CHAPTER 5: THE WALLS OF SILENCE

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 locked, expecting her to demand an explanation for the five years of silence, for the broken promises, for the way he had left her heart in the dust of his ambition.

Instead, he got the opposite

"Preparation," he answered, his voice a flat, nonchalant rasp. "We practiced. We executed. It's not a mystery, It's hockey."

He sat back, his arms folded across his broad chest, waiting. He gave her a long, deliberate silence, a space for her to fill with a personal question. Are you happy, Julian? Do you remember that night on the porch? Do you still have the letters I wrote? But the silence was met only by the soft taps on her screen.

"I see," she whispered, her eyes never wavering from the text. "And regarding your personal training regimen, there are reports that you've incorporated more high interval training to combat late game fatigue. Could you elaborate on how that's affected your speed on the ice?"

Julian felt a surge of hot, bitter rage rise in his gut. He was a man who ruled the ice with an iron fist, an Alpha who took what he wanted, yet he was being dismantled by a list of work related questions. He watched her,the way her regal bun sat perfectly at the nape of her neck, the way her insane face card remained a mask of professional indifference.

Was she over him? The thought was like a needle piercing through his heart.

He leaned forward, his shadow falling over her, his presence intentional and suffocating. He wanted to see her flinch. He wanted to see a spark of the girl who used to look at him like he was the center of her universe. But Valeria just smoothed her suit pants, her lovely shape shifting slightly as she prepared the next question.

"Your contract with the Hawks is up for negotiation in six months," she said, her voice finally gaining a bit of steady ground. "Is the city of your past still the city of your future, or are you looking for a fresh start elsewhere?"

Julian's eyes narrowed until they were nothing but slivers of dangerous grey. He knew what she was doing. She was using the interview as a shield, a glass wall between them that he couldn't seem to shatter without appearing weak. His pride was a heavy weight, keeping him pinned to the chair. He wouldn't beg for her attention. He wouldn't be the first one to mention the heartbreak.

"I go where the value is highest," he replied, his tone biting and brief. "I don't make decisions based on sentiment. I haven't in five years."

He expected a flinch. A gasp. Anything. But Valeria merely nodded, her face a portrait of professional focus. "Efficient. That seems to be the theme of your career."

The nonchalance was tearing him apart. He was boiling in pain, jealousy, and sheer anger. He was jealous of the tablet she looked at more than him. He was angry that she was calling him Mr. Vane with such ease, as if the name Julian had never been a prayer on her lips. He wanted her to throw the tablet across the room. He wanted her to ask why he chose the ice over her. He wanted her to admit that seeing him this handsome, this successful, was killing her as much as it was killing him.

But she didn't. She just kept going.

"One final question for the morning edition, Mr. Vane," she said, finally looking up. The handsomeness of his face was a physical blow in which she was clearly struggling to ignore, but her gaze remained professional. "What is your message to the fans who have waited five years for your return?"

Julian stared at her, his heart a raw, bleeding mess . He didn't care about the fans. He didn't care about the championship. He cared about the fact that the woman who had turned into a goddess was treating him like a stranger.

"My message?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous frequency that vibrated through the floorboards. "Tell them that some things return because they have unfinished business. And I never leave the ice until I've won."

Valeria's hand shook,just a fraction as she hit the save button on her recorder. It was the first sign of a crack in her armor, and Julian hungrily tracked it like a predator.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Vane," she said, standing up and smoothing her blazer. She didn't offer a hand. She didn't offer a smile. She just turned toward the door, her silhouette sharp and regal.

Julian sat in the silence of the lounge long after the lock clicked back into place. He was the heartthrob of the hockey world, the Alpha everyone feared, but as he stared at the empty chair where Valeria had sat, he had never felt more like he was losing. She hadn't asked. She hadn't cared. And the rage in his heart was only masked by the terrifying realization that he might have finally pushed her too far away to ever pull her back.