Chapter 06: Under His Thumb

Brielle’s POV.

I stared at my phone screen, watching the view count on the scandal article tick up by the thousands every single second. *The Ice King or Ice Baby?* The image attached was unmistakable, it was the high-definition, meticulously color-corrected shot of Chase Kensington crying in the corner of the rink. The exact file I had saved in my password-protected, private folder just hours ago.

My knees gave out slightly, and I grabbed the edge of a high-top table to steady myself.

"Trash," Chase’s voice echoed in my head, sharper than any blade. "You are nothing but a piece of trash."

"I didn't do it," I whispered into the noise of the crowd, though nobody was listening.

I shoved my phone into my leather jacket, slung my heavy camera bag over my shoulder, and shoved my way through the sea of dancing bodies toward the exit. The chill New Jersey night air hit my face like a slap, but I barely felt it. I sprinted toward the parking lot, looking for Chase’s sleek sports car, but the space where he had parked was already empty, he was gone, they were all gone.

I jumped onto my motorcycle, kicked the engine into gear, and roared onto the highway. The wind whipped against my helmet, but my thoughts were racing even faster. *How did the picture get out?* I hadn't uploaded it to the agency server. I hadn't emailed it to Director Ford. It was stored locally on my laptop at home.

Twenty minutes later, I slammed the front door of my apartment shut and bolted straight for my desk, my laptop sat right where I had left it, sleeping, plugged into the charger. I flipped the lid open and typed my password with trembling fingers.

The moment the desktop loaded, my stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.

A red pop-up window hovered in the center of my screen: **REMOTE ACCESS SESSION TERMINATED.**

My system had been accessed remotely while I was at the club. Someone had bypassed my firewall, mirrored my drive, pulled the high-resolution file, and dumped it straight onto an anonymous forum board.

"No, no, no," I breathed, slamming my palms against the desk.

My phone buzzed on the wood, making me jump. The caller ID displayed **Director Ford**.

I swallowed hard and answered, pressing the phone to my ear. "Director…"

"What in the hell did you do, Hopkins?!" Ford roared so loud I had to pull the receiver away from my ear. "I leave you alone for one night with the biggest athlete in the state, and you leak a scandal picture?! The team’s management just called me screaming!"

"Director, listen to me!" I pleaded, my voice cracking. "My computer was hacked! Someone accessed my system remotely and stole the file! I didn't publish it, I swear…"

"Do you think anyone cares about your excuses?!" he cut me off coldly. "The headline is trending nationwide! Kensington’s father, John Kensington, is personally threatening to pull all press credentials from our agency if the person responsible isn't dealt with immediately!"

"I'm telling you the truth," I said, fighting back tears of frustration. "I can prove my system was accessed…"

"Save it for tomorrow morning," Ford barked. "7:00 AM sharp in my office. If you aren't there to face Chase Kensington and his manager yourself, don't bother showing up in this city again."

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away and stared at the black screen. Chase was going to be there. His billionaire father was involved. My entire career, the one thing keeping me afloat in New Jersey was hanging by a thread.

I didn't sleep a single wink that night. I spent hours pulling the digital logs from my laptop, saving every scrap of IP history I could find to prove the hack was real. By 6:30 AM, I was already parked outside the agency building, clutching my flash drive like a lifeline.

I took the elevator up to the top floor, the silence in the hallway was suffocating. When I reached Director Ford's office, I didn't even have to knock the door was slightly ajar, and low, furious voices drifted out into the corridor.

I took a deep breath, braced myself, and pushed the door open.

The atmosphere inside was suffocating, director Ford was sweating profusely behind his desk. Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows was Chase Kensington. He wore a tailored dark suit, his jaw tight, his posture rigid as steel. Standing next to him was a tall, stern man in his fifties with silvering hair and cold grey eyes, John Kensington and sitting comfortably on the leather sofa in the corner, looking down at his phone with a subtle smirk, was Nate Bryant.

When the door clicked shut, all eyes snapped toward me.

Chase’s blue eyes locked onto mine, there was no warmth left in them, no trace of the man who had invited me out for drinks just hours prior. Only pure, icy hatred.

"She's here," Ford stammered, standing up quickly. "Brielle, take a seat."

"I don't want her sitting," John Kensington’s booming voice filled the room. The billionaire walked forward, pointing a finger at me. "I want this girl blacklisted from every media outlet in the country, she ambushed my son, gained his trust, and sold out his dignity for a quick payday."

"I didn't sell anything!" I stepped forward, holding up my flash drive. "Mr. Kensington, please! My computer was hacked last night while I was out. I have the remote access logs right here. Someone infiltrated my local drive and took the file!"

John laughed mockingly. "A hack? That is the oldest, trashiest excuse in the book. Do you take me for an idiot?"

"It's the truth!" I turned desperately to Chase. "Chase, look at me. You know I wouldn't do this. I promised you last night I would delete it, and I was going to…"

"Don't speak my name," Chase cut in, his voice dead and terrifyingly calm.

The coldness in his tone hit me like a physical blow.

"Chase..."

"I gave you a chance," Chase said, stepping closer to me until he towered over my five-foot-eleven frame. His gaze bored into mine, ruthless and unyielding. "I let you into my space. I trusted you around my team. And you proved that every single warning my father gave me about people like you was right."

"I am not lying to you!" I yelled, tears finally spilling over my lashes. "Why won't you just look at the evidence?!"

Nate stood up from the couch, putting a sympathetic hand on Chase's shoulder while looking at me with feigned disappointment. "Give it up, Brielle. You got caught. Just apologize so we can all move on."

I stared at Nate, a strange chill creeping down my spine. The way he said it, so smooth, so completely unfazed.

"Director Ford," John Kensington said, turning his back on me. "Terminate her contract immediately. If she ever steps foot near a hockey arena again, I will sue this agency into bankruptcy."

Ford didn't hesitate. "Consider it done, Mr. Kensington. Brielle, pack your things and leave."

I had lost everything in less than twelve hours, my job, my reputation, and any chance of fixing things with the man standing in front of me.

"Wait," Chase said suddenly.

Everyone in the room froze. John looked at his son in surprise. "Chase? What is it?"

Chase slowly turned around to face his father, then looked back at me. His expression was a dark, unreadable mask.

"Don't fire her," Chase said, his voice dropping an octave.

Ford blinked, stunned. "What? But Mr. Kensington…."

"I said don't fire her," Chase repeated, stepping right up to me until there were only inches between us. "If you fire her, she goes somewhere else. She hides. She gets to move on with her life while my name is dragged through the dirt."

He leaned down, his breath cold against my ear as he whispered so only I could hear.

"You want to stay a photographer, Brielle? Fine. You're going to be *my* personal photographer. 24 hours a day. Every game, every practice, every step I take. You belong to my schedule now."

I gasped, looking up into his piercing blue eyes. "What?"

"You're going to earn your keep under my thumb," Chase said aloud, staring down at me with absolute contempt. "And if you step out of line even once... I won't just ruin your career. I'll make sure you never work again."