Chapter 15: The New Rules

Brielle’s POV.

The ring of the championship defense banner ceremony had barely faded when the real trouble started, It was two months after the season opener, and while the team was dominating the standings, the corporate boardrooms of professional sports were shifting under our feet. Taking total operational control of a multi-billion-dollar franchise meant Chase wasn't just dealing with power plays on the ice, he was wading through sharks in tailored suits.

I sat in the high-walled corner office of the arena’s executive suite, my laptop open beside a stack of raw high-resolution prints from last night’s game against Chicago. Across the massive oak desk, Chase was leaning back, his dark tie loosened, staring at a set of projected financial audits on the wall.

"They're stalling the stadium expansion lease," Chase said, his voice flat, carrying that controlled, icy edge that used to intimidate the hell out of me. "My father's old board loyalists are trying to force a minority buy-out before the mid-season trade window opens."

"Because if they buy out the minority shares, they control the voting block for the new press contracts," I said, putting two and two together. "They want to strip my media firm's exclusive access and force the team back into a exclusive broadcast deal with their preferred network."

Chase looked over at me, the tension in his jaw softening just a fraction. "They think because John is out, I'm just a hockey player playing businessman. They think I'll fold if they threaten to tie up the franchise's liquidity."

"And are you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chase stood up, walking around the desk until he was leaning against the edge right beside my chair. He reached down, his fingers lightly brushing over the top of my hand where it rested on the keyboard.

"I don't fold, Bri, you know that better than anyone," he murmured, his gaze dipping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. "But we need to change the game. If they want to play dirty with media rights, we publish the full, unedited documentary footage of the locker room reconstruction, today."

I blinked, taking a breath. "The behind-the-scenes footage from the night we caught Nate? Chase, that includes raw audio of the board members trying to cover it up."

"Ex-board members," Chase corrected smoothly, a dangerous, beautiful smile touching his lips. "It’s time to show the league what happens when you try to poison the well. Are the edits ready?"

"Ready and rendered," I said, pointing to a flashing upload cue on my screen. "One click, and it drops across every major digital platform simultaneously."

Chase reached over my shoulder, his broad chest pressing warmly against my back as his hand covered mine on the mouse. The heat of him filled the space instantly, distracting and intoxicating all at once.

"Do it," he whispered against my ear.

I clicked Publish.

Within three hours, the sports media world exploded.

The documentary short titled The Cost of the Crown garnered millions of views. It exposed the rot that had almost destroyed Chase’s career, while highlighting the absolute transparency and resilience of the current team structure. The board loyalists who had been trying to squeeze Chase out were suddenly facing a massive public backlash and plummeting stock values.

By 8:00 PM, the arena was quiet again.

The ice was fresh, pristine, and illuminated only by the faint blue ambient lights of the rafter displays.

I walked out onto the team bench, wrapped in an oversized jacket, carrying two paper cups of hot coffee. Chase was sitting on the boards in his gray training gear, his skates resting on the ice, looking out over the empty rink.

I slid onto the bench beside him, handing him a cup. "Your father's lead attorney just issued a formal withdrawal of the buy-out clause. You officially own ninety-two percent of the voting shares."

Chase took the cup, setting it down beside him without taking a sip. Instead, he turned and hooked his arm around my waist, pulling me off the bench and up onto his lap against the cold barrier wall.

"I don't care about the shares, Brielle," he said softly, his hands sliding inside my open jacket to pull me flush against his warm chest.

"Liar," I teased, resting my hands on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. "You love winning."

"I love winning with you," he corrected, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive murmur that made my core tighten. "Every single piece of this the team, the arena, the legacy means nothing if I don't have you standing at the glass when the lights go up."

He leaned in, capturing my lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like coffee and cold winter air. My fingers tangled into the dark hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled me closer, erasing every bit of distance between us until there was only the sound of our breathing echoing off the empty ice.

When he finally pulled back, his dark blue eyes were burning with a promise that had nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with our future.

"Next week is the road trip to Toronto," Chase whispered against my jawline, his lips tracing down to my neck. "Pack a bag. We're taking the private jet early."

"Is that official team business, Captain?" I asked, gasping softly as his teeth lightly grazed my collarbone.

"No," Chase murmured, looking back up into my eyes with a fierce, unwavering grin. "That's personal.”

The cold Toronto air bit at my cheeks as the private charter touched down, but inside the luxury transport van waiting on the tarmac, the heat between us was unmistakable. Chase pulled me close, his heavy wool coat wrapping around my shoulders as he pulled me onto his lap. The city skyline shimmered in the distance, but his attention was entirely locked on me. He leaned down, capturing my lips in a deep, possessive kiss that wiped away every trace of the long flight.

"Welcome to Toronto, Bri," he whispered against my mouth. "Now let me show you how we win on the road.”