Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 19

KATY’S POV

“I’ve been instructed to inform you of an opportunity for upper–level undergraduates.” Mrs. Tompson says, snapping her folder shut.

A few people instantly start closing laptops and zipping backpacks, the usual stampede energy of a college lecture about to end.

I join in, sliding my notes into my bag and half–listening, half–counting down the seconds until I can get out of here.

“It’s called the Blackrock Grant.”

The word grant cuts through the noise in my head like a bell. I pause mid–motion, fingers still on my zipper, and glance up.

“Some of you may be aware, but some may not,” she goes on. “Blackrock Corporation, every five years, awards one million dollars to the best student business innovation or new product.”

My eyes snap wide. Did she just say a million?

The low buzz of shuffling dies down and even the kid in the back row who sleeps through half the semester lifts his head. One million dollars has that effect.

“And luckily, it’s this year.”

I forget about my bag entirely and straighten in my seat, my pulse picking up. A million dollars could wipe out every obstacle I have and it’s enough to put a real dent in my future.

“The link for the application will be open soon,” she continues while the rest of us are clearly trying to do the math on what a million dollars even feels like. “Here’s how it works: only one student is selected. GPA doesn’t matter, year doesn’t matter. Your idea has to be original. If selected, you’ll get the patent for it. Physical products are encouraged, but digital products will be accepted too.”

She pauses before adding, “And most importantly, your idea or product must solve a real problem in society.”

The room is quiet now. No one’s packing up anymore. A couple of people exchange glances and someone even lets out a low whistle.

I gulp, endless thoughts swirling in my head. But all of them point to one thing: I have to enter this thing. If it means pulling all–nighters and living off vending machine snacks, I’ll do it. One million dollars could flip my entire life upside down.

I picture all the business ideas I’ve scribbled in notebooks since freshman year, the kind I promised myself I’d chase after graduation. With that money, I wouldn’t have to wait. I could actually build something.

“This is real,” Allie whispers, leaning into my space and making me flinch. She spins her laptop toward me, her eyes lit up. “Look, this is their website. The link officially opens in ten days and submission runs for six months.”

I lean closer, watching as she scrolls the website. Everything looks exciting until my eyes freeze on the application fee.

“Three thousand dollars?” I blurt, louder than I mean to.

A couple heads turn, but I don’t care.

Allie nods, wincing. “Yeah. It’s steep. But I guess that’s how they fund the whole thing or at least part of it.”

I drop back into my chair, staring at the ceiling. “Three grand before I even spend a cent building the product. That’s… brutal.”

“But the reward is worth it,” she says quickly.

“If you win,” I mutter, my eyes drifting back to Mrs. Tompson, who’s still talking at the front of the room.

“You’ll win.” Allie nudges me, and when I glance over, she’s practically glowing, like a mom cheering her kid on at a spelling bee. “If there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s you, Katy.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “Three grand is still a lot of money, Alls. I’ll have to ask Justin, and you know he’s barely scraping by on his hockey scholarship.”

Before she can answer, Mrs. Tompson calls out, “See you next week.”

The room instantly explodes into chatter and scraping chairs.

Allie and I shove our stuff into our bags, falling into the stream of students funneling toward the door. My head’s still buzzing with numbers and ideas when a voice cuts through the noise.

“Katy.”

I turn, already bracing myself and, of course, it’s Zhao Lan. He’s gliding down the aisle like he owns the place, dressed head to toe in something expensive that probably costs more than my dorm fee. And his smile? It’s still infuriating and condescending as ever.

“You planning to enter this thing?” he asks, stopping just close enough to block my way.

I square my shoulders because I already know where this is going. With Zhao Lan, there’s always

one direction: straight into his ego.

“Why?” I ask, folding my arms as people bump past me. “You considering the same thing?”

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