CHAPTER 5: Rules & Raw Tension

Cassy

Moving into the Golden Trio’s penthouse took less than thirty minutes.

I didn't have much to bring. Two security guards hired by Elijah drove me back to my campus dorm early that morning. They stood like concrete walls in the hallway while I packed my entire life into a single worn duffel bag. None of my old dorm mates even looked me in the eye. They just stared from behind their cracked doors, whispering and holding up their phones.

By seven in the morning, I was officially living on the forty-fifth floor of the most expensive high-rise in the city.

Mrs. Mori helped me unpack my few sweaters and jeans into the massive walk-in closet of the guest suite. She gave me a sympathetic smile every time I let out a heavy sigh, but I couldn't relax. My chest felt tight, my pulse racing at every quiet sound in the hallway.

"Don't look so terrified, child," Mrs. Mori said gently, smoothing down her crisp white apron. "They are intense young men, yes, but they won't bite. Well... unless you give them a reason to."

"They're taking over my entire life, Mrs. Mori," I whispered, pushing my thick tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of my nose. "Elijah looked at me like he owned me."

"Elijah Castanier doesn't make promises he can't keep," Mrs. Mori said knowingly, her kind brown eyes full of ancient wisdom. "Now, put on something comfortable. Elijah wants to go over the household rules in the main kitchen before they head out for morning ice practice."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Rules?"

"Rules," Mrs. Mori confirmed with a nod. "Now hurry along."

I pulled on a fresh pair of fitted blue jeans, a light grey knit sweater, and my scuffed sneakers. I tied my long dark chestnut hair back into a high, slightly messy ponytail, letting a few loose strands frame my heart-shaped face.

When I walked out into the massive open-concept kitchen, all three of them were already waiting for me.

The sight of them standing around the black marble kitchen island was almost too much to process. Sunlight flooded through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting their tall, powerful bodies.

Elijah stood at the center, holding a mug of black coffee. He wore a dark grey tailored suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. His jet black hair was neat, short, and immaculately styled. His sharp jawline looked freshly shaved, and his piercing ice-blue eyes locked onto me the second my sneakers squeaked against the marble floor.

To his left, Chase was leaning back against the counter, eating a green apple. He was wearing dark grey low-slung sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his golden-tanned hips, showing off the deep V-lines of his lower abs. He didn't even have a shirt on. His chest was broad, sculpted, and lean, built for lightning-fast speed on the ice. His messy dark brown hair fell over his forehead, and his amber-brown eyes sparkled with immediate, playful warmth as he looked me up and down.

To Elijah's right, Karius sat on a tall barstool. His six-foot-four frame completely dominated his corner of the room. He wore a dark green tight henley shirt that stretched over his massive shoulders and barrel chest, his thick arms crossed tightly over his front. His dark ash brown hair was military-neat, and his hooded forest green eyes tracked my every movement like a predator watching its target. The faint scar above his eyebrow made his rugged face look even more dangerous in the morning light.

"Good morning, PA," Chase greeted smoothly, his full lips curving into a lazy grin that showed off the deep dimple on his left cheek. "Nice ponytail. Makes you look about twelve, but it's cute."

"Shut up, Chase," I muttered, my cheeks flushing hot as I stopped a few feet away from the island. "I'm here for the rules."

"Direct. I like that," Elijah said, his deep, commanding voice cutting straight through the air. He set his coffee mug down on the marble with a soft click.

Elijah took a slow step forward, his six-foot-three frame towering over my small five-foot-four body. The sheer weight of his presence made my breath hitch in my throat.

"Rule number one," Elijah started, holding up his index finger. "Your alarm goes off at 5:00 AM every single morning. No exceptions. You will have our daily schedules, training logs, and nutritional meal preps ready by six."

"Five in the morning?" I asked, my hazel eyes widening behind my glasses. "I have evening analytics classes!"

"Then you will learn to manage your time better," Elijah said flatly, his ice-blue eyes totally unyielding. "Rule number two. Curfew is 9:00 PM sharp. If you are not inside this penthouse by nine, you don't come in at all unless one of us personally picks you up from campus."

"You can't set a curfew for me!" I argued, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "I'm twenty-one years old!"

"You live under my roof under my contract," Elijah countered, taking another step closer until he was standing directly in front of me. The rich, intoxicating scent of dark sandalwood and cold air rolled off his skin, wrapping around my senses. "Which means your safety is my responsibility. If you're out late, you're a target for reporters and that asshole ex-boyfriend of yours. I don't risk my team's focus for your lack of discipline."

I bit my bottom lip, my chest heaving as I glared up at him. "Fine. What else?"

"Rule number three," Karius grunted from his barstool, his deep voice rumbling like thunder through the room.

I turned my head toward Karius. He unfolded his massive arms, his long legs uncrossing as he stood up. He walked slowly toward me, his heavy steps silent on the marble. Standing at six-foot-four, he was the tallest and broadest of the three, looking like a literal fortress.

Karius stopped right beside Elijah, crowding my space even more. His forest green eyes locked onto mine, dark, intense, and stoic.

"Absolute discretion," Karius said, his tone voice low and rough. "You don't talk to the press. You don't post on social media. You don't give interviews about Hendrix or Portia. Whatever happens inside this penthouse stays inside this penthouse. Do you understand me, Cassy?"

"I don't even like talking to people anyway," I whispered, my voice shaking slightly under his intense stare. "I just want to do my job and pay off my debt."

"Good," Karius murmured, his gaze dipping down to my mouth for a split second before returning to my eyes.

"And rule number four," Chase chimed in, tossing his apple core into the sink. He pushed off the counter and strolled over, complete confidence in every step. He stopped right behind me, his golden chest close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin.

Chase leaned down, his warm breath brushing against the shell of my left ear. "No other guys, sunshine. You don't talk to male classmates, you don't text old guy friends, and you definitely don't look at Hendrix if he tries to crawl back to you. You belong to the Golden Trio now."

"I don't belong to anyone!" I gasped, spinning around to face Chase.

My chest bumped lightly against his hard, bare abs. My eyes flew wide open, my face burning with bright crimson heat as I realized how close I was to him. Chase didn't back away. He just looked down at me with those warm amber-brown eyes, his silver chain resting right between his defined chest muscles. His grin widened, playful and deeply possessive.

"Keep telling yourself that, little analyst," Chase whispered, his fingers reaching out to gently flick the tip of my small nose. "We'll see how long you last."

"Enough," Elijah ordered softly, though there was a dark, dangerous edge to his voice as he looked at Chase's hand touching my face. "Practice starts in twenty minutes. Karius, grab the gear bags."

"Got it," Karius grunted, taking one last long, lingering look at me before turning toward the hallway.

"Chase, go put a fucking shirt on," Elijah added, his tone cold.

Chase laughed, a rich, musical sound that filled the kitchen. He winked at me before turning around and jogging down the corridor toward his room.

Elijah stepped closer to me, his ice-blue eyes scanning my face. He reached out with long, clean fingers, taking my jaw in a firm, commanding hold. He didn't hurt me, but his grip was solid, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look directly into his terrifyingly beautiful face.

"Your duties start today, Cassy," Elijah murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, intoxicating circle over my lower lip. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse hammering wildly against his palm. "When we get back from practice at four, I expect the study organized and my laundry folded in my master suite."

"I... I can do that," I stuttered out, hating how weak my voice sounded under his touch.

"Good girl," Elijah whispered, his eyes darkening with a flash of raw, heavy desire before he let go of my jaw. "Don't disappoint me."

He turned on his heel and walked away, his broad shoulders squared as he left the kitchen.

I collapsed against the marble counter, clutching my chest as I let out a long, ragged breath. Living with them was going to drive me completely insane. The sexual tension in this penthouse was so heavy it felt like breathing under water.

...

By three in the afternoon, I had finished organizing the massive glass-walled study. I sorted their game tapes, filed their physical therapy reports, and mapped out their upcoming road trip schedule on a large digital whiteboard. Working with data was the only thing that kept my mind calm.

At three-thirty, Mrs. Mori brought a basket of freshly laundered and pressed clothes into the main hallway.

"Cassandra, dear," Mrs. Mori called out softly. "Could you take Elijah's dry cleaning into his master suite? I have to start prepping their dinner."

"Of course, Mrs. Mori," I said, stepping out of the study and taking the heavy wicker basket from her hands. "Which room is his?"

"At the very end of the main corridor," Mrs. Mori instructed, pointing down the dimly lit hallway. "The double dark oak doors."

"Got it. Thank you."

I carried the basket down the long hall, my sneakers sinking silently into the plush dark runners. The penthouse was dead quiet now. The afternoon sun was beginning to set outside, casting long, golden shadows across the hardwood floors.

I reached the end of the hall and stood outside the massive double oak doors. I hesitated for a second, my heart doing a nervous little flutter. I knocked softly.

No answer.

'They must still be at the arena,' I thought to myself.

I turned the heavy brass handle and pushed the door open.

Elijah's master suite was breathtaking. It was huge, almost the size of a full apartment. The walls were painted a deep, sophisticated charcoal grey, and the far side was a solid wall of glass looking out over the city. A massive king-sized bed sat in the center, covered in dark silk sheets and black duvets. The entire room smelled intensely like him—sharp sandalwood, expensive soap, and crisp, clean ice.

I walked inside, setting the laundry basket on top of a low leather bench at the foot of the bed. I pulled out a stack of crisp, dark silk button-down shirts and walked over to his massive walk-in closet to hang them up.

My hands trembled slightly as my fingers brushed over his expensive designer clothes. Everything he owned was top quality, understated luxury, and perfectly tailored. He really was a king in every sense of the word.

I stepped back out of the closet, picking up a pile of folded cashmere sweaters from the basket.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic click echoed sharply through the quiet room.

I froze dead in my tracks. My heart leaped straight into my throat.

I spun around toward the entrance of the suite. The heavy dark oak double doors were shut tight, and the electronic biometric lock on the handle was glowing a solid red.

Locked.

"Mrs. Mori?" I called out, my voice high and nervous. "Is someone out there?"

Silence.

My pulse began to race wildly against my ribs. I set the sweaters down on the bed and took a slow, timid step toward the doors.

Before I could reach the handle, the frosted glass door of the adjoining master ensuite bathroom slid open with a soft hiss. A cloud of warm, thick steam billowed out into the cool bedroom, carrying the rich scent of hot water and sandalwood soap.

Heavy footsteps sounded against the marble bathroom floor.

I stopped in my tracks, my hazel eyes widening in absolute shock behind my glasses.

Elijah stepped out of the steam.

My breath completely seized in my lungs. My mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

He was completely bare, except for a single white towel wrapped loosely around his low hips.

Water droplets glistened against his olive skin, trailing slowly down his broad, sculpted chest and over the hard, carved ridges of his eight-pack abs. His powerful shoulders were dusted with tiny beads of water, and his corded arm muscles flexed with every movement he made. His short jet black hair was slicked back and dripping wet, a few droplets running down his sharp jawline and trickling down the deep groove of his spine.

He was pure, raw, unstoppable male power.

Elijah stopped a few feet away from me, making no move to cover himself further. He didn't look surprised to see me in his room. In fact, his sharp face was totally stoic, unbothered, and completely in control.

His piercing ice-blue eyes locked directly onto mine, burning through the dim light of the bedroom with an intense, possessive heat that made my entire body go numb.

"Cassy," Elijah whispered, his deep, commanding voice vibrating straight through the quiet air between us. "You're in my room."