The 100-Meter Rule

The high school gym smelled of sweat, polished wood, and the deafening screams of the varsity cheerleaders and fangirls packed into the bleachers.

Rose stood at the double doors, a heavy leather binder clutched tightly against her chest. Her temper was on a razor-thin fuse. It was 4:30 PM. They were supposed to be in the library starting the thesis outline, but Dean had completely ignored her messages, leaving her waiting like an idiot for forty minutes.

Through the crowd of adoring spectators, Rose spotted him.

Dean was tearing down the court, drenched in sweat, his jersey clinging to his broad shoulders. He intercepted a pass, executed a brutal crossover that left his defender stumbling, and drove hard toward the basket. With an aggressive, gravity-defying leap, he slammed the ball through the hoop. The rim shrieked under his weight.

The bleachers erupted into wild cheers. Dean dropped back to the floor, wiping his brow with his jersey, completely soaking in the worship of the crowd with that signature, infuriating smirk.

Rose marched down the sideline, ignoring the glares from the girls in the stands, and stopped right at the edge of the court. "Arthur!" she called out, her voice cutting through the noise. "We had an appointment forty minutes ago. Get off the court."

Dean paused, spinning the basketball on his index finger. He looked at her, his dark eyes entirely cold and unbothered. He didn't say a single word. Instead, he lazily tossed the ball back to his teammate, turned his back on her, and walked right back into the scrimmage line. He was actively treating her like a ghost.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Rose snapped, her blood boiling.

Behind his back, his teammates started snickering. "Look, Captain, your little secretary is throwing a tantrum," one of them mocked, prompting a wave of laughter across the court. Dean didn't check them. He just kept playing, his indifference a green light for everyone else to humiliate her.

Before Rose could take another step forward, a sharp grip suddenly clamped onto her shoulder, violently spinning her around.

It was Chloe, the head cheerleader and the most notorious of Dean’s obsessed fangirls. Two other girls flanked her, their expressions twisted in nasty scowls.

"Who do you think you are, coming in here and shouting at Dean?" Chloe hissed, invading Rose's space. "Just because you're the Class President doesn't mean you get to hover around him. Everyone knows you're just using this stupid project as an excuse to throw yourself at him."

"Let go of me," Rose said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "I don't care about Arthur. I care about my grade."

"Liar!" Chloe snapped. In a flash of pure malice, Chloe reached out and violently grabbed a fistful of Rose’s hair, pulling her head back. "You low-level scholarship leech. Stay away from him!"

Rose gasped from the sharp pain, her binder slipping from her hands and scattering papers across the floor. She grabbed Chloe’s wrists, trying to pry her fingers loose, but the other two girls moved in to block her.

Up on the court, the game didn't stop. Rose's eyes locked onto Dean through the chaos. He saw it. He knew exactly what was happening. But he didn't move a muscle to help. He just caught a pass and took a shot, his expression completely blank while his teammates openly laughed at the spectacle.

"Hey! Get your hands off her!"

A thunderous, commanding voice echoed across the gym, instantly silencing the laughter.

Before Chloe could pull Rose's hair again, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the fray. He violently grabbed Chloe’s wrist, forcing her to release Rose with a sharp cry of pain, and stepped directly between Rose and the bullies.

It was Luke Vance.

Luke was the captain of the rival district team, a transfer student, and widely considered the most handsome boy in the school alongside Dean. But unlike Dean’s cold, lethal sharp looks, Luke had a striking, devastatingly princely charm. And it was a poorly kept secret that Luke had zero interest in his countless fangirls because he only had eyes for Rose—a fact Rose consistently ignored because she had no time for romance.

"Are you three pathetic losers blind?" Luke growled, his fierce gaze sweeping over Chloe and her friends until they shrank back in terror. "Touch her again, and I’ll make sure the principal sees the footage from the gym cameras. Get lost."

Chloe and her friends scurried away into the crowd, muttering curses.

Luke immediately turned around, his fierce expression melting into pure, genuine concern. He knelt down, quickly gathering Rose's scattered papers before handing them to her. "Rose, are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Vance," Rose said, swallowing the lump of humiliation in her throat. She took the papers, her posture instantly going rigid as she forced her armor back up. She didn't fancy Luke's hovering attention, but she wasn't going to show weakness now. "I could have handled it."

"I know you could," Luke said softly, offering her a breathtaking, gentle smile that made half the girls in the bleachers sigh with envy. "But you shouldn't have to."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the gym.

Rose looked past Luke’s shoulder. Down on the court, the basketball had stopped bouncing.

Dean was standing perfectly still, holding the ball against his hip. The lazy, careless smirk was entirely gone from his face. His jaw was clenched so hard the veins in his neck were pulsing, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, vicious, and unreadable fury as he stared at Luke standing entirely too close to Rose.