HIS SECRET OBSESSION

“You have a problem.” Adrian muttered the words as he flicked his phone open with muscle memory. MidnightViper had posted. Again. The glow of the screen lit his face in the dark. He was supposed to be sleeping. Hell, he’d promised himself last night that he was done. No more watching. No more… whatever this was. Yet here he was. Midnight. Again. He tapped the new post. No hesitation. Just a weak sense of shame buried under anticipation. The teaser clip was already playing. No face. Just a hand gripping the hem of a black shirt. Smooth pull. Slow reveal. Toned muscle. And then—that voice. “You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?” Adrian’s jaw tightened. Damn him. Every time. The voice wasn’t deep. Not rough. It was smooth—dangerous. Casual, like it knew your secrets before you told them. Like it didn’t need to shout to control the room. Adrian adjusted his grip on the phone, heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch himself. He never did. Watching was enough. Always w

⸻ “Don’t make that face,” Coach said, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard. “You’re doing it.” Adrian stood in the locker room doorway, arms folded, jaw clenched. “Why me?” “Because you’re the face of the team,” Coach muttered, scribbling something down. “And Julian Carter is the other face. Sponsors want both.” Adrian exhaled through his nose. “I’d rather skate barefoot on glass.” Coach looked up now, deadpan. “Then bring extra socks. The media truck is waiting.” ** The promo set was already buzzing when Adrian arrived. A white backdrop, camera guys, lighting rigs, and one chipper PR manager flitting around with a clipboard like it was a sword and shield. And of course—Julian Carter. The guy was already center stage, laughing with the crew, flashing that camera-ready smile like he owned the damn spotlight. His team hoodie hung just right, sleeves rolled, posture confident. He probably practiced it in the mirror. Adrian could practically hear his own teeth grindin

“You want us to do what?” Adrian stared at Coach like he’d just grown a second head. Coach didn’t flinch. “Youth clinic. This Saturday. You and Carter are co-hosting.” Adrian looked to Julian, who was slouched in his seat with one brow raised like this was news to him, too. Coach’s eyes flicked between them. “You two need to figure out how to work together before you ruin more practices. The kids will love it. You’ll fake it for an hour. Everyone wins.” Julian opened his mouth—probably to say something smug—but Adrian beat him to it. “This is punishment.” “This is team-building,” Coach corrected. “Be there at nine. Sharp.” ** Adrian regretted showing up the second he walked into the rink that Saturday morning. The lobby was swarming with kids in oversized jerseys and too-big helmets, parents with coffee cups and phone cameras ready to capture every second. Julian was already on the ice, crouching beside a wide-eyed six-year-old, tying their skates like he’d been born for it. O

Adrian skated like he wanted to break something. The cold bite of the rink didn’t clear his head the way it usually did. Not when Julian Carter kept circling like a hawk, always just close enough to be noticed, just far enough to stay out of reach. It wasn’t just that MidnightViper had messaged him again last night—it was what he’d said. “I already have. You just didn’t know it was me.” Adrian hadn’t slept. Had barely eaten. He couldn’t stop replaying it. The voice, the body language, the phrasing. It was all Julian. His gut told him so. But his brain? His brain was still trying to catch up. Now they were being forced into 2-on-2 drills, and Coach had deliberately paired them together. Of course. “Work together,” Coach barked. “You two act like you’ve got magnets stuck to your chests. Figure it out or sit.” Adrian didn’t look at Julian as they skated to center ice. He didn’t need to—he could feel that smug presence hovering beside him. “You gonna keep avoiding eye contact,” Jul

Adrian couldn’t breathe. The phone screen stared back at him, mocking his denial. The bracelet in Julian’s blurry group photo—thin, braided black leather—was identical to the one MidnightViper had worn in last night’s video. Same curve. Same clasp. Same subtle silver accent at the end. It could be coincidence. Had to be. But it wasn’t the first time his gut had twisted like this. And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, Julian kept pulling at threads he didn’t know existed. “Get a grip,” Adrian muttered, tossing the phone onto his bed. It bounced once, landing face down like even it was ashamed of him. He paced the small dorm room, hoodie half-zipped, heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to break out. He’d been following MidnightViper for months now—watching, subscribing, obsessing. There was no way Julian Carter, of all people, could be the man behind those videos. The universe wasn’t that cruel. And yet… Julian’s voice had slipped out raw and deep during tod