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 6
Chapter Six: Bathroom kisses
The cell was loud in a way that scraped the nerves raw. Metal clanged. Voices rose and fell in sharp bursts. The air smelled of sweat and disinfectant, heavy and stale. Freya sat pressed into a corner, knees drawn tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her head as if she could make herself disappear.
"Look at her," one of the women sneered. "Little celebrity liar."
A shove knocked Freya sideways. Her shoulder hit the wall, pain shooting down her arm.
"I said I'm sorry," Freya cried, her voice thin and shaking. "I didn't...please..."
Another hand grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. The sting brought fresh tears, hot and blinding.
"What will your sorry change?" a woman snapped. "You think you're special, huh? Pretty little thing..."
Freya sobbed, curling in tighter as blows landed. Nothing precise, nothing controlled, just cruelty born of boredom and anger. She tasted blood, felt her cheek throb, her ribs ache. Then a voice cut through the noise.
"That's enough."
The women stepped back reluctantly. An elderly woman stood a few steps away, her back straight despite her age. They muttered under their breath and drifted off.
The old woman walked over slowly and crouched beside Freya. "You don't belong here," she said quietly.
Freya lifted her head, eyes swollen, lashes clumped with tears. "I don't know what to do."
The woman sighed. "You do what they want."
Freya shook her head weakly. "I can't lie like that."
"You already are lying," the woman replied gently. "You're lying to yourself if you think refusing will save you."
Freya's chest hitched.
"Courtney Savage doesn't play nice," the woman continued. "She locks people up and throws the keys away. I've seen it."
Fear crawled up Freya's spine.
"You want to rot in here?" the woman asked. "Or do you want to leave?"
Freya pressed her forehead to her knees, shaking.
"I'll do it," she whispered. "I'll sign."
She lifted her head and called out, her voice hoarse. "Officer. I'm ready."
***
The lights in the studio were blinding. Freya knelt on the polished floor, hands clasped tightly in front of her, eyes red and hollow. Cameras pointed at her from every angle. The nation watched in real time.
Her voice trembled as she spoke.
"I lied," she said, swallowing hard. "The Snapchat screenshots are fake."
Her words tasted like ash.
"I did it because I wanted Xander Savage to notice me. I've been obsessed with him since fifth grade. I confused my feelings. I crossed a line."
Her shoulders shook. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry to Xander. To his family and fans. To LEGACY. To everyone."
She lowered herself further, palms flat on the floor.
"I apologize. Please forgive me."
The feed cut. The room fell silent. Freya broke. She collapsed forward, sobbing openly, the humiliation crashing down all at once. A lawyer stepped forward, placing papers on the table.
"Sign here," he said calmly. "And here."
She wiped her face with trembling hands and signed, barely reading the words. Her signature felt like a surrender.
"You are never to photograph Xander Savage or any member of the Savage family," another lawyer added. "Under any circumstances."
Freya nodded, throat tight. She stood and walked out without looking back. The lawyers exchanged glances, then shook hands.
"Good work," one said.
They went their separate ways.
***
The hall buzzed with excitement.
Fans packed the venue, banners waving, phones raised. The international meet and greet was in full swing, energy crackling through the air. Security moved in tight formation as Xander Savage smiled for cameras, signing jerseys, posing effortlessly.
Freya worked quietly at the edges, camera in hand, doing exactly what she was told. She focused on crowd shots, decorations, the atmosphere...anything but him.
An interviewer's voice carried over the noise. "Xander, any comment on the Snapchat scandal?"
Xander smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I guess the award for my most obsessive fan goes to Freya Woods," he said lightly. "Or... what's her name again?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Freya's fingers tightened around her camera. She swallowed hard and kept working.
The event ended at last. Exhausted, she headed toward the bathrooms, mind numb, steps heavy. She turned a corner and collided with someone.
Xander...stupid Savage! She yelled in her head.
They froze. His eyes flicked over her face, unreadable. "What are you doing in the VIP restroom?"
Freya's heart slammed. "I-I made a mistake."
She tried to step past him. He caught her wrist and pulled her closer. The world tilted. Before she could speak, he kissed her briefly...it was sudden, devastating.
"All these wouldn't be happening if you agreed to be my girlfriend." Xander said, still kissing her. "You know I like you. I told you how I felt about you...you turned around to mock me publicly."
Freya kissed him back before she realized what she had done. She pulled away from him very fast.
"You kissed me back..." Xander chuckled, pulling her back. "Was it worth it, dummy?"
He sighed then he let her go. He walked away without a word. And Freya stood there, stunned, breathless, alone.
"Freya, I hate you for kissing that bastard!" She yelled at herself, hitting her cheeks.
***
"Here's the balance." Watz handed the elderly woman an envelope.
It was the elderly woman in the same cell with Freya. The woman that convinced Freya to agree to Courtney's terms.
The woman collected the envelope, smiling. "It was nice doing business with you."
"I believe you know the rules." Watz said calmly. "Be careful out there and keep this to yourself. You know the consequences."
The woman smirked. "Don't worry, I've got you. Just holla me if you need my services."
She stepped down from the car walking across, to the train station.
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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.