The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 169

You Don’t Get to Win

ASTRA

I couldn’t believe it.

Zane.

Zane Ashton had solved the riddle.

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Excitement flooded through me so fast it made my hands shake. For the first time in days, something that felt like hope cracked open inside my chest.

The same could not be said for my captor.

Whatever I could see of his expression above the mask had turned sour the moment the news anchor repeated the answer. His shoulders were stiff. The pleased, almost playful energy from earlier had vanished completely.

From what I had gathered about him, he hated being proven wrong. He carried that quiet, knowing-it-all arrogance even in the strange, measured way he spoke. And the fact that it had been an *Ashton who solved it…

That part, I was certain, ate at him the most.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, heart still racing.

Then, before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.

“Guess someone does know me after all.

His head turned slowly toward me.

I should have stopped there.

I didn’t.

“And of all people…” I continued, voice light, almost mocking, “it was an Ashton. The same family you said only knows how

to use me.”

The air in the room changed.

He went very still.

I swallowed, but the reckless part of me, the part that had been terrified and helpless for days kept going.

“Must sting,” I said quietly. “Being wrong.”

That did it.

In one sharp movement he closed the distance, gloved hand shooting out and grabbing my jaw. The force of it startled a gasp out of me as he shoved my head back against the couch cushions. His fingers dug hard into my cheeks, squeezing until tears sprang to my eyes from the sudden pain.

I made a small, choked sound.

He leaned in close, silver eyes cold and furious above the mask..

“Careful, little girl,” he said, voice low and deadly soft. “You seem to have forgotten the most important rule of this house.”

11:15 Thu, Aug 6

The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

His grip tightened just enough to make my eyes water more.

“You don’t get to win.”

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He held me there for another long second, forcing me to look at him, before he finally released my face with a rough push.

I sucked in a shaky breath, hand flying up to my aching jaw, tears slipping down my cheek.

He straightened, staring down at me.

“Tomorrow,” he said coldly, “they get their little meeting. Just one person.”

His eyes never left mine.

“And if I see more than one pair of headlights… you won’t be alive to hear about it.”

Then he turned and walked out of the living room, leaving me trembling on the couch with the taste of hope and fear tangled together in my throat.

I stayed exactly where I was after he left.

My fingers still trembled against my aching jaw. The house had fallen silent again, the only sound the steady ticking of the old clock on the wall, a quiet reminder that time was still moving. I stared at the dark television screen.

A meeting.

What meeting? He’d said they were getting one. With who? The police?

No. That didn’t make sense. If he was arranging a meeting, there was no chance whoever showed up would actually come alone. No police officer-or anyone with half a brain-would walk into something like this without backup.

Which meant whoever he had contacted had to matter.

An Ashton.

It had to be. Zane? Mr. Ashton? Mrs. Ashton? I had no way of knowing.

Hours crawled by. The afternoon light slowly faded until long shadows stretched across the cabin floor.

I looked up immediately when I heard a door close with a loud thud.

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