In His Rival’s Arm

Maya’s POV

The scent of expensive cologne and unfamiliar vanilla perfume was the first thing that hit me when I unlocked the front door of Jonathan’s penthouse.

It was past midnight. I had used my spare key, wanting to surprise him after his long road trip. He was supposed to be resting after a tough game against Boston. Instead, the entryway was dimly lit, and a pair of small, red high heels sat right by the rug.

Red heels. I didn't own red heels.

My heart did a strange, uncomfortable flip. I told myself there was a logical explanation. Maybe his mother was visiting. Maybe a team assistant had dropped off his luggage. But as I walked quietly down the hardwood floor toward his master bedroom, the soft murmur of voices broke the silence.

"Jonathan, stop... what if she comes over?"

The female voice was soft, giggly, and sickeningly familiar.

I didn't back away. The quiet shock shattered into a white-hot wave of disbelief. My hand slammed into the cracked bedroom door, throwing it wide open as it hit the wall with a deafening thud.

Through the light, I saw them clearly.

Jonathan Black, the golden boy of professional hockey, captain of the city’s favorite team, and the man I had loved in total secrecy for two long years. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, his dark hair damp from the shower.

And wrapped around his waist was Chloe.

My nineteen-year-old younger sister.

Chloe gasped, freezing mid-laugh and scrambling to pull the bedsheet over her chest. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she stared at me. "Maya—"

Jonathan scrambled off the bed, his face completely draining of color as his eyes met mine. "Maya! Wait—it’s not what it looks like—"

"She won't come over?" I choked out, my voice trembling with pure rage as I stepped into the room. "She's too quiet? Too boring for the cameras?"

Jonathan took a frantic step toward me, his hands raised in surrender. "Maya, please, just let me explain. Chloe was upset, she came over to talk about—"

"Don't lie to me!" I screamed, the sound tearing raw from my throat. "Two years! Two years of hiding in the back doors of restaurants, sitting in tinted cars, buying tickets in the highest section of the arena so no camera would spot me! 'Just give me time, Maya,' you said! 'Once my career is safe, I’ll tell the whole world you’re mine!'"

"Maya, stop screaming, someone in the building will hear you!" Jonathan hissed, his shock turning into panic as he reached for my wrist. "Think about my contract renewal! If the media gets a hold of this—"

I slapped his hand away so hard his skin turned red. "You hid me to sleep with my sister!"

Chloe started sobbing on the bed, holding the sheet to her chin. "Maya, I'm sorry, he told me you two were falling apart anyway—"

"Shut up, Chloe," I spat, turning my glare to her before looking back at Jonathan. His panicked expression was already shifting, a desperate, defensive anger taking over his features. He didn't care that he broke my heart—he only cared that he got caught.

I didn't wait to hear another word. I turned on my heel and walked out of the penthouse.

"Maya! Come back here! Maya!" Jonathan yelled, chasing me out into the hallway in his unbuttoned shirt.

I turned around at the elevator, my eyes burning with tears, and pointed a shaking finger at his chest. "If you take one more step toward me, I will burn your entire life to the ground."

Jonathan froze, his jaw clamped shut in shock as the elevator doors opened behind me. I stepped inside, hit the button for the lobby, and watched the doors close on his ruined face.

When I reached my car, my hands were shaking so violently I couldn't fit the key into the ignition. I pulled over two streets away and threw up in a paper bag.

My phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

Jonathan: Maya, please. Let's talk about this maturely. Don't ruin everything over a mistake. Call me.

A second later, another notification popped up.

Chloe: Maya, please don't tell Mom and Dad. I'm so sorry. Please reply!

I stared at the screen until the light faded to black. I didn't reply. I blocked both of their numbers, turned off my phone, and drove back to my small apartment.

Three days later, I sat in a noisy downtown coffee shop, staring blankly at my laptop screen.

"You look like a ghost," Mimie Cruz said, sliding a hot caramel latte across the table. Mimie was my best friend, a sharp event planner who wore bright red lipstick like armor. "Seriously, Maya. You haven't eaten properly. Did something happen with the golden boy?"

I swallowed hard, looking up at her. My eyes were burning. "I broke up with Jonathan."

Mimie paused, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. "Wait. Really? You finally left him? Did he refuse to take you out in public again?"

"I caught him with Chloe," I whispered.

Mimie’s cup hit the table so hard coffee splashed over the rim. "He did what?"

"In his apartment. Three nights ago. I barged into his room and caught them together," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest on the leather booth. "He tried to make excuses, tried to worry about his contract instead of what he did to me. I haven't answered any of their calls or texts since. Chloe tried coming to my place yesterday, but I didn't open the door. Mimie, my whole life feels like a fake story."

"That absolute bastard," Mimie hissed, her eyes flashing with pure rage. "And your sister? How could she? Maya, I am going to key his sports car. I swear to God, I will ruin him."

"No," I said quickly, gripping her wrist. "No drama. No scenes. He's terrified I'm going to run to the press, but if this gets out without a proper plan, it turns into a cheap tabloid story. He has millions of fans and a massive PR team. They will make me look like a crazy, jealous ex. I just want my career. I need to focus on work."

"Speaking of work," Mimie said, taking a deep breath. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a shiny silver pass. She slapped it onto the table. "Look at this."

I frowned. "What is this?"

"An entrance pass to the Annual Sports Gala tomorrow night at the Grand Hotel," Mimie said, a sly smile touching her lips. "My company is organizing the whole event. Jonathan is going to be there, of course. But guess who else is attending?"

I shook my head. "I don't care about sports stars right now, Mimie."

"You should care about this one," Mimie countered. "Knox Mercer."

I blinked. Even if you didn't follow hockey, you knew Knox Mercer. He was the league's dark, terrifying prodigy. Heavily tattooed, brutally aggressive on the ice, and famous for telling sports reporters to stay away from him. He was also Jonathan Black’s absolute worst nightmare. Their rivalry was brutal.

"Knox Mercer never gives private interviews," I noted automatically, my journalist brain kicking in.

"Exactly," Mimie said. "If you get an exclusive quote from Knox Mercer, your boss will promote you from junior assistant to lead reporter on the spot. Show up looking gorgeous, handle your business, and show Jonathan Black that he didn't break you."

I looked down at the silver pass. The thought of standing in the same room as Jonathan, knowing he was desperate to keep me quiet, made my stomach turn. But staying a heartbroken, helpless girl felt so much worse.

"He hates journalists," I murmured.

"Then make him talk," Mimie urged. "You're smart, Maya. Go get your story."

******

The Grand Hotel ballroom was glowing with gold lights, expensive champagne, and hundreds of rich guests in tuxedos and evening gowns.

I wore a simple black dress that hugged my frame, my dark hair pinned back. I held my small digital recorder tightly in my clutch, scanning the crowded room.

And then I saw Jonathan.

He was standing near the bar in a custom navy suit, surrounded by fans and teammates. But he wasn't smiling. His eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, anxious, paranoid, looking like a man waiting for a bomb to go off. The second his eyes caught mine across the ballroom, his face pale-shifted and he made a direct move toward me.

I turned on my heel before he could reach me, heading quickly through the glass doors toward the quieter VIP patio section.

That was when the air in the room seemed to shift.

A tall man stepped out into the night air right in front of me. He was broad-shouldered, towering over almost everyone around him. Dark hair brushed back, a sharp jawline, and dark eyes that looked entirely bored by the luxury around him. The collar of his black dress shirt was slightly open, showing intricate dark tattoos creeping up his neck.

Knox Mercer.

He looked dangerous and completely out of place among the fake smiles of high society.

I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and stepped directly into his path before I could talk myself out of it.

"Mr. Mercer?" I asked, my voice clear despite my racing heart.

Knox stopped. He looked down at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't do photos," he said, his voice deep and rough. "Move."