Chapter 2: The Devil’s Offer

Ivy

“Open this goddamn door now!”

The pounding on our apartment door jolted me awake, heart slamming against my ribs.

Rain lashed the windows, and the clock glowed at 6:17 a.m. Maya stirred beside me on the pull-out couch we’d crashed on after last night’s disaster, her hair a wild mess.

Nyx stirred in my mind, voice sharp and sleepy. “Tell whoever it is to fuck off.”

Maya was already up, peeking through the curtain. Her eyes widened in shock. “Shit, Ivy. Sport law enforcers.”

“Come out now, Ivy Carter!” The voice boomed again, deep and authoritative, laced with that dominant Alpha growl that made Nyx bristle under my skin.

My throat tightened. “Maya, what do I do?”

“Relax,” she said, squeezing my arm. “Breathe. I’ve got this. I’ll sort it out. These meatheads don’t know who they’re messing with.”

She flung the door open wide, chin high. But before she could unleash, the huge enforcers—built like linebackers with official league badges glinting under the hallway light—burst inside. One grabbed my arm, yanking me forward.

I pulled back instinctively, Nyx surging with a protective snarl. “Hey—let go!”

Maya exploded. “This is a clear violation of the Werewolf Rights Accord, Section 14, and the NHL Code of Conduct Article 7.2! You can’t just barge in without a proper warrant displayed! I know the pack arbitration bylaws backward and forward, and this is an illegal detention under federal hybrid statutes—”

Both the enforcer holding me and I turned to stare at her. “The fuck?” the guy muttered, echoing my thoughts exactly.

“Miss Carter." The other officer started. “You're under arrest for leaking vital team information, pack espionage, game manipulation under league law and many more.

My head spun.

I hadn’t done any of it.

I was shoved toward the door, bare feet slipping on the cold floor. Maya screamed after us, voice raw. “I’ll come get you, Ivy! Don’t say a word! I’m calling everyone—lawyers, pack elders, the damn media if I have to!”

My phone was ripped from my hand in the van. The ride blurred—sirens cutting through the rainy Chicago night, the scent of wet ground filling the space.

We arrived at the sports police station after what seemed like fifteen minutes and they marched me into a sterile room.

A calmer officer waited, his expression softer than the brutes who’d hauled me in.

“Hello, Miss Ivy,” he said, voice even. “I’m Mr. Brown, the officer in charge of your case.”

“I don't know anything about this.” I started, my voice cracking. “I didn’t do it. Please, just let me call my boyfriend. He’ll come and explain everything better.”

“You mean the same boyfriend that accused you of this in the first place?” Mr. Brown asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” I said, voice shaking, tears already burning. “It was a misunderstanding. When I explain things to him, he’ll realize he made a mistake. Please, just let me call him.”

Mr. Brown signaled another officer. “Please hand over her phone.”

I dialed Noah with trembling fingers. It rang three times.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy.

“Noah… hello, Noah.” Tears spilled down my face. “I’ve been arrested. They took me from my apartment.”

“Whoa…Whoa…slow down.” Noah said. “What did you say?

“I've been arrested by the sport enforcers.” I said, the tears streaming effortlessly down my face now. “I need you to come straighten things out. I might do jail time at this point if you don’t come.”

“Oh shit.” He paused. “I’m on my way.”

Just before he hung up, I heard a soft female giggle in the background. The line cut dead.

I handed the phone back, sighing in relief.

Noah would be her in a bit.

He'd straighten things out.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Three.

Several hours rushed by, then night deepened outside the small window.

“Guess your boyfriend didn’t show up after all,” Mr. Brown said as he led me toward a holding cell. Just as he reached for the lock, a voice called out.

“Wait.”

A man in a crisp suit stepped forward, looking every bit the polished lawyer.

Relief flooded me.

Finally.

Noah had sent someone.

The officer and the lawyer conferred in low tones I couldn’t quite catch. Minutes later, I was released. “Thank your lucky stars,” Mr. Brown muttered. “This would’ve been the last time you saw outside.”

I walked out with the lawyer, legs shaky. “Thank you very much,” I whispered.

“It’s my job,” he said softly. “Hop in. Let me take you to the nearest bus station.”

I climbed into the sleek black car. We drove in silence at first, rain streaking the windows. But after several turns, the route felt wrong—heading away from our neighborhood, toward the glittering downtown high-rises.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, confusion sharpening into alarm. Nyx paced restlessly inside.

“Tyler Vane requests to see you,” he replied calmly, sliding into a heavily guarded compound.

Massive gates closed behind us.

“Tyler… what the fuck does he want?” My voice rose. “And why are you the one delivering his messages?”

“You’ll find out.”

He parked, opened my door like a gentleman, and directed me to a private entrance. My bare feet—still without shoes from the arrest—ached on the cold marble as I pushed open the heavy office door.

The space was enormous, all dark leather and shadowed glass overlooking the city. Tyler Vane sat behind a massive desk, unfolding to his full height as I entered. This was my first real look at the Hockey Devil. Tall, heavily tattooed, with silver earrings catching the low light and a presence that screamed dangerous Alpha. His pelvic area strained against his pants in a blatant, intimidating bulge that made heat flush my cheeks.

He looked absolutely lethal—and hot in a way that terrified me.

I’d heard the stories. Violent on the ice. Emotionally detached. The man who’d nearly ended Noah last night.

Was this about the leaks? Would I even leave here alive?

I swallowed hard, mustering what strength I had left. Nyx pushed forward with quiet steel. “Don’t show fear. He’s just another bully with fangs.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I demanded, eyes wide but resolved.

“C’mon now.” Tyler stood fully, voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. “That’s no way to talk to the man who just saved you.”

“What are you talking about?” Confusion warred through me, along with anger.

“The lawyer.” He gestured vaguely. “Who do you think sent him?”

I blinked, even more lost. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“Oh, you thought it was that money-grubbing, greedy asshole boyfriend of yours?” Tyler stepped closer, his breath hot against my skin, carrying the sharp scent of raw power. “How naive can one be?”

“What the fuck do you want?” I repeated, stepping back.

Just then, the massive screen on the wall flickered to life. The image stole the breath from my lungs. It was different from last night’s. It showed me inside the restricted media room, clearly looking at team documents unlike the other one that just showed me standing in front of the door.

If this gets out. I'd most definitely be done for.

“This image comes out,” Tyler said, gaze locked on me like a predator, “and you’ll be spending the better part of your life in jail.” He paused, his gaze lingering on me. “But I just want one thing… one thing.”

“What’s that?” My voice barely held.

“Fake date me for the next year, and this… this never sees the light of day.”

The room went silent. Then, from nowhere, a hysterical laugh escaped me. I laughed and laughed, doubling over as tears of disbelief mixed with the ones already on my cheeks.

Even Tyler looked momentarily stunned. “Who do you hockey players even think you are?”

“What?” Tyler’s deep voice held genuine surprise.

“Fine, release it then,” I spat, still chuckling bitterly. “I’m going to explain everything to Noah, and he’s going to protect me.”

“You think.” Tyler’s laugh was dark, matching mine for a beat. “Fine then. But once you walk out that door, make sure you don’t come back.”

“My pleasure.” I turned on my heel, storming out.

Outside, in the pouring rain, the fear finally crashed over me like a wave. Standing before Tyler Vane, my legs had nearly given out from the sheer intensity of him. Now, alone, reality hit. I needed to talk to Noah, clear this nightmare. I started running on bare feet through the downpour, the city lights blurring.

The universe, in its absolute humor.

I reached Noah’s upscale apartment building, fumbled for the spare key he’d given me years ago, and pushed inside.

My eyes widened at the sight I was beholding.

“Yeah, fuck me, Daddy.”