POV Ajax
The warehouse vibrated with bass that threatened to crack the concrete. Bodies pressed together, smoke and sweat mixing with expensive perfume. I nursed my third whiskey, watching Jake do lines off Delaney's stomach while she laughed at nothing.
"You're brooding again." Jake materialized beside me, pupils blown wide. "That's not the look of a man who won five grand."
"Just thinking."
"About the ice princess?" He collapsed onto the couch, pulling Delaney across his lap. "How's that progressing, by the way? She must be thoroughly melted by now, considering you two can't keep your hands off each other."
The observation hit too close. Every day, Bella and I grew more reckless—stolen kisses between classes, her fingers intertwined with mine during lectures, the way she pressed against me during waltz practice like she was trying to memorize the feeling.
"Getting close," I lied.
"Close?" Jake's laugh cut through the music. "Dude, she was practically dry humping you on your bike that time. Just seal the deal already. The gala's in three weeks—perfect timing for maximum humiliation when she finds out about the bet."
"Maybe he can't close." Laila appeared from the smoke, eyes glittering with malice. "Maybe perfect little Bella is too pure for our bad boy."
Delaney snorted.
"Or maybe," she moved closer, her perfume cloying, "Ajax has gone soft. Maybe he actually caught feelings for the princess."
The warehouse seemed to pause, everyone waiting for my response. Delaney raised an eyebrow. Jake's grin sharpened with interest.
"Don't be ridiculous." I forced my trademark smirk, the one that had hidden truth since I was seventeen. "She's already in love with me—practically begs for my attention now. The sex is just a formality at this point. Give me another week and she'll be completely destroyed."
"That's my boy!" Jake raised his beer. "To Ajax, destroyer of hearts and collector of bets!"
They toasted while acid burned my throat. Every word felt like betrayal—not of the bet, but of Bella. Of what we'd become to each other.
“This childish game has gone on long enough.” Laila’s voice could have frozen flame. “End it, Ajax. Or I will.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “And I’m saying it because I’m actually worried about you. Your attention isn’t landing on anyone—not on me, not on any of the girls—only on Bella. It’s weird. People are talking.”
“Let them.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Your reputation matters. You’re the racer everyone bets on—the guy who wins and walks out with the room at his feet. After a victory you should be getting your blowjobs from a couple of girls—different ones every time—not sprinting across campus to the right girl like some whipped puppy. Sponsors hear rumors. Crews gossip. You can’t afford to look… domesticated.”
“You done policing my image?”
“I’m the only one here telling you the truth.” She straightened “You have one week.”
She vanished into the crowd before I could respond. Jake was too high to notice the exchange, but Delaney watched with knowing eyes.
"You're in deep," she said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"No." She untangled herself from Jake. "You're drowning. And you're going to take her down with you."
* * *
The call came at 8 AM, dragging me from dreams about Bella's laugh.
"Mr. Spencer? This is Dr. Payton Butler from St. Matthew's transplant coordination. Your compatibility results are ready."
The drive to the hospital passed in a blur. My hands shook as I signed in and went the coordinator's office.
"The results are remarkable," Dr. Butler said, sliding papers across her desk. "Not just compatible—you're a perfect match. Your tissue markers align at every point. It's like—"
"Like my heart was made for her." The words came out hollow.
"Essentially, yes." She studied me over her glasses. "This level of compatibility is extraordinarily rare. Less than one percent chance."
I stared at the numbers, the graphs, the undeniable proof that I could save her. My death would mean her life.
"I want to update the donation directive." My voice stayed steady despite the earthquake in my chest. "In the event of my death, my heart goes to Bella Sinclair. Only her. No one else."
"Mr. Spencer, that's not typically how—"
"Make it happen." I pulled out my checkbook. "Whatever legal documents, whatever waivers. I'll sign anything."
"Do you want to inform Miss Sinclair? Knowing a match exists could provide hope—"
"No." The word came sharp. "She can't know. Not ever."
"But if she knew—"
"She'd push me away." I stood, legs unsteady. "She'd spend whatever time she has left trying to protect me instead of living. Promise me she won't find out—"
Dr. Butler's expression softened. "I understand."
The papers piled up—consent forms, legal directives, medical authorizations. I signed them all, each signature feeling like a prayer or a prophecy.
"Mr. Spencer," Dr. Butler said as I reached the door. "What you're doing—"
"Is necessary." I didn't turn around. "She deserves to live."
"And you don't?"
The question followed me to the parking garage. My bike waited, all chrome and danger, suddenly feeling less like freedom and more like fate.
The engine roared to life beneath me. Every race, every reckless turn, every moment I pushed closer to the edge—they all carried new weight now.
I would die for Bella Sinclair. The clarity of that truth should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like finally understanding something I'd known since seventeen—she was always meant to have my heart.
The bet that started this was nothing. Jake's money, Laila's threats, my father's disappointment—all white noise compared to the truth written in medical charts and genetic markers.
Bella would live. Even if it killed me.
Especially if it killed me.