MY HOCKEY HEARTHROB

The mid morning sun hung like a polished coin over the city, its heat a familiar weight on my shoulders as I stepped out of the international terminal. Yet, despite the warmth, everything felt foreign. Five years of chasing headlines across Europe and North America had forged me into someone unrecognizable, to the girl who had once called this place home. I wasn't that shadow of a person who had fled with a shattered heart and a suitcase stuffed with what ifs and bitter regrets. I was Valeria, a journalist who had carved her name into the stone of a competitive industry that never handed out favors to the weak. I adjusted my sunglasses, my fingers grazing the gold armlet on my bicep. I had spent five years carefully building this version of myself, the regal bun that pulled my hair back into a crown of professionalism, the sharp, tailored silhouette of my clothes, and the unwavering, sharp gaze I used to keep the world at bay. It was a suit of armor designed to ensure I never felt s

As I walked through the backstage corridor of the North Am Arena, every rhythmic click of my heels echoed against the walls, sounding less like footsteps and more like a count down to a confrontation five years in the making. My heart was hammering an uneven rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my lungs to remain calm. I had spent the last five years training to handle the most difficult Celebrities in the professional sports industry,I just had to convince myself that Julian Vane was no longer the boy who held my world in his hands, but simply another interview subject.. I reached the heavy, reinforced double doors of the private athlete wing. As they swung open, the scent of the rink hit me like a physical blow,. I paused, smoothing the front of my tailored charcoal suit jacket, ensuring my silhouette was as sharp, untouchable, and armored as the regal bun holding my hair in a grip. I wasn't the girl he had left behind in pain, I was a professional at the absolute zenith of her

Julian moved and relaxed his body on a plush armchair, the picture of a man in total control, yet every fiber of his being was vibrating with a suppressed, lethal energy. His grey eyes, cold and fixed, remained on Valeria as she sat opposite him. She looked breathtaking, a goddess carved from the memories of his youth and polished by the sophistication of Oxford. Her formal suit jacket hugged her curves in a way that made his pulse beat in a dark, possessive manner, yet she wouldn't even look him in the eye. She was focused entirely on her digital tablet, her fingers moving with precision. "Mr. Vane," she continued, this time a little bolder "The Hawks have had a stellar defensive record this season. To what do you attribute the sudden shift in the team's tactical synergy?" Julian's jaw tightened, a small movement that was the only outward sign of the storm brewing inside him. He had expected,no, he had needed her to come in here and scream. He had waited for the moment the door lo

Inside the sedan was pure silence, the kind that rang in ones ears until it becomes a physical weight. I stared out the window watching the lights of the arena disappear but I could still feel the heat of Julian's presence that refused to cool off."Valeria," Adrian said softly, his voice cutting through my thoughts. He didn't look away from the road, his hands were steady on the wheel. "I've been in this business for ten years. I know a standard interview, and I know a battlefield and so I can easily tell whatever happened in that room... it wasn't just about hockey."I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the window. "It was just a difficult subject, Mr Adrian. Julian Vane isn't exactly known for his hospitality.""It's not his hostility I'm worried about," Adrian countered, his tone gentle but probing. "It's the way you looked when you came out. You didn't look like a journalist who just landed the interview of the year. You looked like someone who had just seen a ghost."Wo

The morning sun rose through the floor to the roofs of the Julian's house, casting long, shadows acrosd Julian Vane's bedroom. Most athletes at twenty six were still finding their footing, but Julian had already conquered his world. He stood before a triptych of mirrors that cost more than a luxury sedan, his expression that of calculated intentions Today wasn't a game day, but it was a battle. He had an elite youth development gala to attend by noon, a high society event where the city's wealthiest and most influential would gather to see the Ice King in the flesh. Normally, he would have thrown on an Italian suit and let his stylist handle the rest. But today was different. Today, he was dressing for a specific set of eyes.He discarded three different silk shirts before settling on a look that was intentionally raw, yet impossibly expensive. He had chosen a high end denim on denim wear, a vintage , rugged jacket over a simple form fitting black tee that clung to the muscles of hi