Chapter 5: The Bombshell

ZANE’S POV

The rink was my sanctuary, the only place where the world’s noise dulled to a low hum. My skates carved the ice, each stride a desperate bid to outrun the chaos in my head. The Blizzard’s practice facility echoed with the sharp crack of pucks and the shouts of teammates, but I barely heard them. My mind was a storm—Lila Harper’s hazel eyes, her defiant mouth, the way she’d shuddered under me last night.

I’d fucked her, hard, in my penthouse, her wrists bound, her screams echoing as I unleashed my anger. She’d written that article, painted me as a violent thug, and sparked my parents’ push to chain me to a marriage I didn’t want. I hated her for it, hated how she’d thrown herself into my bed, hated how her body felt like a drug I couldn’t quit. So I’d left before dawn, slipping out while she slept, determined to cut her out of my life.

My stick slammed a puck into the net, the impact jarring my arms. Sweat dripped down my jaw, my chest heaving. I’d come to the rink to escape, to drown her out with the burn of muscle and the sting of cold. But those eyes—those damned hazel eyes—clung to me, pulling me back to her.

She was the reason my name was trending for all the wrong reasons, the reason my father wanted me off the ice and into the family’s real estate empire, married to Sophia Lang, some polished heiress I didn’t give a damn about.

My phone buzzed in my locker, yanking me from the ice. I ripped off my gloves, my breath fogging in the chill, and grabbed it. Mom flashed on the screen. My gut twisted. I knew what this was about. I swiped to answer, leaning against the locker room’s cold cinderblock wall.

“What now?” I growled.

“Zane,” my mother’s voice was sharp, a blade wrapped in silk. “You need to be at the house tonight. Ethan’s bringing his fiancée to dinner. It’s a family event, and you will show up.”

My jaw tightened. Ethan Callahan, my sleazy uncle, 35 and a chronic womanizer, had snagged some poor girl for his latest stunt. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to face my father’s glare or another lecture about marriage and the company.

“I’ve got practice,” I said, my tone flat, my fingers gripping the phone.

“Don’t play games,” she snapped. “Your father’s patience is gone. Show up, or he’ll drag you here himself. You know he will.” Her voice softened, a calculated move. “We’re discussing your future, too, Zane. Sophia’s perfect for you. It’s time to settle down.”

My blood boiled, my free hand slamming against the locker. “I’m not marrying Sophia,” I said, each word a snarl. “And I’m not quitting hockey.”

“You’ll do what’s best for the family,” she said, her tone final. “Be here at seven.” The line went dead, leaving me in the locker room’s silence, my pulse hammering.

I hurled my phone onto the bench, the clatter echoing. Lila’s article had lit this fire—her words had pushed my parents to tighten the noose. I hated her, hated how she’d crawled under my skin, how I could still feel her beneath me.

I yanked off my pads, my movements sharp, and stormed out of the rink, the Chicago dusk biting my skin. The drive to the Callahan estate was a blur, my hands gripping the steering wheel of my black Maserati.

I didn’t want to face my family, didn’t want to see Ethan’s smug face or some desperate fiancée clinging to his arm. But my father’s reach was long—defy him, and he’d make my life hell. I pulled into the estate’s driveway, the mansion’s stone facade looming like a prison. I was late—dinner had started, and I’d planned it that way, hoping to slip in unnoticed.

The oak doors swung open, a servant nodding as I strode past, my tailored suit feeling like armor. I didn’t return the greeting, my mood too dark, my mind still tangled with Lila’s scent, her screams. The dining room’s chandelier cast a warm glow, but the air was thick with tension.

My mother sat at the table’s head, her blonde hair pinned up, her eyes flicking to me with a warning. My father, stern and graying, gave me a look that promised a later reckoning. Ethan lounged beside them, his dark hair slicked back, his smile oily as he chatted with my cousins. Plates clinked, wine flowed, but I barely registered the spread—roast lamb, crystal glasses, the works.

“Zane,” my mother said, standing, her smile tight. “You’re late, but you’re here. Come meet Ethan’s fiancée.”

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorway, my jaw tight. “Let’s get this over with,” I said, my voice low, barely masking my irritation.

She gestured to the table’s far end, where a figure sat, half-hidden by a cousin’s shoulder. “Everyone, this is the woman joining our family,” she said, her voice syrupy. “Lila Harper.”

The name hit me like a puck to the chest. My eyes snapped to her, and she turned, her auburn hair catching the light, her hazel eyes wide with shock. Lila. The woman I’d fucked last night, her wrists bound, her body yielding to my punishment. She sat there, pale, her hands trembling around a wineglass, dressed in a modest green dress that couldn’t hide her curves.

My blood roared, rage and something darker—desire—clashing in my veins. She was Ethan’s fiancée? The audacity, the betrayal—she’d thrown herself at me, then waltzed into my family’s home to marry my sleaze of an uncle.

Her gaze locked onto mine, her lips parting, fear and defiance flickering across her face. My fists clenched, my nails biting into my palms. She was a liar, a cheap manipulator, using me to climb into the Callahan empire.

My hatred surged, a wildfire, but beneath it, her hazel eyes pulled at me, stirring something I couldn’t name. Last night, she’d been mine, and now she sat here, promised to Ethan. What the hell was she playing at?