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 5
Chapter Five: One minute
The stadium at North Fall University vibrated with noise. Chants rolled through the stands like waves crashing against stone, drums beating in time with racing hearts. Floodlights cut through the evening sky, turning the pitch into a glowing stage. Every seat was filled. Every eye was fixed on the field.
The scoreboard blinked. 0 - 0
Five minutes left.
Sweat clung to Xander Savage's skin as he jogged back into position, chest rising steadily, mind sharp despite the pressure. The match had been brutal...tackles hard, passes tight, tempers high. The opposing team had marked him relentlessly, two defenders shadowing his every move.
He wiped his face with the back of his wrist and glanced at the clock.
Four minutes and thirty seconds.
From the sidelines, Wendy Savage bounced on the balls of her feet, pom-poms shaking as she shouted with the rest of the cheerleaders. Her blue hair caught the light, flashing bright as she cupped her hands around her mouth.
"COME ON, XANDER!"
The chant started again.
"SAVAGE! SAVAGE! SAVAGE!"
Across the pitch, Freya Woods lifted her camera, adjusting the lens without hesitation. The scandal had not stopped her from working. It couldn't. Rent still needed paying. Food still cost money. And Xander Savage, no matter how much the internet burned...still sold.
She followed him through the viewfinder, finger poised. The ball was passed wide. A defender slipped. Xander moved.
It happened fast, one clean touch and a sharp turn. The defenders were a step too slow. The crowd inhaled as one.
Xander struck.
The ball curved beautifully through the air, kissing the inside of the net just as the clock ticked down to one minute remaining.
For half a second, there was silence. Then the stadium exploded.
"GOALLLL!"
Wendy screamed, leaping into her squad, tears springing to her eyes as she jumped and laughed. The cheerleaders broke formation, spinning wildly, voices raw with joy.
"That's my brother!"
Teammates slammed into Xander, arms wrapping around him, shouting his name. He staggered under their weight, breathless, heart pounding but his face remained composed. Focused.
Freya caught the moment perfectly. Click!
Xander pulling free...another click.
His fists clenched at his sides...a faster click.
The crowd behind him rising to their feet. She lowered the camera slightly, already reviewing the shots when the noise moved from cheering to angry shouting. She looked up. Police officers were moving onto the pitch. At first, no one understood. Then someone pointed.
"They're going for her!"
Hands grabbed Freya's arms.
"What?" she gasped. "Wait...what are you doing?"
"Ma'am, you need to come with us."
Her camera slipped from her neck, swinging wildly as panic surged through her chest. "I haven't done anything!"
The crowd reacted instantly. Booing erupted from the stands, loud and unforgiving.
"LIAR!"
"LEAVE!"
"ATTENTION SEEKER!"
Freya's throat burned as tears spilled over. She struggled instinctively, but the officers were firm, already pulling her away from the sidelines.
"Please," she cried. "Please, I didn't..."
Wendy turned her face away, jaw tight, refusing to look.
Xander froze. He stared as Freya was dragged across the grass, her sobs swallowed by the noise. Something twisted in his chest. He spat onto the ground and looked away, forcing his eyes forward.
He took a step. He moved toward the tunnel but a hand grabbed his arm.
"Xander," his manager said urgently. "Don't."
"I need to..." he started.
"No," the man said firmly. "Cameras are everywhere. This is not the time."
Xander's fists clenched. He turned back.
Fans rushed the barriers, arms outstretched, shouting his name, asking for autographs. He forced a smile onto his face, moving mechanically, signing shirts and phones while Freya's cries echoed faintly in his head.
***
The cell was cold. Freya sat on the narrow bench, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as tears fell freely. Her head throbbed. Her throat ached from crying. The smell of disinfectant burned her nose.
The door opened, footsteps approached. She lifted her head slowly.
Courtney Savage stood on the other side of the bars, immaculate as ever. Beside her was Watz, holding a tablet, and two sharply dressed lawyers.
Freya's heart sank.
The officer unlocked the cell and escorted her to the counter.
One of the lawyers cleared his throat. "Miss Woods, we're prepared to secure your release."
Hope flared painfully.
"However," he continued, "there are conditions."
Freya listened, numb.
"You will record a live video apologizing to Xander Savage, the Savage family, LEGACY, and the general public."
Her breath caught.
"You will state that the Snapchat screenshots circulating are false," the lawyer went on calmly. "That you were an obsessed fan seeking attention."
Her hands trembled.
"And you will sign an agreement never to speak publicly or privately about the Savage family or LEGACY again."
Silence stretched.
Freya shook her head slowly. "No."
Courtney's gaze sharpened. "Think carefully."
"I won't lie," Freya said hoarsely. "I won't destroy myself to protect you."
The lawyer sighed. "Then we have nothing more to discuss."
She was taken back to the cell. The door slammed shut.
Courtney turned to the officer. "Let me know when she's ready to sign."
She walked out without looking back.
***
The car was quiet. Xander drove, hands tight on the wheel. Courtney sat in the passenger seat, gaze forward. Watz sat in the back, scrolling through her tablet.
"Mum," Xander said finally. "Please."
Courtney didn't turn.
"She doesn't deserve this," he said. "Let her go."
"I won't," Courtney replied calmly.
He swallowed. "She's just a teenager."
Courtney's voice hardened. "So was I when I learned what it meant to protect a name."
He glanced at her. "Please."
She met his eyes briefly. "I won't let a small girl ruin the legacy my grandfather, Damon Savage, built."
Xander fell silent. The road stretched ahead.
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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.