The Hockey Captain's $300,000 Fake Fiancée

Harrison POV:

I drove away, catching a glimpse of Eloise Combs in my rearview mirror. She was still standing there, looking like a startled deer.

A small, satisfied hum escaped my lips. I spun the championship ring on my finger. Step one of the plan had gone even smoother than I'd anticipated.

My phone buzzed. The name "Cierra" flashed on the screen. My jaw tightened. I hit ignore.

Cierra Sweet. My ex-girlfriend. She had dumped me during my slump last season, when one bad game after another sent my stats plunging. Apparently, dating a losing captain had become an embarrassment in her sorority house, and she couldn't stand being the object of her sisters' pity.

Now that my performance had rebounded and the sports media was calling me one of college hockey's hottest stars again, Cierra wanted me back. Not because she missed me, but because she wanted to reclaim her place as the girlfriend of college hockey royalty. When I refused, her attempts to win me back quickly devolved into a constant stream of calls and threats to go to the press. It was starting to affect the team's reputation and my NIL deals.

Coach had already pulled me aside twice, warning me that one more negative headline would cost me the captaincy.

What almost no one at Briar knew was that the captaincy wasn't my only future. I was also the secret heir to Scott Sports Dynamics, the global sports conglomerate controlled by my family. Until I graduated and the board formally announced its succession plan, my status as the company's designated heir was known only to a small circle of relatives and senior executives. To everyone else, I was simply Harrison Scott, Briar's hockey captain. Behind closed doors, I was already being trained to inherit a multibillion-dollar empire.

So, I needed a girlfriend. A clean, respectable girl who wouldn't cause drama. Someone to signal to the world that I was in a "stable" relationship. Eloise Combs was the perfect candidate.

She was tough, kind, and would do anything for her family. But there was a line she wouldn't cross. I could see it in her eyes. She wasn't a puck bunny looking for a quick score.

I dialed my assistant, Lucas. "It's me."

"Mr. Scott." Lucas's voice was, as always, calm and professional.

"Send me the full file on the Combs family. I want more than the preliminary report you gave me this morning. And prepare three hundred thousand dollars in a clean private account. Wait for my signal."

"Understood." Lucas never asked unnecessary questions. That's why I employed him.

I hung up and opened the email he'd just sent. The full report revealed that the Combs family's situation was even worse than the preliminary background check had suggested. Eloise's father, Walter Combs, was a former firefighter who had been forced into early retirement by an on-the-job injury. Now he was fighting stage-four liver cancer. As if that weren't enough, Eloise's younger brother, Leo Combs, had been born profoundly deaf and was still waiting for cochlear implant surgery...

A strange weight settled in my chest. This felt like more than just a "transaction."

My original plan was just to find a shield. But now, I found myself genuinely wanting to help this girl who was drowning.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me. Not with the adoration or lust I saw in other girls' eyes, but with caution and distance. It was refreshing.

Maybe it was her Etsy shop. The art was vibrant and full of life, a stark contrast to her own suppressed demeanor.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Eloise. One word.

"Okay."

I smiled. The little deer was in the trap.

I texted back: "Tomorrow, 3 PM, top floor of the library. Our first 'philosophy tutoring' session. Don't be late, Miss Tutor."

Just as I sent it, my other phone rang—the family line. I put in my Bluetooth earpiece.

"Harrison, the European market quarterly review starts in five minutes. Are you ready?" It was my friend, Asher Knight, the president of Scott Sports Dynamics' European division.

My posture straightened. My voice shifted, becoming cool and authoritative. "I'm already online, Asher. Have Paris report first."

The truck glided silently into the garage of my private off-campus apartment, far from prying eyes.

As I was about to dive into the transnational conference call, Eloise's number flashed on my personal phone. An incoming call.

I put the family line on hold and switched over. "What's wrong?"

Her voice on the other end was a choked sob, her breathing ragged. "My dad... my dad is trying to leave the hospital! He says he doesn't want to die there!"

Her panic and helplessness hit me like a physical blow.

My brow furrowed. "Send me your location," I said, the decision instantaneous.

"What?" she choked out.

"Drop a pin. I'm coming to you." My tone left no room for argument.

I ended the call. A second later, her location appeared on my screen. She was outside an apartment building across town.

I switched back to the family line. "Asher, push Paris back ten minutes. Something urgent came up."

There was a brief pause before he answered. "Understood."

I disconnected and immediately dialed Lucas.

"Find out who Walter Combs's attending physician is. Make sure he isn't cleared for discharge under any circumstances. And send the best private security team to the hospital to ensure the patient's safety. Be discreet."

"I'll handle it," Lucas said.

I started the engine of the truck I had just parked. Eloise's location was already loaded into the navigation system. I wrenched the wheel and peeled out of the garage, following the route toward her.

Damn it. Why are there always so many complications?

I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and rubbed my brow with the other. I told myself this was just to ensure our "contract" could proceed smoothly.

That's all it was.