ICE THREE: THE BULLY AND HER MINIONS.

MADISON'S POV:

"Can't you help me, Mr. Brooks?" I begged with desperation.  

Sliding down the door, my back pressed against the cold wood, knees curling up to my chest. The phone was warm in my grip, but nothing about this conversation brought comfort.  

"Miss Wallace, you left an important detail such as this out. This could have cost me something great because I was blindly representing you."  

I squeezed my eyes shut, tilting my head back against the door. He sounded exhausted, exasperated as if I had just wasted his time.  

"I didn't think it mattered. Besides, it's a false allegation. I never—" 

"It doesn't matter, Madison. My best advice is for you to reach out to the Wallace. I don’t know why you think you can do this on your own. You barely make enough to cover my legal fees, let alone petitioning and reapplying over and over. The Wallace are powerful. Go beg them, and they might make life easier for you." 

I scoffed. Beg them?  

"Mr. Brooks, just be the lawyer I paid you to be, not my advisor." My words came out colder than I intended, but I didn’t care.  

He sighed heavily. "Sure, Miss Wallace. I'll be in touch."

Then, the line went dead.  

I let the phone slip from my fingers, staring blankly at the wall. It was easy for people like him to say things like that—to tell me to run back to the people who destroyed me as if they were my salvation.  

They had no idea what it was like.  

Tears streaked my face.  

I inhaled sharply, forcing them back. There was no point in drowning in self-pity. I had a shift to get to.  

Pushing off the floor, I grabbed my things and left, heading for the bus stop.  

***

The Regency Hospital stood tall. Its glass windows reflected the city lights. The entrance bustled with life—doctors in white coats, nurses checking their schedules, visitors rushing in with worried expressions. A line of ambulances idled at the emergency wing, paramedics wheeling patients inside.  

The hospital smelled of antiseptic, coffee, and flowers—probably the fresh bouquets in the lobby. It was immaculate and organized, and a place where lives changed every second.  

I checked my watch. "Damn! Almost behind schedule."  

Heart pounding, I hurried through the revolving doors, making my way toward the staff lounge—the one place interns like me could keep our things. The room was simple, lined with lockers and a small coffee station. A worn-out couch sat in the corner, looking like it had survived decades of exhausted medical professionals collapsing onto it.  

I tossed my bag into my locker and exhaled. "Fifteen hours." That was my shift. It would be long, but I had a plan.  

By nine, I had to be at the award night.  

By ten, I needed to watch his game—the most anticipated Stanley Cup finals which would make his career.  

I already had my night planned. Now, I just had to survive the day.

***

My day had been as busy as I’d expected, but at least I was twelve hours in—just three more to go. For now, I was on a much-needed coffee break, grabbing a second cup for Maverick before heading to meet him.  

That was when I spotted Ellie McCarthy and her squad making their way toward me.  

Ellie was the kind of woman who turned heads the moment she walked into a room. Tall, effortlessly stunning and annoyingly self-assured, she had a way of making everything look easy—even breaking hospital regulations. Her platinum blonde hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, framing her delicate features, and her hazel eyes always carried an edge of mischief. She had the kind of beauty that made people forget she was, at her core, a horrible person.  

And then there were her four minions, trailing behind her like designer purse accessories:  

Lana Parker. A brunette with a sharp jawline and an even sharper tongue. She lived for hospital gossip and could twist any situation in Ellie’s favor.  

 Grace Lin was the quiet one—but not because she was shy. She was observant, storing every secret, every scandal, waiting for the perfect moment to use it. Her ginger hair seemed out of place for her green eyes.

Evelyn Torres. The Obnoxiously flirty, but only when it benefitted her. If Ellie was a queen, Evelyn was her self-appointed lady-in-waiting, always hyping her up. She was the shortest in the group and her lips were plump. Probably from talking too much.

Madeline Reece reeked of desperation. She laughed the loudest at Ellie’s jokes, agreed with everything she said, and would probably set herself on fire if Ellie told her it was “fashionable.” She forced her appearance to look good. Wore countless horrible wigs and over-tanned herself.

They walked in a perfect formation, their steps in sync, their polished nails wrapped around overpriced lattes.  

"I wonder why nobody talks about her outrageous, unprofessional scrubs that hang too low, practically flashing half the hospital," I thought to myself. 

Desperately, I pressed the coffee machine button again, mentally begging it to hurry up.  

I just needed to grab Maverick’s coffee and get out.

Too late.  

"Maddie!" Ellie’s voice rang out, sing-song and saccharine.  

  

I tensed but forced a neutral expression before turning to face her. She smiled, but it wasn’t friendly—it never was.  

"Wow," she mused, eyeing me up and down. "Still rocking those basic scrubs, huh? No wonder you blend in with the furniture."  

Lana snickered. "Maybe if you showed a little something, you wouldn’t be running around fetching coffee for men who don’t even notice you."  

My grip on the cup tightened. "Breathe. Don’t react," I calmly repeated to myself.

Ellie sighed dramatically. "Anyway, do me a favor. There’s a box of supplies we need from the back storage. Be a doll and grab it for me?"  

I hesitated.  

This was a set-up.

I knew it. They knew I knew it. But Ellie had power, and resisting her only made my life harder. If I refused, she would make my last hours hell.

I tried to resist, but Ellie's persistence was wearing me down. "Ellie, you know you can get whatever you want, right?" I said, attempting to reason with her.

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look who decided to talk back," she teased with a playful sarcasm that made me smile before closing the distance between us. 

"How would you like a forty-eight-hour shift, darling?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

I shook my head, knowing that would be a disaster. I couldn't afford that inconvenience. I had to watch his game today. The Stanley Cup Finals were a huge deal, and I was on the edge of my seat, cheering him on. 

He had led his team to victory in every round, and now they were just one series away from the championship title. His determination and skill on the ice had earned him the top spot in the hockey world, and I knew that winning the Stanley Cup would be a career-defining moment for him. I couldn't bear the thought of missing it. It would be incredible to see.

"Fine," I muttered, walking past them toward the storage room.  

As soon as I stepped inside, the heavy metal door slammed shut behind me.

The lock clicked.  

Silence.  

Then giggles.  

Panic surged through me as I spun around, banging on the door. 

"Ellie! This isn’t funny!"  

More laughter. Then retreating footsteps.  

I pressed my forehead against the door, my breaths shallow.  

No. No, no, no.  

I was claustrophobic. This was bad.