A Trip To Our Doom

I spent the entire morning staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. The sunlight was pouring in through the massive windows of my penthouse, but I didn't want to get up. My phone was vibrating on the nightstand every few seconds, a constant buzz that felt like it was drilling into my brain.

I didn't need to look at it to know what was happening. I was trending. Or rather, Nikolai and I were trending.

I finally reached over and grabbed the phone. The video from the locker room was everywhere. It was blurry, but you could see us perfectly well, probably shot by some intern or a janitor through the cracked door, but the audio was clear enough. It didn't show the almost-kiss, thank God, but it showed the raw desire between us. It showed us screaming at each other, chest to chest.

The comments were a mess.

“Look at them. Nikolai looks like he’s about to kill the guy. Why is the Moretti heir even back there? I refuse to believe their cooked up shit”

“They clearly hate each other. This merger is going to be a disaster for the Titans.”

“I feel bad for Bianca. Imagine your brother and your fiancé hating each other this much.”

I tossed the phone face down. They were right about one thing—I was hurting Bianca. Every time I looked at her, I felt like a piece of my soul was chipping away. She thought I was protecting her by "managing" Nikolai’s brand. She thought I was being the hero. In reality, I was just a coward trying to keep my father from finding out that his son had a taste for the very man supposed to marry into the family.

I was twenty-one years old, a Harvard grad, an heir to a billion-dollar empire, and now? Now I was a glorified babysitter for a Russian hockey star who looked at me like I was a stain on his clothes. A "Personal Performance Consultant." It was a joke. I was a guard. A watchdog.

I couldn't stay in the apartment anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the silence was too loud. I threw on a pair of jeans, a plain black hoodie, and a baseball cap, hoping to hide myself and try not to attract attention.

I walked for twenty minutes, ignoring the cold breeze, until I found a small, quiet coffee shop tucked away from the main streets. It wasn't a place my father would ever go.

As I walked in, the bell above the door chimed, and a voice called out from the corner.

“Ale? Is that actually you?”

I froze. I turned and saw a familiar face. It was Julian, a guy I had gone to prep school with. We hadn't been best friends, but we had been close enough to share a few late-night study sessions and a lot of complaints about our parents.

“Julian. Hey,” I said, trying to force a smile as I walked over to his table.

“Man, you look like you’ve been through a blender,” Julian said, kicking out a chair for me. “Sit down. I’ll get you a coffee. You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” I sighed, dropping into the seat.

A few minutes later, he came back with two steaming cups. He sat down and leaned back, his eyes searching mine. “So. I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about the video that’s currently blowing up the internet?”

I groaned, leaning my head back against the wall. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s pretty intense, Ale. People are saying you guys almost got into a fistfight. What happened? Did he say something to you?”

“He’s just... he’s a lot,” I said, keeping my voice low. “He’s arrogant, he’s stubborn, and he doesn't like being told what to do.”

Julian nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Honestly, it’s cool. Not many people actually like the guy. He’s got that ‘Russian Steel’ thing going on, but most people think he’s just a jerk. I just feel bad for your sister. Being stuck between her brother and her guy must suck.”

“It does,” I whispered. “She deserves better.”

“Well, at least you’re there now,” Julian said, trying to be encouraging. “You’re like her personal guard. If he steps out of line, you’re right there to check him. It’s actually kind of badass, Ale. The tech nerd taking on the MVP.”

I felt a strange protective spark in my chest. Not for myself, but for the situation. Julian was being nice, but he didn't know the truth. He didn't know that the "jerk" he was talking about was the same man who had held me like I was the only thing that mattered.

“He’s complicated, Julian,” I said, my voice a bit firmer. “He’s not just what you see on the news.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Defending him now? I thought you hated him.”

“I don't hate him. I just—”

The bell above the door chimed again. Someone walked into the shop, and suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The few people in the shop went quiet.

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The air always felt heavier when he was around.

Nikolai was standing by the door. He wasn't wearing a mask or a hat. He stood there in a heavy leather jacket, looking every bit like the man who had just taken a brutal hit on the ice and walked away from it. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me.

He walked over, his boots thudding softly on the floor. He didn't look at Julian. He only looked at me.

“The car is outside, Alessandro,” he said. His voice was cold, his tone dismissive.

“We don't leave for two hours, Nikolai,” I said, trying to keep my composure in front of Julian.

Nikolai leaned down, placing his hands on the table. His presence was overwhelming, blocking out the light from the window. He finally spared a glance at Julian, a sharp, icy stare that made my friend flinch.

“The flight has moved up,” Nikolai said, turning his gaze back to me. His eyes were dark, swirling with an emotion I couldn't quite name. “The team wants to get to Montreal before the storm hits. I don't want to be delayed because you were busy playing teacup parties with your friends.”

“He’s just a friend, Nikolai. Calm down,” I snapped.

Nikolai’s jaw tightened. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “I don't care who he is. You’re my ‘consultant’ now, remember? That means when I move, you move. Don’t make me wait.”

He straightened up, giving Julian one last look that felt like a threat.

“Two minutes, Alessandro,” he said. “If you’re not in the car, I’m telling your father you’re already failing at your new job.”

He turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Julian was staring at me, his mouth slightly open. “Holy... okay. I take it back. He’s not just a jerk. He’s terrifying. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I looked at the door, my heart pounding a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear. The way Nikolai had looked at Julian wasn't just arrogance. It was possessive. He was jealous.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, standing up and grabbing my coffee. “I have to go.”

“Good luck, Ale,” Julian said. “Stay safe.”

I walked out of the shop and saw the black SUV. Nikolai was in the back seat, staring straight ahead. As I climbed in and shut the door, he didn't say a word. He didn't even look at me.

But as the driver pulled away, I noticed Nikolai’s hand on the seat between us. It was shaking. Just a little.

We were going to Montreal. We were going to be trapped together for six months. And as I watched the clouds disappear, I realized that the "death warrant" he had mentioned wasn't about our reputations. It was about our hearts.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the heat of him sitting only inches away.