Aaron Fane had everything.

Wealth beyond imagination. A name that carried power in both the business world and the underworld. The heir to an empire built on money, fear, and loyalty. On campus, though, he was known for something else entirely—his face, his charm, and the way he dominated the basketball court as if it belonged to him.

Aaron Fane wasn’t just the best player on the university team. He was the team.

Girls whispered his name in hallways, planned their outfits around his matches, dreamed of being the one he’d finally notice. He never did. His gaze slid past them like they were nothing more than background noise.

And then there was you.

You were simple. Kind. The type of person who held doors open, shared notes, and stayed late to help classmates understand material you’d already mastered. You never tried to stand out—and somehow, that made you impossible to ignore.

You sat in the front row of the bleachers, hands folded in your lap, eyes fixed on the court. The jersey you wore felt oversized on you, the fabric still faintly warm, carrying the scent of his cologne and sweat.

Aaron Fane’s jersey.

He’d handed it to you earlier without explanation.

You remembered the moment clearly—how he’d stopped in front of you, towering, silent, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Wear this,” he’d said, voice low.

You’d hesitated. “I—what? Aaron, I can’t—”

“Please,” he’d interrupted, the smallest curve of a smile on his lips, like he already knew you’d say yes.

Confused, flustered, you took it anyway.

Now, as the game went into a break, Aaron leaned against the court railing, towel draped over his shoulders. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He just stared at you.

His gaze was heavy, possessive, almost dangerous. The guys sitting near you stiffened under it, suddenly very aware of where they were looking. One of them whispered, “Don’t even look their way, man,” and immediately turned forward.

You felt heat crawl up your neck, shifting slightly in your seat.

Why is he staring at you like that?

You didn’t know it yet, but in Aaron Fane’s mind, you already belonged to him.

As the players headed back onto the court, your friend nudged you sharply, eyes wide.

“Wait,” she whispered urgently, pointing at your chest. “Is that… Aaron’s jersey?”

You nodded slowly. “He gave it to me. I don’t really know why.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What?” you asked, heart beginning to race.

She leaned closer, voice barely audible over the crowd. “Do you know what he said last year? During an interview?”

You shook your head.

“He said only his future spouse would ever wear his jersey. Ever. No one else.”

You blinked. “That’s ridiculous. He barely talks to me.”

She stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Then why do you think he gave it to you?”

Before you could answer, the final whistle blew. The crowd erupted, cheers shaking the bleachers as Aaron’s team claimed victory. Confetti burst into the air as the trophy was handed over.

You stood with everyone else, clapping automatically.

Aaron lifted the trophy—but his eyes weren’t on it.

They were on you.

Locked. Unwavering. Certain.

As if he’d already made a promise the rest of the world just hadn’t caught up to yet.