LOGINAurelThe puck skids against the boards, a sharp spray of chopped ice hitting my shins. I dig the edge of my skates into the gray ice, my lungs burning as I switch directions and hard-shoulder our defenseman into the wall. The impact rattles my teeth."Watch the stick, Aurel!" Miller barks, spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ice."Move faster then," I say, my voice raw. I don't wait for him to stand up. I chase the puck down, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps that turn to fog in the freezing arena air. I need the friction. I need the bruising. If I stop moving for even ten seconds, my mind glitches right back to the hotel room with Neylan.Coach blows his whistle, the sound piercing the massive, empty stadium. "That's wrap! Hit the showers. Finals will be here soon, boys. Don't lose your heads before the first whistle."The guys slide toward the bench, their skates groaning against the ice. I stay out there for an extra minute, breathing heavily, my knuckles tight aro
NeylanShit, my skull feels like it will explode from the loud vibration of the bass thudding in the VIP bar. Neon red lights slice straight through the haze of vape smoke and expensive cologne, painting the booth in jagged, bloody streaks. It’s a private buyout, so my teammates are acting like total fucking animals without a single filter.To my left, our starting defenseman throws his head back with a loud roar, his fingers tangled in the hair of the Omega kneeling on the floor between his knees with his dick buried deep in the omega’s throat. The kid doesn't even flinch as the crowd cheers around them. Across the table, two linesmen slam their empty shot glasses down, splashing amber liquid over the wood while three models shriek and dump a fresh bottle of tequila over ice. In the dark corners of the lounge, shadows shift against the leather couches, raw groans cutting through the music as a heavy, suffocating wave of sweet slick hits the air.I keep my eyes glued to my own glas
ElyceThe scent of imported white tea and expensive leather fills the private room of the salon. It cost a small fortune to buy out the entire afternoon slot, ensuring the stylists cleared the floor for just my friend and I. I lean back against the plush velvet washing station, my eyes closed as the hot water soaks into my hair. Next to me, Chloe is scrolling through her phone, her fresh acrylics clicking against the screen."I'm telling you, the oversized minimalist vibe is completely dead," Chloe says, tossing her head back as her stylist applies a glossy treatment. "Everyone is doing tailored archival looks now. Did you see the winter preview? The structural coats are insane. If you aren't wearing custom leather to the Jordan gala tomorrow, you might as well stay home.""Please," I scoff, keeping my eyes closed as the stylist rubs oil into my scalp. "I already had my dress flown in from Milan last week. It’s structured, sharp, and costs more than most people's cars. The Jordan nam
NeylanMy father doesn't even look up from his desk when I walk in; he just slides a folder across the wood like a death warrant. The study smells like tobacco and old money, a suffocating mix that always makes my chest tight."Sit," he commands.I ignore him and stand right in front of the desk, my hands stuffed into my pockets. "I don't have time for a lecture, Father. I just got off the ice.""You will make time," Richard Astor says, finally raising his cold eyes to meet mine. "Mr. Jordan called my office. He is putting a literal chokehold on our multi-million dollar merger. The entire deal is dead because of the stunt pulled at the engagement."I keep my face flat trying not to blink. "The fire alarm cleared the room. The press thinks it was a venue crisis. We controlled the narrative, just like you wanted.""We delayed the narrative," my father snarls, leaning forward. "The Jordan family isn't stupid, Neylan. They won't keep quiet after receiving your all time pregnancy test resu
Aurel The Jordan Group corporate logo on the folder looks like a target painted directly on my coach's desk. With a sleek, silver crest stamped on black leather, catching the harsh fluorescent lights of the office. "Sign it, Aurel," Coach says, tapping his knuckles against the desk. "I don't need my captain sitting in the stands when the finals start." Minutes ago at the Wraiths' private training facility, Coach intercepted me right outside the weight room, dragging me in here before I could even strip off my sweaty training gear. Now, this mandatory corporate sponsorship agreement funded by the Jordan family is sitting between us. "This is bullshit," I say, leaning my hands on the back of the chair. "The league doesn't just drop random contracts middle of the week." "They do when the money is this big," Coach says, sighing. He slides a pen toward me. "The Jordan family is funding the league’s upcoming finals gala. They are pouring millions into the venue, the broadcast, ever
NeylanThe locker room is in absolute chaos after our win against the Montreal Sabers. Guys are shouting, tossing wet gear onto the floor, and blasting music that rattles the metal benches. The air smells like sweat and ice shavings. Someone throws a wet towel that hits the wall next to my head.“I give you a reason to be happy, yet I get a towel thrown at me?” I growl as I pick the towel and send it straight back to Ken.“Yoo, sorry Captain.” I chuckle before he is grabbed by another team member.I stare down at the heavy MVP puck in my hand. It feels weightless. It means absolutely nothing compared to the silence on my phone resting on my thigh.I press the screen. No new notifications. Nothing.The Titans just secured a massive victory, putting us right where we need to be for the finals, but I feel hollow. I unlock the phone again, scroll to my texts, and stare at the empty chat thread, expecting a snarky, competitive text from Aurel. Usually, after a game like this, he’s the fir







