Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Chapter 152

EMILIA

Deja vu hits me like a slap.

"I'd rather not," I say, glaring at him. "I'm perfectly comfortable over here."

His smile falters. He exhales like he's carrying the weight of the world. "I know I messed up, Emmy. I'm not even gonna defend myself. I just—" he sets the cup down with a soft clink, "—need to explain."

"There's nothing to explain, Zane." I scoff. "It's been almost a year. I've moved on. I don't need closure, I don't need apologies. What I do need is an explanation for how the hell you got in here—and a reason not to call the police."

"Emmy, please—"

"Do not call me that!" The words come out sharp, cutting through the air. My patience is gone. I'm not even angry, just done — done with whatever fantasy he's built up in his head. "And don't take another step."

His face crumples, but of course, he ignores me. Typical. I hiss under my breath, pull out my phone, and start dialing.

"You think I'm kidding?" My voice trembles, but I don't care. "Get the hell out—"

I don't get to see if the call goes through because my phone slips from my hand when Zane grabs it—no, grabs me.

"Please, Emilia. Please."

"No." I jerk against his hold. "Don't you have a game tomorrow? Because if you don't let go right now, I'll make sure it's the last time you ever use these hands."

"I made a mistake," he says quickly, desperate. "With Becca. She never meant anything to me. Even when I was with her—God, Emmy—all I wanted was you."

I laugh without humour. You must've loved her enough to marry her, I think. Out loud, I say, "Let. Go."

"It took me too long to see it," Zane says, like he's delivering some divine revelation. "I thought ending things would set us both free. You wanted to marry me so badly, Emmy. You would've agreed to call off the engagement and just stay together, but you'd never have realised that no one could ever love you like I did. But then you actually moved on—with Liam of all people—because you knew it'd hurt me. You never loved him. You never will. You just wanted me to wake up, and that's when I knew."

His laugh is soft, almost tender, and I'm so stunned by the delusion pouring out of his mouth that I don't notice my nose running until I sniff in disbelief.

"God, it hit me," he continues. "You were it. You were the one thing that made my life make sense."

He steps closer, eyes gleaming with that same twisted sincerity that used to fool me. "I kept thinking maybe Becca would be enough, maybe she'd help me forget. But every time she smiled, I saw you. Every time she said she loved me, it wasn't your voice. You think I don't know I ruined everything? I do. But now I know what I want. You."

He pauses, like he's waiting for me to break, to melt, to fall back into orbit around him. As if his "realisation" is some grand epiphany instead of a tantrum over losing control.

I blink at him, utterly speechless—caught somewhere between laughing in his face and gagging. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

"I know it doesn't make much sense—"

"You're right," I cut in, my voice slicing clean through his excuse, and stopping him from embarrassing himself further. I let out a small sneeze. "It doesn't. "You ended our engagement after ten years, Zane. Ten. Years. Then you got engaged to Becca in less than six months. That's not love, Zane. You wasted a decade of my life because you were too weak, too selfish, and too goddamn small to face yourself."

He opens his mouth, but I don't let him.

"You think this is some grand confession I've been waiting for?" My laugh cuts through him like glass. "That I'd just drop everything and come running back? To what, exactly? Being your emotional punching bag until death do us part? Waiting to see which kills me first—losing myself for you, or whatever STDs you're probably collecting like trophies?"

His jaw tightens, but I'm not finished.

"You don't love me, Zane. You love the control you used to have. You love knowing that no matter how many times you broke me, I still stayed. But I'm not that girl anymore."

I take a step forward, and for the first time, he takes one back.

"Narcissistic bastard," I whisper. "I'd rather drain the Atlantic with a fork than ever let you this close again."

"You don't mean that—"

"Oh, I do." My voice softens, almost pitying. "Because I love him, Zane. Now and always. My heart might as well be tatted 'property of Liam Calloway'—and your pathetic ass is just going to have to live with that."

His grip falters, and I pull free. My heart is pounding, but my voice is steady.

I walk to the table, pick up the mug he left there, and press it into his chest. "Take this—and get the hell out of my life."

Zane runs a hand through his hair, eyes wild, mouth trembling. "You're wrong. None of this is about Liam. I love you, Emmy. With every fibre of my being—"

"Out."

He flinches, jaw locking. "You really think it's that simple? That I just moved on?"

I ignore him, scoop my phone off the floor, and frown at the cracked screen. "Great. Another expense."

"I'm here now," he says, voice breaking like the words are dragging him apart. "I came back for you."

"Too late."

He takes a shaky breath, gaze flicking to the floor, then back to me. "I can't stop thinking about you, Emilia. Every night. Every time I close my eyes—"

I turn toward the bedside table, intending to grab the landline—but freeze. The bed beside me is covered in rose petals.

That's when it clicks—why my nose keeps stinging, why I can't stop sneezing.

A bitter laugh bubbles out before I can stop it. "You did this?" I gesture to the petals, my voice sharp with disbelief.

Zane looks almost proud. "Yeah. I thought—well, I knew it would remind you of us. I wanted to make it special."

"You wanted to make it special," I repeat, laughing again—harsher this time. "We were together for ten years, Zane. Ten. And you still don't know I'm allergic to roses?"

His face falters, like the words hit harder than he expected. "I—I forgot."

"Yeah," I mutter, shaking my head as I reach for the landline. "That sounds about right."

I press the button for the front desk, keeping my eyes on him. "Hello, this is room 214. My ex-fiancé just broke into my room, and he's refusing to leave."

Zane freezes. For a second, he looks like he can't quite believe I said it. Then his expression twists—anger, disbelief, and something darker all bleeding together.

"Are you serious right now?" he demands, voice low and trembling. "You're calling security on me?"

"Already did." I don't look away, not even when his jaw ticks. "You should probably start walking."

He laughs—short, humourless, and cracked. "You really think you can just erase me? After everything we've been through?"

I fold my arms, unmoved. "Watch me."

His expression shifts—something venomous blooming in his stare. "You think Liam can protect you? That you can just run off and live your little fairytale without me?" He takes a step closer, and I match it by taking one back. "You don't get it, Emmy. You'll always come back. You always do."

"Not anymore."

He shakes his head, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "I can't believe you thought you'd ever be able to leave me," he says quietly, like he's mourning something that only existed in his head. "You were supposed to be mine. I'll never let you go."

"Then you'll die trying," I reply, and the steadiness in my tone surprises even me.

He gives me one last look — something between rage and determination — then turns for the door.

And that's when it opens.

Zane stops dead.

Liam stands there, breathless and flushed like he sprinted through two hotels to get here. His gaze flicks from me to Zane, and something dark flashes behind his eyes.

"Funny," Liam says, voice calm in a way that's almost terrifying. "I was just about to tell you the same thing."