ZANE’S POVThe rink was my sanctuary, the only place where the world’s noise dulled to a low hum. My skates carved the ice, each stride a desperate bid to outrun the chaos in my head. The Blizzard’s practice facility echoed with the sharp crack of pucks and the shouts of teammates, but I barely heard them. My mind was a storm—Lila Harper’s hazel eyes, her defiant mouth, the way she’d shuddered under me last night. I’d fucked her, hard, in my penthouse, her wrists bound, her screams echoing as I unleashed my anger. She’d written that article, painted me as a violent thug, and sparked my parents’ push to chain me to a marriage I didn’t want. I hated her for it, hated how she’d thrown herself into my bed, hated how her body felt like a drug I couldn’t quit. So I’d left before dawn, slipping out while she slept, determined to cut her out of my life.My stick slammed a puck into the net, the impact jarring my arms. Sweat dripped down my jaw, my chest heaving. I’d come to the rink to escap
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