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 3
Chapter Three: Crying to mummy
Courtney Savage sat comfortably behind her wide glass desk, one manicured hand resting on a leather folder, the other wrapped around a porcelain cup of tea. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows of her office, casting a soft glow over the polished wood floors and the framed photographs lining the walls. Fashion campaigns, award ceremonies, moments of power and legacy frozen in time.
She looked nothing like someone approaching forty.
Courtney Savage was slender, elegant, and effortlessly beautiful. Her dark hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, her posture straight without stiffness. Everything about her spoke of control, of a woman who had built an empire and knew exactly how to hold it. Across from her stood her son.
Xander leaned casually against the edge of the desk, hands in his pockets, dressed far more simply than the room demanded. His presence softened the sharp edges of the space, grounding it in something warmer, more human.
Courtney smiled at him, eyes shining. "I still can't believe you're here."
Xander lifted a brow. "I told you I'd come eventually."
"Eventually is not today," she said lightly. "This is the first time you've stepped into LEGACY since I gave birth to you."
He shrugged. "You never needed me here."
"That's not true," Courtney replied, her voice gentle but firm. "I've always wanted you here. I just never pushed."
Xander's lips curved faintly. "I know."
She studied him for a moment, then laughed softly. "And now you decide to visit one week before my fortieth birthday."
He smiled properly this time. "I promised I'd be your driver and personal assistant for the week."
Courtney laughed outright. "My star footballer son reduced to carrying my bags?"
"You love it," he teased. "You know you do."
"I do," she admitted. "I really do."
There was a knock at the door before she could say more.
"Come in," Courtney called.
The door opened, and Watz, her long-time assistant, stepped inside holding a tablet. She was composed, efficient, and always alert.
"Mrs Savage," Watz said, "the photographer, Freya Woods, is outside for her interview."
Xander's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He looked away.
Courtney nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Let her in... in thirty minutes."
Watz blinked once. "Thirty?"
"Yes," Courtney replied calmly. "That will be all."
"Okay," Watz said, already turning toward the door.
As soon as she left, Courtney reached for a slim folder on her desk. The name printed neatly across the top caught her attention.
FREYA WOODS
She opened it, scanning through the pages with growing interest. Her brows lifted slightly as she flipped through printed photographs and credentials.
"Hmm," she murmured.
Xander straightened a little.
Courtney glanced up at him. "By any chance," she said casually, "do you know a Freya Woods?"
Xander met her gaze evenly. "I do."
"Same university," she continued. "North Fall."
"Yes," he said.
"Do you know her personally?" Courtney asked.
"Not personally," Xander replied smoothly. "But she's well known. She's very good."
Courtney paused, watching him carefully. "Good how?"
"She's the best photographer and fashion stylist in the school," he said without hesitation. "Everyone knows her work."
Courtney hummed, thoughtful. "You sound confident."
"I am," Xander said simply. "You should give her a trial."
Courtney considered that, tapping her finger lightly against the desk. "Alright," she said at last. "I'll take note."
Xander nodded. "I'll see you later then. I want to take a look around the company."
Courtney smiled warmly. "Don't take too long."
He leaned down and pecked her cheek, the gesture natural and affectionate. At that exact moment, there was a soft knock.
"Come in," Courtney said.
The door opened, and Freya Woods stepped inside. The room seemed to shift, Xander turned. For a brief second, their eyes met. Then he looked away. He didn't greet or acknowledge her. He walked straight past her and out of the office without a word.
Freya stood frozen for a moment, then lifted her chin and walked in fully, taking a seat opposite Courtney without being asked. Courtney observed her quietly.
***
The interview did not go as Courtney had expected.
Freya sat with her legs crossed, posture relaxed to the point of arrogance. She answered questions quickly, sometimes too quickly, her confidence spilling into impatience. When Courtney asked about teamwork, Freya smirked. When asked about brand image, she interrupted.
"I don't follow rules that limit creativity," Freya said. "I set trends. I don't represent brands, I elevate them."
Courtney watched her steadily. "And how do you handle criticism?"
Freya shrugged. "If it's useful, I take it. If it's not, I ignore it."
There was no humility. No restraint. And beneath it all, nervousness cracked through her voice. She stumbled over words she normally owned, hands twitching in her lap, her breath uneven. By the time the interview ended, Courtney already knew her decision.
"I'm sorry," Courtney said, folding her hands. "LEGACY won't be able to hire you."
Freya's face fell instantly.
"You're talented," Courtney continued calmly, "but you're not fit to represent this company."
Tears filled Freya's eyes despite her effort to hold them back. She nodded once. "Thank you for your time."
She stood quickly and left. The door closed behind her.
Courtney exhaled slowly, then clicked her tongue in frustration. "Sorry, son," she muttered to the empty room. "I tried. Trust me."
***
Freya stumbled into the elevator, tears finally spilling freely down her cheeks. The doors slid open just as someone stepped inside.
Xander looked at her, startled. Her face was red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense. For a moment, something flickered across his expression, then it hardened. The doors closed.
Freya laughed bitterly. "This is your fault."
Xander said nothing.
"You told her horrible things about me," she snapped. "You ruined my interview."
"That's not true," he said quietly.
"Oh please," Freya scoffed. "You couldn't handle being blocked, so you went crying to mummy."
His jaw clenched.
"You're a spoilt, arrogant, ruthless brat," she continued, voice shaking with anger. "You think you can destroy people because you can't take rejection."
Xander stared straight ahead.
"I hope you're happy," she finished.
The elevator stopped. Xander stepped out without a word. The doors closed behind him.
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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.