everything she loved. The receptionist had told her something unusual earlier. "The CEO wants to see you herself."
That alone had nearly made Freya turn around and run. She glanced down at her hands, then at her portfolio. Inside were her best works-events, portraits, campus shoots, candid moments frozen perfectly.
"You've got this," she murmured.
Suddenly, movement stirred the room. People straightened, whispers spread. The door opened.
"She's here."
Everyone stood instantly. Freya shot up with the rest, her heart slamming. A woman walked in, she was tall, elegant, dressed in a sharp cream suit. Her presence filled the space effortlessly.
The CEO of LEGACY.
She didn't smile. She didn't greet anyone. She walked straight into her office, the door closed behind her.
Freya swallowed hard and sat down slowly.
"She's scary," someone whispered nearby.
"She's brilliant," another replied.
Freya leaned back slightly, trying to calm her breathing. Why would she want to see me personally? She pressed her lips together. Then footsteps echoed again, someone else walked in.
Freya looked up. Her stomach dropped.
Xander Savage walked in. He wore a clean black jacket, hair neat, he wasn't smiling as usual. Their eyes met instantly, his expression hardened, so did hers.
He broke eye contact first and walked past her, straight toward the CEO's office. Freya frowned slightly.
"Why is he here?" She leaned back, thinking.
"Probably an endorsement," she muttered under her breath. "He's a star."
She adjusted her grip on her portfolio, trying not to care. Then whispers started again.
"That's him."
"The football prodigy."
"Isn't he...?"
"Yeah."
Freya tilted her head slightly, listening.
"That's the CEO's son."
Her heart skipped.
"What?"
"I heard it too."
"He's her only son."
Freya's chest tightened. Her gaze snapped to the office door Xander had entered. Her pulse raced.
The CEO's son.
Her fingers curled slowly around her portfolio. Fear crept into her chest.
"What have I walked into?" Her heart pounded harder as she stared at the closed door.
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7.2
After a one night stand with the woman whose house Jason broke into, his life has never been the same. Like a siren's call, he can't get the nymphomaniac woman off his mind. Weeks later, while getting intel for the crew's next heist, Jason lays eyes upon the woman and follows her into a secret strip club. She appears to lead a double life. One where she's the CEO of a multimillion company and her father's golden child. The other side of her life is that she owns a strip club and is extremely erotic. Can Jason learn to live with her as she is? Will he put his pride aside to be with the woman? ... especially when his crew is hired to kidnap a woman who turns out to be the love of his life.
7.4
I was a broke clinic doctor drowning in debt, so I took a confidential job to evaluate a billionaire heir's fertility.
I marched into the VIP ICU, pinned the struggling patient down, and injected a sedative. I finished the extraction and loudly declared to the family lawyer that the Holt heir was completely sterile.
But then, a chilling laugh echoed from the doorway.
The real heir, Jarrod Holt, the tyrant of Wall Street, stepped in. I had just sterilized his younger brother right in front of him.
Facing a decade in federal prison, I was completely at his mercy. To make things worse, my arrogant ex-boyfriend tried to publicly humiliate me, and my greedy uncle threatened to burn my dead mother's belongings for ransom. I was pushed to the absolute brink of ruin.
But instead of destroying me, Jarrod offered a terrifying lifeline. He bought out a Manhattan high-rise in five minutes just to ruin my ex, then handed me a marriage contract.
I was terrified and deeply confused. Why would this ruthless billionaire force a nobody into a fake marriage? He knew details about my past that no one should know. Did he discover my hidden identity as 'E', the underground surgeon the entire medical world was hunting for?
With my back against the wall, I signed the prenuptial agreement.
"I do," I whispered at City Hall.
He shoved his heavy, antique family ring onto my finger. It was supposed to be strictly business with absolutely no physical contact, but when his lips crashed violently onto mine, I knew I had just sold my soul to the devil.
7.1
I worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street just to keep my sick brother alive, enduring endless humiliation from the wealthy family that adopted us.
But when I went to surprise my boyfriend of three years, I found him kissing my spoiled adoptive sister, Tatum.
They were celebrating their engagement to merge their powerful families.
To keep me quiet, my adoptive mother, Eleanor, threatened to freeze my brother's medical trust fund unless I attended the party to play the supportive sister.
Instead, I discovered Eleanor had been embezzling from my brother's life-saving fund to cover her own bad investments.
The nightmare worsened when a drunken Ryder cornered me in my apartment stairwell.
"Once I marry Tatum, Eleanor is giving me control of Liam's trust fund to buy out my father's board members."
He planned to drain my brother's medical money, dump Tatum, and keep me as his mistress.
For a decade, I suffered their abuse hoping for a shred of decency, only to realize they were plotting to leave my brother to die on the streets for corporate greed.
Calling the police wouldn't stop these billionaires. I needed absolute power.
Remembering the dark, predatory gaze of Jaren Jarvis—the ruthless billionaire who had watched me fight back at the party—I canceled my call to 911.
If they wanted to destroy my only family, I was going to use the devil himself to crush theirs.
7.8
For five years, I was the flawless wife to the heir of the De Luca empire, securing billion-dollar acquisitions to prove my worth.
But my husband, Alessandro, still paraded his mistress in our home, publicly humiliating me as a "cold spreadsheet" while she sneered in triumph.
It didn't stop at infidelity. When I dared to cut off her credit cards, Alessandro decided to teach me a lesson.
He allowed his mistress to secretly file down the metal clasp on my horse's saddle right before a massive public equestrian event.
My leg was completely shattered in a horrific, agonizing fall in front of hundreds of elite guests.
While I lay bleeding in the dirt, my husband didn't even glance my way. Instead, he rushed to hold his mistress, shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight.
Later, pretending to be unconscious in the infirmary, I overheard him ordering his guards.
"Get rid of the saddle. It was just a lesson to remind her who's in charge."
He didn't just want me humiliated; he wanted me crippled and broken.
As the sterile smell of the hospital hit me, a horrifying realization set in—I was two weeks late. I was pregnant with his child.
The thought of my baby growing up in this ruthless, toxic family made my blood run cold, and the last spark of my love turned into absolute hatred.
The obedient wife died on that dirt track.
I quietly contacted his family's biggest rival and activated my secret scorched-earth protocol. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.
7.3
Six years ago, my father tore up my mother's trust fund and threw me out into a freezing New York storm.
Crawling in the mud with a high fever, I was nearly run over by a massive Rolls-Royce.
The man in the backseat, ruthless billionaire Hiram Houston, looked at my bleeding face with absolute disgust.
"Throw her in the trunk."
He coldly ordered his driver to lock me in suffocating darkness and dump me behind a sketchy private clinic in Queens like garbage.
I survived that night, completely abandoned by my family.
But the ultimate cruel joke came when I realized the anonymous sperm donor I later used from that exact same clinic gave my son a pair of piercing, ice-blue eyes.
For six years, I clawed my way up to become an untouchable lawyer and designer.
I raised my son Julian alone, publicly humiliated my abusive father, and thought I had buried the monster of my past forever.
But today, during a tense corporate negotiation, my uncle accidentally showed Hiram a picture of my little boy.
The ruthless corporate butcher stared at a child who looked exactly like a mirror reflection of his own youth.
"Boss... he looks exactly like you."
I locked my apartment door, my body shaking with silent sobs as I slid down to the floor.
He ordered a full background check on me, and now he knows the truth.
The man who once left me for dead is coming for my son.
7.9
Catalina had just won the Best Actress Golden Globe. It was supposed to be the absolute pinnacle of her acting career.
But a broken heel on her way backstage sent her crashing right into the arms of Brogan Cohen. He was Hollywood's most untouchable A-lister, and the man she despised most.
A hidden paparazzo snapped a perfectly timed photo of him kneeling to untangle her dress, making it look like a deeply intimate, secret romance.
The internet instantly exploded.
Brogan's rabid fanbase tore Catalina apart, branding her a shameless clout-chaser.
To make matters worse, a rival actress weaponized the scandal, accusing Catalina of sleeping her way to the top to steal roles.
Within days, Catalina's world collapsed. Her upcoming lead role in a major indie film was suspended. Two luxury fashion houses unilaterally terminated her contracts.
Meanwhile, Brogan simply hopped on his private jet and fled to the South of France, leaving her trapped in her apartment as a mob of screaming paparazzi battered her front door.
She had spent years proving her talent, only to be blacklisted and labeled a manipulative homewrecker over a stupid accident.
The sheer injustice of it suffocated her. She hated Brogan with a fiery, visceral passion for destroying her reputation and running away like a coward.
With her career bleeding out, her manager slammed a contract on the desk: an unedited, live-streamed survival dating show on a private Caribbean island.
"You need to prove you are entirely repulsed by Brogan Cohen."
Catalina grabbed the pen and signed her name with aggressive, sharp strokes.
She was going to flirt with every model on that island, burn this false narrative to the ground, and make Brogan choke when he turned on his TV.