All Chapters of THE TRIBID HOCKEY GOD & HIS OBSESSION: Chapter 231 - Chapter 238

ARETHA“I hate this feeling.”“What feeling?” Alexis asks, not looking up from her phone.“This one.”I gesture vaguely.“The one where everything is quiet but you just know something is about to go wrong.”She nods“That’s not a feeling.”“What is it then?”“Pattern recognition.”I glare at her.“You’re annoying.”“And you’re dramatic.”“Pregnant,” I correct.“A very important detail.”She finally looks at me.Deadpan.“That doesn’t make you less dramatic.”“It should.”“It doesn’t.”I sigh.Because arguing with Alexis is like arguing with a wall—A very intelligent, very sarcastic wall.School is over.Students are leaving.The sun is dipping low.Golden light spilling across the campus.Everything looks normal.Peaceful.Safe.And I hate it.Because nothing about our lives is ever just normal anymore.“You’re tense,” Alexis says suddenly.“I said that already.”“No,” she replies.“You said you feel something.”A pause.“I’m saying it’s getting closer.”That makes me stop.Immediate

SERAPHINA The house has never felt like this before.Not even during war.Not even during loss.Not even when I hid my grandsons from things that wanted to devour them whole.This is different.Alive.Watching.Waiting.“She’s close,” I whisper.Michael looks up immediately.“How close?”I don’t answer right away.Because I’m listening.Not to sound.Not to movement.To something deeper.Something ancient.Something that doesn’t belong to this world yet, it is forcing its way into it.“Now,” I say.And everything changes.The walls pulse.Not crack.Not break.Pulse.Like the house itself has a heartbeat.And it’s syncing with hers.With Lira’s.With the child.“Everyone in position,” I command.No hesitation.No questions.Because when I sound like this isn’t practice.This isn’t caution.This is survival.Aristotle is already there.At her side.Of course he is.His hand wrapped around hers tightly, steady and unyielding.“Stay with me,” he murmurs.Lira doesn’t answer.She can’t.

ALEXIS“Say that again.”I don’t look up.I don’t blink.I don’t even pause the line I’m writing.Because if I do I might actually laugh.Or worse—Engage.And I’m not in the mood.“I said,” the voice repeats, louder this time, “this room is needed.”Still not looking.Still writing.Still unimpressed.“By who?” I ask.Calm.Flat.Bored.There’s a pause.The kind that expects recognition.The kind that assumes importance.The kind that usually works on people who care.I don’t.“By me.”I sigh.Set my pen down.And then I look up.Finally.Slowly.Deliberately.Because if someone is going to interrupt my class—They should at least earn my attention.He’s… polished.Expensive suit.Perfect posture.Confidence that borders on arrogance—No.Not borders.Lives there.Breathes there.Owns property there.And judging by the way he’s standing?He thinks this room is already his.“How unfortunate,” I say.He blinks.Just once.Because that wasn’t the response he expected.“Excuse me?” he as

CASSAIN I have a rule when it comes to wedding preparations: keep it clean, precise, and dignified.Today, that rule is being tested.I’m in Maison D’Or, the finest tailor in the city, white marble floors, polished brass fixtures, mirrors everywhere you can see every angle of yourself, and soft classical music that whispers “wealth” without needing to shout it. I’ve been looking forward to this: the moment I finally choose the suit that will say to the world, I am marrying Evelessa, and yes, I own every second of this room.I’ve walked past racks of suits lined up like soldiers on parade, fabrics shining under the lights. My tailor, a man named François, has been hovering politely, making notes, asking questions. It’s perfect. Peaceful. Until my phone buzzes.I glance down.A text from one of my so-called “business partners,” the type of man who apparently thinks being rich also makes you creative in problem-solving.“Congrats on the engagement! Sending a little celebratory entertain