LOGINHELENA
My head was spinning as I stood outside the owner’s suite, the slammed door still echoing. The pregnancy test burned against my palm like a secret I wasn’t ready to weaponize yet. I needed to think. How could I salvage this? The originals. The thought cut through the chaos. Brent forged my signatures. What if there was some kind of proof? I could only contest the forgeries if I had the real documents with proper timestamps and metadata. And the fraud had happened internally. I was certain of it. Brent and Vanessa had used my office. My systems. The evidence had to be there. I hurried down the stairs, missing a step in my haste before colliding with Victor as he rushed toward me. His face was ashen, eyes wide with panic. “Helena, I—” His voice cracked. “Things are fucked. Everybody is calling me—sponsors, board members, even league reps. I don’t know what to do. The news is spreading like wildfire and—“ I grabbed his arm, steadying both of us. “Lock it down, Victor. Right now. Nobody moves, especially Brent and Vanessa. Seal the building. Call our lawyers immediately and get the forensic audit team in. Pull every financial record, every email, every access log from the last six months. This happened on my watch, and I’m going to prove it.” Victor nodded rapidly, already pulling out his phone. “On it. But Helena… the news—” “I’ll handle the rest,” I cut him off, voice low but fierce even as I hid the tears that stung my eyes. I hadn’t built this company from nothing only to watch it be stolen. And I’d be damned if I let my child grow up watching its mother lose everything. The scar on my wrist throbbed in agreement, hotter now, as if feeding on my rising fury. I pushed past him toward the exit with my shoulders squared and my chin high. Every whisper followed me, sharp enough to cut, but I refused to look back. The guests didn’t bother trying to hide their mocking gaze and hushed gossip. It was obvious they knew about the fraud allegations but I was going to surprise them. I was going to do whatever it took to clear my name. I reached the doors when a chorus of notification alerts erupted throughout the room. Victor’s gaze locked with mine, his eyes horrified just as my own phone pinged. I swallowed. RUMORS SWIRL: HELENA CALLAHAN SOLD OUT BULLHORNS TO RIVALS — EXPLAINS RECENT LOSSES More notifications flooded in. Sponsors were already pulling out. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and walked toward my car without looking back. The cool night air hit my face as I strode toward my car. I dug my keys out of my handbag, forcing my trembling fingers to obey. I had wasted enough time already. “Helena.” My hand froze on the car door. I spun so fast my shoulder hit the car door. Jarrett Brooks stood just feet away, tall and impossibly alive under the arena lights. Those familiar green eyes searched mine. Once, they had looked at me with warmth. The last time I’d seen them, they had been cold enough to break me. Tonight they held something I couldn’t name. “You,” I breathed, voice breaking. Then something clicked in my jaw. Rage flooded me at the realization. He lied to me. Eight years. He let me mourn him. He let me think he was dead. “Come with me,” he said urgently, stepping closer. “What?” I scoffed but Jarrett moved closer, the air around us growing heavy as my scar suddenly burned. I swallowed, ignoring the pain as held the door for me. “Don’t argue with me—“ “Don’t argue with you?!” I interrupted, my blood boiling. “You disappear for eight years and the first thing you say to me is get in my car?” I questioned in fury. If Jarrett heard me, he didn’t show it. “There’s no time for any of this. Just do it,” he argued back and I scoffed. Got into my car and just before I slammed it shut, looked him in the eye and said “Stay the hell away from me Jarrett. I never want to see you again,” He looked taken aback, his eyes widened at my response as I slammed the door and keyed in the engine, driving out of the driveway. I hadn’t cried when Brent destroyed my marriage.I hadn’t cried when my company started collapsing. Yet somehow, seeing Jarrett alive shattered the last wall holding me together. I hated how one look at him had unsettled me. I hated even more that some traitorous part of me had wanted to run into his arms. The arena disappeared behind me in the rearview mirror, its lights shrinking until they became nothing more than distant stars. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, forcing myself to breathe through the ache in my chest. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back. No— all I had to do was storm into my office and tear the place apart until I found every document Brent had hidden and everything would snap back to place. The road ahead was almost empty except for one pair of headlights that lingered behind me. At first I wanted to ignor them but every turn I made, they made. A knot tightened inside my stomach. I glanced into the mirror again but the vehicle remained several car lengths back, its headlights glaring so brightly that I couldn’t make out the driver. Jarrett’s words crept back into my mind. I reached for my phone and hit Victor’s contact but the call refused to connect. No signal. “Damn it.” The headlights suddenly surged closer. My pulse jumped. “What are you doing?” I whispered, brows furrowed only to have my eyes widen. I made the mistake of swerving too late as the car suddenly picked up an enormous amount of speed. My hands were too slow and the car rammed into me. My car lurched to a violent stop and for one endless second, I couldn’t move. The world spun around me. Blood trickled into my eye, blurring the shattered windshield. My chest rose in shallow, painful breaths while every part of my body screamed in protest. My hands flew instinctively to my stomach. “Please…” I whispered. “Please…” A sharp cramp twisted low in my abdomen and terror clawed through me. Then something struck the roof of my car. I shrieked as the metal caved inward with a deafening crunch. The driver’s door bent outward before it was ripped clean off its hinges. Cold night air rushed inside and my vision refused to focus. A shadow had blocked the moonlight, giving my eyes enough time to refocus. I screamed. Standing before me were two dog-like creatures standing on their hind legs with thick fur and strong claws. Their thick black and silver fur hit the moonlight and my breath shuddered. Enormous muscles far too large to belong to a dog stood out under the fur. Their eyes glowed an unnatural gold as they stared directly at me just before my scar exploded with heat. Every nightmare I’d spent eight years trying to bury came rushing back. For years people told me I was crazy. That I hadn’t seen them that night but they had been real. One of the beasts lowered its head and inhaled deeply just before looking at my aching wrists. “She’s carrying it,” a rough voice growled. The words froze my blood.Jarrett's pov I woke up to her ring on my chest.Not Helena. Just the ring. She must have taken it off in the night and set it on my sternum, like she was marking territory.That was very Helena.I could smell coffee and pine and her shampoo on the pillow next to me. The lake outside was that cold, blue morning color that made you want to stay in bed. Or, in my case, get up before she did something crazy like propose back with a Zamboni.She was on the porch in my hoodie, knees tucked up, mug in both hands, watching the fog lift off the water. She turned when she heard the screen door, and her smile hit differently then. Not just soft. Settled."Morning, husband-to-be," she said."Morning, owner." I sat down and stole her coffee. "Did you sleep?""No. I kept waiting to wake up from it. Kept thinking I'd imagined you kneeling on that dock.""You didn't imagine the knee pain, I can promise you that." I winced. "I'm gonna need ice and an apology from this house."She laughed and then di
Jarrett's pov The lake doesn't give a damn who we are.That's why I love it.Three weeks ago I couldn't hear myself think. Sirens, confetti cannons, Helena on my shoulders in the middle of downtown with ten thousand people chanting her name, then mine, then ours. RI-OT. HE-LE-NA. The parade float ran out of champagne twice. The Commissioner shook my hand like he hadn't tried to fine me into retirement last season.And now? Now it's just water lapping against the dock, pine trees breathing in the wind, and Helena barefoot in the kitchen of a house that doesn't have a single TV in it. On purpose.We told everyone we were going off-grid for "recovery." No press. No league politics. No agents. Just the two of us and this A-frame lake house her family built in the mountains before the Ironheads were even a sketch on a napkin. The deed still has her grandfather's handwriting on it.She's humming. She never hums unless she thinks no one can hear her."You're burning the steaks, Crown," I ca
Helena's pov By 5:00 PM, the sports world had completely exploded.Global news tickers, sports networks, and phone screens across the country broadcast the same breaking headline: 'International Ice Hockey Commission Leader Arrested in Federal Raid.' The news cycle detailed the full dismantling of the syndicate, bringing an end to the dark shadow of corruption that had hovered over the sport for years. The air was cleared. The game was restored.And three hours later, twenty thousand fans jammed into our home arena, creating a deafening wave of gold and blue noise that shook the very foundation of the building.Standing in the tunnel beside the glass as the team skated out for Game 6, I felt the sheer electricity of the arena hum through my boots. There were no tainted hydration packs, no tampered ice systems, no corrupt refereeing rotations, and no syndicate shadows lurking in the penthouse suites. This was pure, unadulterated hockey.From the opening puck drop, the game was a brea
Jarrett's pov The tether between us screamed.It wasn't a whisper or a distant hum. It was a violent, sharp pulse in the center of my skull that tore me straight out of my pre-game rest. Helena was in the penthouse level of the arena, and the sudden wave of cold, calculated danger radiating across our bond told me everything I needed to know.I didn't wait for elevators or security clearances. I sprinted out of the away locker room, threw open the heavy emergency door, and took the concrete stairwell three steps at a time. My hyper-tuned lungs burned, my heart beating like a war drum in my chest.When I burst through the door to the executive suite corridor on the top floor, four heavy-set men in dark, unmarked tactical suits immediately moved to block the hallway. They weren't arena staff, and they certainly weren't federal marshals. They were private syndicate mercs—Marcus Vance's personal clean-up crew."Hold it right there, Brooks—" one started, reaching inside his jacket.I didn
Helena's pov The quiet that settles over an NHL arena at midnight is haunting. The ice sheet, freshly flooded for tomorrow night’s Game 6, gleamed like a silver mirror under the dim emergency lights. But beneath that serene surface, the air was poisoned.I stood inside the Ironheads' private equipment room, holding a sealed, electrolyte-infused hydration pouch up to the light. The liquid inside looked crystal clear, but the handheld chemical analyzer I’d brought from Montreal was flashing a sharp, steady amber.'Wolf-suppressant toxin.'A synthetic derivative of silver nitrate and nightshade, engineered specifically to target hyper-tuned metabolic systems. If Jarrett and the team drank this during high exertion in the first period, it wouldn't just slow them down. It would trigger acute respiratory collapse, masking an intentional assassination as a sudden, tragic medical emergency on live television.My hands trembled with fury, not fear. "He tried to murder them.""Every singl
Jarrett's pov The tension inside Boston’s arena was thick enough to choke on. Half of their coaching staff had been carted off in federal handcuffs hours before puck drop, leaving their remaining bench bosses frantic, desperate, and completely out of options. The Vanguard were backed into a corner, and a wounded animal on home ice was always at its most dangerous.From the second the opening whistle blew, Game 5 degenerated into a complete, unhinged brawl.With their tactical playbook in tatters and their syndicate backchannel dismantled by Helena’s federal raid, Boston abandoned any pretense of playing hockey. They came out slashing, elbowing, and spearheading. Every stoppage of play brought a swarm of yellow-and-black jerseys crowding our crease, shoving facemasks, and digging blades into our boots long after the referee’s whistle blew.They knew they couldn't out-skate us anymore. So they resorted to the only weapon they had left: psychological warfare."Hey, Brooks!" their row







