Semua Bab The Billionaire Alpha's Sin Bin: Bab 31 - Bab 40

(Logan’s POV)The cold air of the Titan practice rink was supposed to be a reset button. Out here, under the harsh white lights, I was Logan Cross, the million-dollar asset, the injured star focused on his recovery. I was not the terrified prisoner who had shattered a glass tumbler with a thoughtless grip, nor the complicated mess who spent his nights burning off rage with the man he was supposed to hate.I skated out for the early morning rehab session, the blades whispering against the smooth ice. The sound was sharp, incredibly clear—too clear. The hyper-senses hadn't faded. If anything, they were worse. I could hear the tiny metallic ping of the puck handler’s skate buckle tightening thirty yards away. The smell of the zamboni fumes, usually a faint, distant odor, was now a harsh, bitter assault on my nose.I need to control this. I need to focus on the ice. I told myself this over and over, trying to channel the bizarre, surging vitality in my muscles into the familiar rhythm of

(Logan’s POV)Confinement in the penthouse was a cold, suffocating blanket. Damian had left hours ago, taking his dangerous, demanding presence with him. He was out dealing with his ancient enemies, the ones who hunted with silver and cold, primitive intent. I was left here, alone, in the center of the cage, with the terrifying knowledge that my own body was working against me.The superhuman strength, the terrifying hyper-senses, the floral, amplified scent that screamed my position as a target—it was all a result of the accelerating fated bond. The truce we had made, the desperate release we had shared, had only thrown gasoline on the fire. I had been pulled from the active roster, my career paused, my defiance stripped away. Now, I was just waiting for the next catastrophe to strike, trying to sleep in the huge, empty bed, trying to silence the buzzing chaos in my head.Sleep, when it finally came, was not restful. It was a terrifying, vivid descent into a world that felt both alie

(Logan’s POV)I was waiting for Damian when he returned. The penthouse air still felt charged with the aftermath of my terrifying dream—the phantom scent of damp earth and pine needles. The confined strength in my muscles felt like an engine idling too high, threatening to tear itself apart. I hadn't moved from the living area, needing the sharp, angular reality of the high-rise to counteract the visceral memory of running wild under the moon.When the elevator doors opened, Damian walked out, smelling of cold night air, the aggressive cleanliness of expensive suit fabric, and something darker—the subtle, metallic scent of Pack confrontation. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deep, his posture rigidly controlled to hide the residual pain from the ritual with Elias.He barely glanced at me, his mind clearly still miles away, fighting the ancient battles. He walked straight to the executive bar and poured two fingers of something dark and potent.“I delayed the challenge,”

(Logan’s POV)I knew I shouldn't be here. Damian’s orders were absolute: confinement, silence, and invisibility. But the confinement had only amplified the restless, buzzing energy inside me. After the intense confrontation with Damian, the primal strength didn't vanish; it simply coiled tighter, waiting for release. When I saw the game on the schedule—a crucial, high-pressure match against our biggest rivals—I knew I had to be on the ice. The chaos in my blood demanded the discipline of the game, a way to channel the rising wolf into something human, something acceptable.I had used a flimsy excuse—that I needed to be present in the medical box, per my contract, to show solidarity and maintain my ‘asset value’—to convince the low-level security detail. Once inside the arena’s bustling lower levels, the hyper-senses took over. I moved with a speed and silent grace that belonged to the wild, bypassing the heavier guards, finding an unused locker room, and pulling on my gear.I stood by

 (Logan’s POV)The coldness of the penthouse had never felt so profound. Damian was gone again, having left me alone with his clinical, brutal explanation of the "Fated Bond." The words echoed in the sterile air: perfect biological complement, genetic imperative, unsanctioned Bond. They were pretty, scientific terms used to mask the ugly, primal truth: I was changing into something dangerous, and the only person who could stop the change was the one who controlled my life.I walked the perimeter of the living area, my steps soft on the smooth tile floor. My body felt like a high-tension cable, vibrating with the residual energy of the impossible goal I’d scored just hours ago. The muscles in my legs and shoulders ached with a power that wasn't supposed to belo