4: Blackmailed

ALEKS POV

The morning after we arrive in the Alps, the silence in the chalet is deafening.

I stand at the kitchen island, staring at my untouched espresso while the machine hums behind me.

I barely slept.

Every creak of the floor kept reminding me that Derek was in the room across the hall.

Footsteps come down the stairs.

I don't need to look up.

“You're up early,” I say, keeping my back turned. “I assumed you'd spend the morning sleeping off your temper.”

“I sleep fine, Mcray.”

Something about his voice makes me pause. It's lower than usual and almost relaxed, lacking its usual bite.

I set my cup down and turn around.

“Good. Then you can make yourself useful and figure out the heating controls.”

Derek doesn't move toward the thermostat.

He walks farther into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You know, Aleks,” he says, stopping a few feet away. “You put on a really good performance.”

I narrow my eyes. “Performance?”

“The ice prince.” His gaze moves over me before returning to my face. “Cold. Clean. Always in control.”

“If you have a point, Derek, make it.”

“Oh, I have a point.” He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out his phone.

My stomach tightens, not knowing what this is about is killing me.

“I took a little walk last night,” he says. “Around midnight. Went downstairs for some water.”

I say nothing.

“Your door wasn't fully closed, Aleks.”

My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter and Derek smiles.

“And for a guy who acts like I don't exist, you sure say my name with a lot of passion.”

Everything inside me goes still. Oh God no…he takes another step closer.

“You left the door cracked. I heard you.”

I force myself to meet his eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Derek's smile widens. “Don't lie to me.”

He raises his phone. “I heard every sound. I saw you.”

My pulse pounds in my ears, then he taps the screen.

A recording plays.

It's faint, distorted by the distance, but I know that voice. Mine, I hear my own breathing.

Then my own voice saying his name.

My face burns and Derek stops the recording.

For several seconds, neither of us speaks.

Then he steps closer.

“Imagine what the board would say.”

I can't breathe properly.

“Imagine what the press would do with this.”

My hands curl into fists.

Five years. Five years of keeping this buried. And one careless night has handed Derek everything.

“The cold, perfect golden boy,” he continues quietly. “Obsessed with his biggest rival.”

“Please delete it.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Derek's eyebrows lift. “So you admit it's real?”

I say nothing and he laughs softly.

“No. I don't think I'm deleting anything.” He slips the phone back into his pocket.

“What do you want, Derek?”

“What do I want?” He takes a step back, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I want you to remember who has the power here.”

My jaw tightens.

“No more ice prince routine. No more smug comments in the press.”

He points toward me.

“For the next two weeks, maybe more, you do exactly what I tell you to do.”

I stare at him. “Or?”

His smile returns. “Or this gets sent to every sports journalist in Europe.”

“I could charge you for Blackmail.”

“Oh please do.” He chuckles. “I'd love to drag this out. I'd love to tell everyone I'm being charged because Aleks Mcray masturbated with my name on his lips.”

He steps closer again. "You think a blackmail charge scares me?" Derek says, his voice dropping into a whisper. "Go ahead. Call Gunnar . Call the lawyers. Tell them I'm threatening to leak a clip of you getting off to me. See how fast the PR team buries you just to stop the story from leaking to the press."

My throat is bone dry. I want to look away, to break the hold he has on me right now, but I force myself to stand my ground. If I flinch now, he owns me completely.

"You're an idiot, Derek," I say, my voice steady despite the hammer of my pulse against my ribs. "If this gets out, it ruins both of us. The team will pull both our seats."

"Maybe," Derek says, giving a light shoulder shrug that makes my blood run hot. "But I've got nothing to lose compared to you. I'm the hothead who drives on instinct. You're the perfect poster boy. The sponsors' dream. You think your old-money family wants to see your name plastered over every tabloid in the world with this attached to it?"

He taps his pocket twice, right where the phone sits.

"You wouldn't," I bite out.

"Try me," he replies instantly, taking a half-step back and crossing his arms over his chest. The smug, triumphant look on his face makes me want to slam him against the counter just to wipe it off. "So here's how this trip goes, Mcray. You're going to drop the smug act. You're going to do the cooking, you're going to clean up, and when I tell you to jump, you ask how high."

I glare at him. "And what happens at the end of the two weeks?"

"Then I delete the recording," Derek says, his smile turning slow and wicked as he adds, “Maybe.”

He turns on his heel and walks toward the living room, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen. My hands are shaking so badly I have to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright, my mind racing as I realize the nightmare I've just walked into.

As terrified as I am of losing everything, watching him take control with that dark, intense fire in his eyes made my pulse spike in a way that had nothing to do with fear.