Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 124

KATY’S POV

I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m making such a terrible decision by meeting Zhao Lan. When I read his text about having something urgent to tell me, my first instinct was to tell him to fuck off which, let’s be real, would’ve been the logical response. But he never texts first, because pride is apparently a full-time job for him.

So here I am, telling myself this must actually be as urgent as he claims. Not like I had much choice anyway because I’m already walking into the dining hall, which, of course, is exactly where he wanted to meet.

I pause at the doorway, scanning the room. People are scattered at tables, some laughing, some hunched over their phones. My eyes finally lock on him, and his fingers are already motioning me over like he’s some kind of king waiting for tribute. I scoff, letting my annoyed expression do all the talking. Courtesy? That ship sailed a long time ago.

As I get closer, I realize he’s not alone and he’s actually surrounded by a few of his friends, and, great, some of the A-grade guys from our classes.

“Evans!” he exclaims, grinning like he always does. “Glad you could join us.”

There’s no us. I came here for him, just him, to hear whatever urgent thing he apparently needed to say.

“You said you wanted to talk,” I reply, standing over him with a flat expression.

“You should say hi,” he winks, nodding toward his friends. Yep, I should have told him to fuck off.

Forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace, I turn to his friends. “Hi, guys,” I mutter, waving awkwardly.

They wave back, but mostly ignore me, buried in whatever discussion they were having and passing a phone around. I know the Asian guys here tend to keep to themselves, but honestly? Sometimes it’s irritating as hell.

Finally, one of them shifts enough for me to claim a spot on the bench, my temper coiling tighter with every second I spend here.

“Why am I here?” I demand, glaring down at him.

Zhao Lan leans toward me, his eyes shining in the infuriating way I hate. His expression, the one that only shows up when he’s about to completely crush me under his booth, makes me feel like I already fell for some kind of prank.

“Have you heard the news?” he asks.

“What news?”

“About Blackrock,” he says. I feel a jolt, but I force myself not to let him see how tense I am about the whole thing.

“What about it?” I ask, trying to sound calm, though every nerve in me is on edge.

His grin spreads. “Someone got a hold of the list.”

I immediately hate the way he’s doing this, holding back, and making me ask questions like I’m some clueless toddler. My patience is about to snap.

“What list?” I demand, exhaling slowly to keep myself from losing it.

He rubs his nose, and leans back slightly. “Fifty of us qualified for the next stage,” he says, and I almost gasp before I can stop myself.

“Are you serious?” I ask, my voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “How did you even find out? Is this list reliable?”

“Of course it is.” He looks too pleased with himself. “My source is very reliable.”

I can’t help it and a small spark of happiness slips through, warming my skin. I had been so terrified I wouldn’t make it. Everyone else I’d heard about had some crazy, over-the-top idea, and mine felt too simple. I even thought about changing it, but Maria told me to submit exactly what I had. I’m really glad I listened. I should tell Braydon this when…

I swallow hard and nod. “Show me if you have it.”

He brings out his phone slowly and my eyes follow every tap, every swipe, and I feel that mix of anger and frustration bubbling up. I’ve never met anyone this infuriating in my life, and yet here I am, sitting still, and letting him toy with me.

Finally, he slides the phone across to me and my fingers hover over it for a second longer than they should, my heart hammering in my chest. When I finally take it, my eyes lock on the screen, and I feel like I might throw up whatever I had for lunch. Because he’s right.

This isn’t just a list someone made up. This is a confidential sss, sent straight from the

recipient to his father. It’s real. 100%. And as I scroll through it, my chest tightens with every name pass.

I scroll again and again and again. The names start to blur together, and still… mine isn’t there. I didn’t make it.

Before I can even process it, Zhao Lan reaches across and snatches the phone from my hands. “Can’t trust you with my private information,” he says, that smug grin of his still plastered across his face. “You believe it now?”

I don’t even know why I feel so hurt and so disappointed. I’d told myself that no matter the result, I’d still be proud of having the chance to try, that this was an opportunity, not a competition. But now… I feel like a sore loser. Like everything I’ve claimed to be: smart, capable, and ready is just empty boasting. And, of course, Zhao Lan is better, smarter and cooler.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, his fingers drumming on the table. “I had the same reaction when I found out you didn’t make it. I almost felt bad for you… but I guess Blackrock really does go with the best. And the best only.”

My eye twitches. Even if I didn’t make it, I shouldn’t have to sit here and endure his smug tone, and the way he disguises his gloating as pity. It’s embarrassing enough without him turning it into a performance.

“Like I said,” I reply, standing and clutching my bag to my side, “until my name isn’t called that night, I’m not believing anything.”

“You just won’t accept defeat,” he snaps, his voice louder than it needs to be. It draws the attention of his friends, and then a few people nearby. “Face it, Evans. You lost. Or are you scared this finally proves I’m better than you?” He points to himself, unmistakably proud. “ That only one of us should be valedictorian. And it’s me.”