The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 171

The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

Taped across the lid was a sheet of paper written in thick black marker:

PLAY ME.

No one spoke.

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Hayes pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, carefully peeled the note away, then nodded at the forensic technician. Photograph everything.”

Only after the photos were taken did he lift the screen.

The desktop loaded instantly. One file sat in the center.

WATCH.

Hayes clicked it.

Static flickered across the screen. Then a figure appeared, black hoodie, black mask, only the silver eyes visible. He sat relaxed in a wooden chair against pure darkness, and when he raised a hand in a small wave, his voice came through almost cheerful.

“Good morning.”

He spread his hands. “If you’re watching this… then, unfortunately, I’ve already gone.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “I have to admit, you’ve all been more entertaining than I expected.”

His gaze settled on the camera. “You must be getting tired. So I’ve decided to make the next one easier.”

The room had gone completely still.

He leaned forward.”I will release Astra… only if the great Landon Ashton can answer my riddle. Not through a press conference or statement. He will say the answer to my face.”

The room went dead silent.

“You have one day,” the man continued. “After that, I will send my current address. Landon comes alone. If I see anyone else… she dies.”

He leaned back, picked up a folded sheet of paper, and began to read slowly.

“I built your future while my own was quietly collapsing.

You shook my hand on my best day…

…and signed my ending on my worst.

You erased my name from your company.

Funny thing is….

You’ve never managed to erase it from your conscience.

Tell them.

Who am I?”

The video cut to black.

No one spoke.

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The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

Hayes was the first to move. He looked at me, then at the laptop, jaw tight.

“We need your father,” he said quietly. “Now.”

I stared at the dark screen, the words still burning in

my

head.

11

”

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11:15 Thu, Aug 6

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11:16 Thu, Aug 6

The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

Men Like Landon

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ASTRA

I woke to the smell of coffee.

Not the rich, familiar aroina from the Ashton estate.

For a few confused seconds I lay still, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Then memory rushed back-the drive, the blindfold, the cold bite of handcuffs-and my stomach sank.

I wasn’t in the cabin anymore.

The room felt larger, cleaner. Pale cream walls replaced the rough timber. Heavy curtains muted a wide window, letting only thin strips of morning light spill across polished wooden floors. A proper wardrobe stood against one wall. Fresh flowers in a glass vase sat on the dresser beside a bedside lamp.

It looked less like a prison and more like a guest room.

That somehow frightened me more.

The bedroom door stood open.

No lock.

I climbed out of bed and stepped carefully into the hallway. Dark hardwood stretched beneath my bare feet. Framed paintings lined the walls. Then came the unmistakable sound of something sizzling in a frying pan.

I followed it.

The kitchen opened bright and modern before me, sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked endless woodland. He stood at the stove with his back to me-still dressed in black, still wearing the mask-and he was humming. There wasn’t the slightest hint that anything about this morning was unusual.

Without turning around, he spoke.

“Good morning.”

I froze.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

He flipped something in the pan with practiced ease. Eggs. Bacon. Fresh bread cooling beside a kettle. It all looked… normal.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you slept well.”

I stared at him. “You moved me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“The cabin had served its purpose.” He returned his attention to the food. “This house is much nicer.”

A chill slid through me.

He carried two plates to the dining table and gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

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The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

“I’d rather stand.”

“As you wish.”

He didn’t argue or threaten. He simply began eating.

The quiet stretched until he spoke again, almost thoughtfully.

“You seem disappointed.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I thought you’d be happier.” He buttered another slice of toast. “After all… your Mr. Ashton solved my riddle.”

Despite everything, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth-very small, and brief. I couldn’t stop it.

He noticed.

“There it is,” he said, voice still calm. “Hope.”

I didn’t answer.

“You think he’s coming.”

I met his eyes. “I know he is.”

For the first time since I’d met him, he smiled. Not with warmth or kindness, but with certainty.

“I hope he does.”

He took a slow sip of coffee, silver eyes settling on mine.

“Because today’s game… is much more interesting.”

Another shiver crawled the length of my spine.

I remained standing near the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around myself.

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He continued eating as if we were simply two people sharing breakfast. The only sounds were the soft clink of his fork against the plate and distant birdsong filtering through the tall windows.

After a while he set the fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“You’re not going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s a shame.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I went to the trouble of cooking.”

I forced myself to hold his gaze. “What happens today?”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering how much to tell me.

“Today,” he said at last, “Landon Ashton will receive my final instructions. He will come alone. He will stand in front of me. And he will say the name he spent years trying to bury.”

My throat tightened. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you and I will leave this place together.” His voice remained pleasant, almost conversational. “Permanently.”

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