Chapter 3Seducing My Brother’s Cold Roommate

"Does Beckett play games too?" I asked, remembering the lit-up screen I’d glimpsed.

Brandon waved a dismissive hand. "Him? Yeah. He’s a little worse than me."

I was shocked. Worse than my brother? He had to be absolute trash at gaming.

Over the next few weeks, Beckett and I rarely saw each other in person. Most of our communication happened over text.

No matter how I tried to flirt—asking him "innocent" questions about my college calculus homework—he managed to steer the conversation back to academics with surgical precision.

After a month, our romantic progress was absolute zero, though my math grades had never been higher.

My roommate, Chloe, finally offered a different perspective. "Heather, men find a girl most attractive when she’s dominating in her own element. What are you good at?"

The only thing I could think of where I might have an upper hand on Beckett was gaming.

I immediately opened his contact—which I had saved as Husband—and sent a sweet, breathy voice note:

"Hey, are you playing games tonight? Want to play together? I can carry you."

"No," came his predictable, swift rejection.

I kept pushing: "It's okay if you're bad, Beckett! I'm really good."

This time, his reply was incredibly brief: "Sorry. I'm streaming."

Streaming?

Did he stream his terrible gameplay as some sort of comedy routine?

The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became. I quickly opened a search engine and typed in his name.

Within seconds, my jaw hit the floor.

The man my brother claimed was "worse than him" was actually the reigning MVP of the pro league, a legendary esports champion nicknamed "The Reaper" for his brutal, merciless play style.

And I had just offered to "carry" him.

Before the mortification could fully paralyze me, I found his stream link and clicked in. There he was, sitting in his gaming chair, looking exactly like he did in person.

Quiet. Distant. Aloof.

When he wasn't smiling, he looked entirely untouchable. He was pulling in millions of viewers purely on his god-tier mechanics and that face.

His chat was usually focused on strategy, but because of my text, some unusual comments were slipping through:

Who was that girl who texted Reaper saying he was bad? And why did he actually reply to her in the middle of a match?

Lmao, I’m cringing for her. Imagine telling a world champion you'll carry him.

I stared at the screen, my face burning.

A little later, the stream host announced a viewer giveaway: they would select one viewer for a live voice call, and they could ask Beckett for a small wish.

I threw all shame out the window. Under the username Beckett's Wife, I began furiously spamming the chat:

Husband! Pick me!

My school just paved a new road today, it's called 'No Way Out of Loving You.'

Beckett, you're stepping on my hair...

If we have a baby, I'll let them take your last name.

My shameless, chaotic energy quickly broke through the sea of standard gaming comments.

Beckett looked at the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as if his vision was being assaulted. He gestured to the moderator. "Pick her."

The chat erupted:

Reaper is ruthless. He’s going to publicly execute this fan.

Don't you guys know? Beckett absolutely despises obsessive fangirls.

He’s probably just going to give her a polite warning to behave.

Everyone, including Beckett, probably assumed I’d back out of the call from embarrassment. But I clicked accept within a millisecond.

Shame? What was that? Could shame help me land a gorgeous billionaire's son?