Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

EMILIAThe smile returns, that maddening one that never quite reaches his eyes unless he’s with me. “Good. Because I have something for you. It’s not Seth’s dead body — I’m still working on that — but I think you’ll like it.”Before I can question him, he grabs my hand and tugs me out of the bathroom. I follow, towel still clutched tight, half-steamed and half-stunned as we step into his room.Most of our stuff is already packed. Liam was determined to leave before noon, much to Veronica’s heartbreak — she begged him to stay for her recital, but he was hell-bent on getting us out before Seth woke up.What wasn’t here when I went to shower, however, are the three gift bags now sitting neatly on the bed.I blink. “You didn’t say this something came in… triplicate.”He just smiles like a man with secrets. “What colour do you want to start with?”“At least let me get dressed for this.” Seeing he’s pretending to not hear a word I say, I sigh. “White.”He hands me the white bag. It’s heavie

EMILIAI hear her before I see her, but it doesn’t make a difference.Jessica Monroe knows how to take up space. Her short black hair is pulled into a careless bun, her face scrunched at something Seth says — until her eyes find Liam. Then she smiles. Bright. Effortless. Like she’s the sun and everyone else is just lucky to orbit her.She brushes off Seth’s hand like it’s nothing. He flinches, hurt clear on his face, but she’s already moving. Straight toward Liam.Only, he’s not looking at her.After a brief glance, his focus is on me. Locked.“Emilia—”“Don’t.” My voice lands like a slap. He deserves worse.No more secrets? What a joke. There was nothing between us? Bullshit. I’ve ended things? With what — a child in the picture?And he never thought to tell me. Not once. Not when I was falling for him. Not when I gave him everything. My time, my trust. My worst moments, laid bare. He knows the ugliest parts of me — and I don’t even get the basic courtesy of knowing he has a kid?The

ZANETHREE WEEKS LATERThe score buzzer screams. 3–2, final.Another goddamn loss.I slam my stick into the boards on my way off the ice. The blade snaps clean in half. Splinters fly. I don’t care.Chicago Blizzards vs. Detroit Forge. At home. A packed arena and we still managed to fumble the lead in the last seven minutes. It’s our third straight loss. We’re sliding hard. No chemistry. No structure. Everyone playing like they’ve never shared a line before.And yeah — maybe that’s because we’re not the team we’re supposed to be.Not without Stone.The name leaves a sour taste. I don’t even want to think it, let alone say it out loud. But his ghost’s in every shift we play. Every missed backcheck. Every puck we don’t clear. He’s the elephant in the damn locker room.He’s been suspended indefinitely. “Pending further investigation,” the official statement said. The league’s keeping it vague. The team’s been tight-lipped. But the boys? We know.Everyone knows.Emilia filed a police repor

EMILIAThe best part about owning a bakery? I get to decide when we open. And today, I’ve decided that “later” is the perfect time — because my boyfriend, who should be getting ready for a team meeting in less than an hour, has hijacked my morning with a video call and zero shame.He’s propped against a pillow, bare-chested, sleep-creased, with morning light pooling over his shoulder like it’s just as obsessed with him as I am. His hair is a wet mess. His smile is lazy. I want to kiss him through the screen.“You should just ask her what the problem is,” Liam says, resting his cheek in his hand, watching me like I’m a sunrise. “Better than worrying your pretty little head over it.”I roll my eyes — mostly to stop myself from melting. “I do ask her. She just never answers directly.”He hums as I dip a strawberry into melted chocolate. “You know, this whole domestic goddess thing you’ve got going on right now is extremely hot.”“Please. You’ve seen me nearly set a toaster on fire.”“Sti

EMILIATessa’s text is, to no one’s surprise, not an apology or even a human-sounding sentence. Just a long, passive-aggressive grocery list — most of which I strongly suspect she typed while glaring at my last message. I’d bet my left eyebrow she deliberately left out chocolate. And the number of vanilla-scented candles? Concerning. That’s her stress tell. Has been since undergrad.No “please,” no “is this convenient?” Just a bank transfer for half the total and radio silence after that. Classic Tessa.She’s testing me. I know she is. I do three breathing exercises in the space of a block and whisper an incantation for patience I found on Pinterest. Then I duck into the nearest convenience store, grab her list (plus a bar of chocolate for myself, I’m not a saint), and head out again, arms full and temper running thin.By the time I reach her building, I’m freezing, annoyed, and 90% sure I’ll be ghosting her the next time she asks for a favour. I forgot the scarf Liam gave me at the b