5. Crossed Lines

Julian

The heavy oak doors of the Sterling estate opened me to a new world entirely.

Stepping into the sweeping foyer was like stepping into another dimension. The air inside smelled of fresh lilies, lemon polish, and old, untouchable money. A massive crystal chandelier hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling, casting a cold, brilliant light over pristine white marble floors.

I stood frozen on the threshold, rain dripping from the hem of my worn grey hoodie, pooling at the toes of my scuffed boots. In my right hand, I gripped the strap of my battered CCM hockey bag; in my left, my taped stick. They were the only things anchoring me to reality.

"Leave your bags right there, Julian," Richard boomed, clapping his hands together as he shrugged off his tailored overcoat. A silent, uniformed housekeeper immediately appeared to take it from him. "The staff will bring them up to your room. I insist."

"I've got it, sir," I replied, my voice flat, tightening my grip on the canvas strap. The thought of someone else handling my gear—the only thing I truly owned—didn't sit well with me.

Richard chuckled, an easy, booming sound of a man who had never been told no. "Nonsense. You’re family now. You don't have to carry your own weight around here."

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. *I have carried my own weight my entire life.*

"Oh, Richard, it’s breathtaking," my mother breathed. She spun slowly in the center of the foyer, her eyes wide, taking in the grand, sweeping staircase and the endless corridors. She looked incredibly small against the backdrop of such immense wealth, but the radiant, tearful smile on her face was undeniable. She turned to me, her eyes shining. "Isn't it beautiful, Julian?"

"It's great, Mom," I lied smoothly, burying the suffocating sensation expanding in my chest.

Behind me, the front door clicked shut. The heavy, rhythmic thud of Kael’s boots echoed against the marble. He didn't say a word, but the sudden shift in the air pressure was absolute.

"Right then," Richard smiled, oblivious to the sudden, toxic drop in the room's temperature. "Sarah, let me show you the kitchen. Julian, your room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the right in the East Wing. Take some time to settle in. Dinner is at seven."

I didn't wait for another invitation. I practically bolted up the sweeping mahogany staircase, taking the steps two at a time, desperate to put as much distance between myself and Kael Sterling as physically possible.

The upstairs hallway was a cavernous stretch of Persian runners and silent, shadowed portraits. I found the first door on the right and pushed it open, dragging my heavy gear inside before kicking the door shut behind me with the heel of my boot.

The silence of the room was immediate and deafening.

I dropped my bag. The heavy thud against the dark hardwood floor was the only real sound in the space. I stood still, my chest heaving, taking in my new reality.

The bedroom was massive—easily three times the size of the cramped living room in our old apartment. The walls were painted a cool, impersonal slate-grey. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room, draped in heavy charcoal linens. There was a sleek oak desk, a flat-screen television mounted to the wall, and a walk-in closet that was completely empty save for my single, pathetic duffel bag of clothes the movers had dropped off earlier.

It looked like a room out of a high-end catalogue. It lacked any warmth, any personality. It was a perfectly designed, gilded cage.

I walked over to the window, staring out at the freezing rain lashing against the glass. I needed to focus. I needed to rebuild the iron-clad walls of my discipline. Tomorrow morning, I had to walk into the Falcons' locker room and introduce Kael Sterling as our newest player. I had to face my team, maintain my authority, and keep my NHL draft dreams alive.

I dragged a hand down my face, feeling the grit and exhaustion clinging to my skin. I needed cold water.

Turning away from the window, I noticed a frosted glass door on the far side of the room. The en-suite bathroom.

I walked over, my boots silent on the plush area rug, and pushed the glass door open.

A thick, suffocating cloud of steam instantly rolled out, hitting me in the chest. The bathroom was completely fogged over, the air heavy with the scalding heat of a freshly run shower.

But it wasn't just steam.

My lungs seized. The scent of wintergreen, sharp and agonizingly familiar, was so concentrated in the small space it made my head spin. Mixed with it was the deep, musky scent of a dark body wash.

I froze, my eyes cutting through the haze.

The bathroom was a sprawling expanse of black marble, dual vanities, and a massive glass walk-in shower. But my gaze didn't land on the luxury. It landed on the sleek black marble counter directly to my left.

Resting next to the sink was a dark leather toiletry bag, a silver straight razor, and a heavy glass bottle of cologne.

*No.*

Before my brain could fully process the nightmare, the frosted glass door on the opposite side of the bathroom clicked open.

Through the dissipating steam, Kael Sterling stepped into the room.

He had shed his leather jacket and his shirt. He stood there in nothing but a pair of low-slung, dark grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. His broad, heavily muscled chest was still flushed from the heat of the shower, droplets of water clinging to his collarbones and tracing the sharp lines of his torso. His dark hair was wet, pushed back carelessly from his forehead, exposing those piercing, predatory eyes.

We stared at each other across the black marble floor.

The realization hit me, Richard mentioned this earlier. *Your room is right next to his. You two will share the adjoining bathroom.*

A Jack-and-Jill bathroom.

"Well," Kael drawled, his voice a low, gravelly purr that vibrated straight through the steam and settled heavily in my stomach. A dark, wicked smirk curved his lips. "I see you found our shared quarters, Captain."

Every muscle in my body locked into a rigid, defensive block. My heart hammered violently against my bruised ribs. The space was instantly too small, the air too thin. "Isn't that counter supposed to be mine?"

"Your counter?" Kael chuckled, stepping fully into the bathroom. The casual, liquid grace of his movements was infuriating. He closed the distance between us, stopping right at the edge of his designated sink, leaving barely three feet of space between us. "I think you'll find, Julian, that everything in this house belongs to my family. Including the plumbing."

"I'm not playing this game with you, Sterling," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating monotone. I kept my eyes locked strictly on his face, refusing to look down at the heavy expanse of his bare chest, violently suppressing the sudden, treacherous spike of heat in my own blood. "Move your things. And keep your door locked."

Kael leaned forward, resting his large, calloused hands on the edge of the black marble counter. The muscles in his arms flexed tightly under his skin. He tilted his head, his dark eyes tracing the rigid line of my jaw, dropping to my throat, before sliding back up to meet my gaze.

"I don't really care for locks," he murmured, the mocking edge of his voice melting into something raw and entirely too intimate.

"Then I'll lock it for you," I snapped, taking a step back toward my bedroom.

"You can lock the door, Julian," Kael said softly, his voice catching me just as my hand gripped the frosted glass handle. He turned his head, his eyes burning with that same dark, consuming obsession. "But it won't keep me out. We both know you don't actually want to be alone."

"You don't know a damn thing about what I want."

"I know exactly what you want," Kael whispered. He took a single step toward me, bridging the invisible boundary of the room. The heat radiating off his bare skin was a physical pressure against my chest. "You want to be in control. You want to pretend that you're made of ice, that nothing can ever move you. But you're standing here, breathing me in, and you haven't run away yet even though you find me irritating."

My breath hitched. The electric, forbidden friction between us sparked, threatening to ignite the remaining oxygen in the room.

I violently shoved the glass door between us, shutting him out.

With a trembling hand, I twisted the silver deadbolt. *Click.*

I backed away, retreating into the cold, impersonal expanse of my new bedroom. I stared at the frosted glass, listening to the low, dark sound of Kael’s laughter echoing from the other side.

I had locked the door. But as the scent of wintergreen lingered heavily in my lungs, I realized with terrifying clarity that the boundary was already broken.