CHAPTER 6: ENTER THE PATRIARCH

The glass elevator ascended smoothly toward the penthouse level, humming with quiet, expensive efficiency. As the doors slid open, the chaotic energy of the arena bowl evaporated, replaced by the hushed, imposing atmosphere of the Veyron family suite.

Dark walnut paneling, floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city skyline, and low leather furniture defined the space. It didn't feel like a sports office; it felt like the nerve center of a billion-dollar empire.

I stepped out onto the plush carpet, my heels sinking slightly into the pile. At the far end of the room, behind a massive, slate-gray desk, sat Alaric Veyron.

He was reviewing a file on a leather-bound tablet, a glass of amber scotch resting near his hand despite the early hour. Even seated, his presence dominated the entire floor. He was forty-seven, but time had treated him like fine steel…hardening him rather than wearing him down. His thick hair was a dark, commanding mix of silver and black, brushed back neatly from his face. Broad shoulders filled out a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, the waistcoat buttoned tight over a chest that looked as dense as granite.

"Ms. Voss," his voice echoed across the room.

It was a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated right through the soles of my shoes…smooth, authoritative, and terrifyingly calm. It lacked the erratic, explosive heat of his son's voice. Alaric’s voice was absolute control.

"Mr. Veyron," I replied, adjusting the tablet under my arm as I walked toward his desk, keeping my chin up and my spine straight.

"Close the door behind you, please."

I turned, touching the glass panel near the frame to engage the electronic lock. The heavy frosted door clicked shut with a solid, sealed seal.

When I turned back around, Alaric was no longer looking at his tablet. He had set it down and was slowly rising from his leather chair.

At six-foot-four, he towered over the room. The sheer physical scale of him was staggering, but it was his eyes that caught my breath…sharp, dark hazel, surrounded by faint laughter lines that did nothing to soften the lethal intelligence behind them.

He didn't speak immediately. He unbuttoned his suit jacket with a slow, deliberate flex of his fingers, placing his hands flat on the polished slate of his desk.

His eyes began a slow, unhurried trek down my body.

He didn't look at me the way Caius did…with frantic, desperate hunger. Alaric looked at me like an art collector evaluating a masterwork he intended to buy. His gaze lingered on my dark, framed glasses, traced the exposed curve of my throat, and moved down to the swell of my breasts rising beneath my emerald silk blouse. He took in the soft, plush tuck of my waist and the generous, unapologetic curve of my hips hugging the tailored pencil skirt.

A heavy, thick heat instantly flared between my thighs. My nipples hardened against my lace bra under the sheer weight of his scrutiny.

"You took my captain apart in the strategy room twenty minutes ago," Alaric said quietly, his dark eyes rising back to lock onto mine.

I didn't flinch. "I delivered a statistical analysis based on objective performance metrics, Mr. Veyron. If Captain Veyron feels targeted…"

"I didn't say I disapproved," Alaric interrupted smoothly, stepping out from behind his desk.

He walked around the heavy slate, stopping just three feet in front of me. The scent of his cologne filled my senses…sandalwood, aged leather, expensive tobacco, and something intensely male. The contrast between father and son was stark: Caius was raw fire, but Alaric was a slow, consuming inferno.

"Coach Miller sent me the audio recording of the briefing," Alaric continued, crossing his broad arms over his chest. His gaze drifted down to my waist again, openly admiring the soft, full line of my figure without a drop of pretense. "You didn't just read data, Ms. Voss. You stripped him of his arrogance, identified a concealed injury, and forced my coaching staff to face reality. It was brutal. Elegant. Highly intelligent."

"Thank you," I murmured, my throat suddenly dry. "I was hired to fix efficiency, not spare feelings."

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from Alaric's chest…a sound so rich and dirty it sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"And you certainly didn't spare his," Alaric said softly. He stepped closer, closing the distance until I had to tilt my head back to look into his face. "Tell me, Elowen... is there a reason you looked like you enjoyed humbling him so much?"

My heart gave a hard, violent thump against my ribs. Using my first name felt like an invasion, a quiet assertion of dominance that made my skin prickle with heat.

"I enjoy doing my job well," I replied smoothly, meeting his intense gaze. "And I don't care who stands in the way of the numbers."

Alaric reached out. For a split second, I thought he was going to touch me, but he simply reached past my waist, his broad chest brushing against my shoulder as he picked up the physical portfolio I was carrying and laid it on his desk.

The brief physical contact burned through my silk blouse like hot wire. He was solid, heavy, and radiated a calm, intoxicating strength.

"Good," Alaric whispered, leaning down slightly so his mouth was level with my ear. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of fine scotch. "Because my son has been coddled by this organization for too long. He thinks his surname makes him untouchable. I brought you here because I needed someone with the intelligence to see through his bullshit, and the teeth to bite back."

He straightened up, his eyes gleaming with dark, possessive approval as he looked down at my face, lingering on my flushed cheeks and the slight rise of my chest.

"You look breathtaking in that color, by the way," he added casually, his voice dropping an octave into a low, masterclass murmur. "Green suits your skin. Far better than those hideously oversized gray sweaters you used to hide behind during your university internship."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He remembered.

Alaric watched the realization hit me, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. He walked back to his chair, unbuttoning his cuff links with slow, hypnotic precision.

"Sit down, Elowen," Alaric commanded softly, gesturing to the leather chair opposite his desk. "Let's go over these power-play numbers together. I want to hear every single detail you have on my team."

I took a slow breath, smoothing my skirt as I sat down, my body vibrating with an intense, electric awareness.

Caius was a storm I had barely survived. But Alaric Veyron? Alaric was the ocean…deep, commanding, and infinitely more dangerous. And as I opened my laptop under his dark, appreciative stare, I realized I didn't want to swim away at all.

Author’s Note

Hey gorgeous readers! Welcome to The Queen of the Ice! 🏒🔥

If you love curvy, unapologetic heroines, Hockey Sports romance, intense groveling, and a delicious, taboo father-son reverse harem dynamic, you are in for an absolute ride.

Winnie is here to take up space, command the room, and bring two powerful Veyron men to their knees.

What to expect: ✨ Unapologetic Body Positivity & Plus-Size Representation

✨ Sizzling Mutual Obsession & Dark Alpha Energy

✨ High-Steam, Explicit Romance

✨ Zero Cheating Between Main Partners

If this chapter gave you goosebumps, please don't forget to Tap the Heart (Add to Library), drop a Comment, and leave a Rating! Your support and Gems helps unlock daily updates faster.

Who are you rooting for more right now…the desperate, repentant Captain (Caius) or the powerful, dirty-talking Patriarch (Alaric)? Let me know in the comments! 👇✨