Lahat ng Kabanata ng Frozen Submission (M*M)Romance: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Chapter 22: Elodie’s OfferThe road trip started with a 6 a.m. flight, and I was already exhausted before we even boarded the plane.The latest dose was still burning low in my system, making the link feel like a live wire under my skin. Every time Callan shifted in his seat across the aisle, I felt the echo of his old shoulder injury. Every time he glanced at me, I felt the mix of protectiveness and fear he tried to hide. The sync was becoming impossible to ignore, even in public.Tate sat beside me on the plane, pretending to read a book while keeping one eye on both Callan and me.“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said quietly. “And the captain keeps looking over here like he’s scared you’re going to disappear.”I leaned my head against the window. “It’s complicated.”Tate snorted. “Everything with you two is complicated. Beck and I are still waiting for the full story. You can’t keep carrying this alone.”

Chapter 24: Night Terrors The encrypted message from my father lingered like poison in the air long after I deleted it. Seven days until the awards. Make sure the world sees how much you love each other. Callan held me tighter after reading it, but the link betrayed his tension. I could feel his rage simmering beneath the surface, mixed with that deepening fear he tried so hard to hide the fear that we were running out of time and that his love for me might be the thing that finally got us both killed. We didn’t sleep much that night. The new dose kept the link wide open, feeding me fragments of Callan’s nightmares as he drifted in and out of restless sleep. Flashes of his career-ending injury. The sterile hospital room. The doctor telling him he would never have children. The cold realization that his body was broken in ways that couldn’t be fixed. I woke up gasping at 3 a.m., my ow

Chapter 26: Silent ObedienceThe road trip to New York had been a pressure cooker, and the silent order from the syndicate made it worse.Tonight’s hotel session will be live. No sound. The team is in the same hallway. Make it convincing through body language alone. We want to see desperation and emotional attachment. Fail, and the full unedited basement footage drops tomorrow morning.Callan read the message in our shared hotel room and immediately locked the door. His jaw was tight, the link carrying a storm of anger and grim resolve.“They’re pushing the limits,” he said. “Tate is right next door. Beck is two rooms down. One sound and the whole team hears us.”I sat on the edge of the bed, already feeling the new dose humming under my skin. “Then we stay quiet. We give them what they want without making a sound.”Callan crossed the room and pulled me up into his arms. His forehead rested against mine. “You don’t have to do thi

Chapter 28: Full Disclosure I stood in the dimly lit corner of Beck’s apartment, the kind of place that smelled like old leather and protein shakes, the walls lined with faded team photos and a single framed jersey from his rookie year. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Callan was beside me, shoulders rigid, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle jumping. The link between us hummed faintly under my skin like a second heartbeat that wasn’t quite mine. Not yet, anyway. Beck Thornton sat on the edge of his couch, elbows on his knees, watching us with those steady, unreadable eyes. He’d always been the quiet one on the blue line, the guy who saw everything and said almost nothing. Tonight, he was going to hear everything. “Start talking,” Beck said, voice low and even. No judgment. Not yet. “And don’t leave anything out. I’ve seen enough locker room bullshit to know when something’s rotting the team from the inside.”

Chapter 30: Father and SonThe private lounge in the back of the upscale steakhouse smelled like aged whiskey and money. Dark wood paneling, low lighting, the kind of place where deals were made that never saw daylight. I sat across from my father, the legendary Hall of Famer Harlan Rhys, in a booth that felt more like a cage than a meeting spot. My hands were steady on the outside. Inside, the link with Callan tugged like a live wire distant but insistent, a constant reminder that he was waiting back at the hotel, feeling every spike of my anxiety as if it were his own.Harlan looked exactly like the posters from my childhood: sharp jaw, silver at the temples now, eyes that could freeze a room. He sipped his scotch, watching me over the rim of the glass like I was a rookie prospect he was deciding whether to draft or discard.“You’ve disappointed me, Brooks,” he started, voice smooth as polished ice. “I expected better from my blood.”I forced a