ชายาแพทย์ผู้ลึกลับกับท่านอ๋องอัปลักษณ์

My fingers dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white, as I leaned in. "All I ask is for a chance to prove myself, and you won’t fucking let me!"

"Mind your language, Myles Astor," Coach Daniel snapped, his gaze flicking up briefly. The words were cold, indifferent. Like I was some kid throwing a tantrum.

Outside the office, cheers roared from the party in full swing. Each burst of laughter and clinking glass grated against me, a reminder that while my life was falling apart, everyone else was having the time of theirs.

They were celebrating *him*—Tristan Medici, the golden boy with the golden ticket, stepping right into my spot, *my fucking spot*, on the team.

My chest tightened. I wasn’t breathing.

"Please." My voice cracked, more fragile than I wanted it to be. I hated myself for it. I took a step closer to his desk, my hand resting on the edge for support. "At least let me play the next match."

The next match meant everything. NHL scouts would be there, watching, evaluating. It was the one chance I had left, the only way to claw my future out of this mess. Without it… I was nothing

Coach Daniel sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood. He looked tired, like I was a burden he'd just shed. "I’m sorry, Myles. There’s nothing I can do. Leave my office."

It felt like the floor gave way beneath me. I stumbled back, my heartbeat loud in my ears, drowning out the frat party's noise. How was this happening? What had I done to deserve this?

I stared at the door, but all I saw was Medici's smug, faceless image burning into my mind. It wasn’t just the transfer, it was everything—his rich dad, his privileged life. He didn’t need this the way I did. And yet, he was stealing it from me.

My fists clenched so hard they hurt. *Fuck him. Fuck all of them.*

"Myles! Myles, wait up!"

I blinked, realizing I was already halfway down the hall. Leo and Jade caught up to me, both breathless, their eyes full of worry.

"He said no," I muttered. My voice sounded like someone else’s, hollow and far away. I turned away from them, stumbling toward the party. I needed noise. I needed distraction. I needed something to keep me from falling apart.

"Damn, man," Leo muttered, pulling out a chair and forcing me into it. "That’s messed up."

Before I could say anything, Jade shoved a tumbler of booze into my hand. "Here," she said, her voice soft, as if she were afraid of what I might do next. "Drink. It'll help."

I stared at the liquid for a moment, the dim light from the party casting weird reflections in it. This was supposed to be my break. The next match, my escape route, the thing that would save my mom from her hellish life. And now… it was gone. Because of a guy I’d never even met. I downed the drink in one gulp, feeling the burn all the way down.

Jade refilled the tumbler, biting her lip as she watched me with those wide eyes, like she was afraid I might shatter.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in." The voice slithered into my ear before I could react.

George Henderson, the team captain, towered over me. His eyes glittered with satisfaction. His hand clamped down on my shoulder, the grip firm enough to send a sharp twinge up my neck.

"I heard Coach finally figured out you're not even fit to see a puck, Astor." His breath was warm, sour with alcohol, and too close.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing the scream that threatened to rip out of me. My hand gripped the tumbler so tightly I was afraid it might shatter too. Not that it mattered. I had nothing left to break.

"Tomorrow," George continued, his voice low and venomous, "the names on the list go to the NHL. Guess who won’t be on it?"

Laughter bubbled up from his goons behind him. They were always there, like a second shadow ready to back him up, no matter what.

"Okay," I muttered, raising my glass half-heartedly, too numb to do anything else. I was drowning, and the glass was my only lifeline.

That was when George slapped the tumbler out of my hand. It shattered into a thousand pieces, glass raining down like glitter on the floor. The room fell silent. All eyes were on us now.

"Get. Out," George growled. "You don’t belong here anymore."

Each word sliced through me, the final nail in the coffin. This was it. The end of everything I had worked for, every sacrifice I had made. I was spiraling, and there was no way out.

"Leave him alone!" Jade’s voice broke the tension, her small frame stepping between me and George. She didn’t care that he was a foot taller and twice her size. "He didn’t do anything wrong."

George chuckled darkly, his gaze sweeping over her like she was insignificant. "What did you say?"

Before she could dig herself deeper into danger, I shot to my feet. "I’m going. Leave her alone." My words were quiet, but it was the weight behind them.

I turned and walked out, the room spinning with each step. The cold air of the locker room hit my face like a slap, and I stopped, breathing hard.

Then George’s words echoed again. "Guess who won’t be on that list."

My fists clenched. I could *make* sure my name was there. I could fix this.

It was either the liquor or sheer desperation, but suddenly I was moving again, my feet carrying me back to Coach’s office. The door creaked as I slipped inside, heart pounding. My hands were shaking as I reached for the drawer. I knew this was wrong. Expulsion was a real possibility. But what did it matter now?

I yanked open the drawer, and there it was—the list. My breath hitched. My eyes scanned the names, and then I saw it: Tristan Medici. My life’s ruin in one neat little line.

And next to him—George Henderson.

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Of course. Of fucking course.

I grabbed the correction fluid, my hand trembling as I crossed out both names, pressing down so hard I nearly tore the paper. Then, in big, bold letters, I wrote my name over both of theirs.

I leaned back, smiling in bitter satisfaction. "How’s that, Medici?"

The door clicked behind me. My blood froze.

A figure stepped into the room, a silhouette in the dim light. He paused, then spoke in a low, amused voice. "Not exactly your best move."

I crumpled the list in my hand.

"Shit."