Semua Bab Fragments on Ice: Bab 1 - Bab 5

The bass pulsed through the crowded club like a second heartbeat, heavy and relentless. Colored lights swept across the dance floor in fractured patterns, blue, violet, electric white, turning sweat-slicked bodies into living fragments of color. Elias Noir moved with them, loose and laughing, his usual precise control melted away by victory and vodka.Elara Voss spun beside him, her dark curls bouncing as she threw her arms up and screamed again, “We’re going to Nationals, baby!”Elias laughed, the sound bright and uninhibited. They had done it. Regional champions. Two of the three figure skaters selected for the National Qualifying Series. The months of brutal early-morning practices, bleeding feet, and perfecting every edge and spin had finally paid off. Tonight was theirs.He tilted his head back, letting the music carry him. His white button-down was half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, exposing the lean lines of muscle earned from years on the ice. At twenty, Elias carried himself

The tension from the locker room lingered like frost on the boards. Elias tried to shake it off as he and Elara stepped back onto the ice for their afternoon session. The rink felt smaller now, divided awkwardly between the graceful lines of figure skaters and the raw power of the hockey team sharing the opposite end.Coach had split the ice with imaginary lines, figure skaters claiming the smoother, central portion for programs and elements, while the Jonas hockey players ran drills along the far boards and neutral zones. But the shared space meant constant awareness: the whoosh of skates, the crack of sticks against pucks, and the occasional shouted command bleeding across the divide.Elias focused on his edges, carving deep outside curves that flowed into a smooth transition. His body remembered the choreography even when his mind wandered. The birthmark on his lower back still prickled from Jax’s cruel words in the shower. Princess. Fairy tattoo. Cock-hungry slut. The taunts had b

Morning light filtered through the heavy drapes of the Thorne family dining room, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. The air smelled of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and the faint metallic tang of tension that seemed to linger in this house like a permanent resident. Jax Thorne sat at one end of the table, broad shoulders hunched slightly over his plate, pushing food around with his fork more than actually eating it. At twenty-two, he was built like the hockey player he was, tall, solid muscle from years of brutal drills and checks, but in this room, he felt smaller.His father, Mr. Marvel Thorne, a stern businessman in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl, speared a piece of sausage and brought it to his mouth. “I heard about the party you went to the other night,” he said between chews, his voice carrying that familiar edge of suspicion. “Hope you didn’t do anything stupid.”Jax’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up. The “party” his fat