Ava
Sleep evaded me like a cruel lover. Every time I closed my eyes, the image burned behind my lids: Marcus’s hands on me, the hidden camera’s voyeuristic gaze.
By dawn, I had almost convinced myself it was a sick prank. A jealous teammate or a nightmare.
But the messages felt too real. Too calculated.
I dragged myself to practice, stomach in knots. Marcus’s eyes found me instantly, his brow furrowing at whatever haunted expression I wore.
“What happened?” he demanded the moment he could.
“Nothing.”
“Ava.” His voice dropped, laced with that commanding tone that usually made me weak.
I looked away. “Nothing.”
He closed the distance, reaching for my arm. I jerked back. His face darkened with realization.
“Who contacted you?”
The question confirmed my worst fears. He knew somethin
