FH

Juliette Sinclair never planned on living in a frat house. It was supposed to be temporary — one semester, maybe less. But somehow she ended up sharing a giant off-campus house with four hockey players who practically owned the university. Preston Graves. Nikolai Vale. Roman Mercer. Evan Laurent. Together they were impossible to ignore. Every weekend their house became the center of campus — music shaking the walls, hundreds of people packed inside, stories spreading by Monday morning. Everyone knew their names. Everyone knew where to go if they wanted the best party. And everyone wanted to know them. Preston was the one who acted like he had everything under control. Calm, confident, impossible to embarrass. People listened when he talked and moved when he asked. Nikolai was quieter but somehow more intimidating. Hard to read, rarely smiling, always watching. Nobody knew what he was thinking and nobody wanted to ask. Roman lived for chaos. Loud, flirty, constantly making bad decisions that somehow turned into legendary stories. Half the school had a crush on him and the other half had a reason to hate him. Then there was Evan — 6’5”, charming, always smiling, somehow friends with everyone. He remembered names, talked to strangers like they’d known each other forever, and could convince almost anyone to stay for “just one more hour.” And in the middle of all of them was Juliette. At first everyone assumed she was another party girl passing through. Blonde hair, green eyes, always showing up to events, always laughing. But Juliette wasn’t trying to impress anyone — she genuinely liked people. She talked to freshmen standing alone, remembered little details, and somehow made everyone feel included. The problem? Living with four guys who were constantly surrounded by attention meant people noticed her fast. Rumors started. Questions started. Girls got jealous. Guys got curious. People wanted to know which hockey player she liked.