All Chapters of Married to My Rival Alpha(MM Romance): Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Elliot POV The grand ballroom of the Redmoor Plaza looked like a shimmering gold cage. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a bright glare across hundreds of guests dressed in black-tie attire. The air was a suffocating mix of expensive perfume, bubbling champagne, and the underlying pheromones of the league’s elite.We had to be here. Dana made that clear before we left the penthouse. The Designation Committee was watching our every move, and a sudden absence from the annual charity gala would loudly shout fraud to the auditors. The playoffs were over, but the ongoing administrative war had just begun.I stood near a towering marble pillar, my fingers clenching tightly around the stem of a champagne glass I had no intention of drinking. My body felt like a bomb ready to detonate. A low-grade fever burned right beneath my skin, a direct result of the chemical suppressants fighting a losing battle against my rising stress levels. The constant pressure of keeping my

Elliot POVThe bathroom door slammed shut, and I threw the deadbolt. The metal click sounded like a gunshot in the small space.I leaned my back against the dark wood, sliding down until my knees hit the cold marble floor. My chest heaved. The penthouse master bathroom was a blur of white stone, silver fixtures, and blinding LED lights that made my head throb with a vicious intensity. I tore at the midnight-blue suit jacket, ripping it off my shoulders and flinging it across the floor. Next came the stiff tie. I tossed it aside, my breath hitching as I finally exposed my burning neck.The clinical scent patch was soaked through with sweat. Beneath it, my dynamic gland was pulsing like a trapped insect, radiating a hot, sickly sweet aroma that I could no longer control.The garage confrontation with Devereux had broken my remaining defenses. The fever was no longer a low fire. It was a wildfire, consuming my muscles, turning my blood to molten lead. I was crashing hard from six years of

Elliot POVThe heat of Sebastian’s body left me the moment he lifted me. Before my brain could register the loss, his large hands clamped under my armpits. He hoisted me into the air with zero effort, setting my hips down onto the edge of the high marble counter. The stone felt freezing against the back of my thighs—a sharp shock that made my eyes snap open. The bathroom lights were too bright. I blinked through the haze, my breath hitching as Sebastian stepped into the small space between my knees. He stood so close his belt buckle brushed my trousers. He didn't say a word. He reached into the cabinet, pulled out a medical kit, and popped the plastic latch with a loud click. "Give me your hand," he commanded. I kept my left fist tucked against my ribs, my fingers curled tight around the fresh cuts. "I can bandage myself." "Elliot." His voice carried that heavy, low register again. He didn’t wait for my compliance. He reached out, his thick fingers wrapping around my forearm, a

Elliot POVThe roar of eighteen thousand fans hit me like a physical wave the moment my skates touched the ice. The arena bowl was a sea of flashing lights, waving white towels, and screaming voices. The air was cold, crisp, and charged with an electric tension that made the hairs on my arms stand up. The scent of ice, popcorn, and machine grease filled the building, but beneath it all sat the heavy, aggressive pheromones of forty professional hockey players ready for war. This was the first shift of the regular-season rematch: the Kings versus the Wolves. I stood at center ice, my gloved hands gripping my stick as I lined up for the opening face-off. My body felt dangerously alive. Without the chemical suppressants clogging my system, my senses were razor-sharp. I could see the tiny scuffs on the plexiglass across the rink. I could hear the sharp click of the linesman’s whistle as he stepped into the center circle. Across from me stood Kofi, his large frame tense as he prepare

Elliot POV The concrete corridor was dark, cold, and smelled of damp sweat and old ice. Every step I took felt like walking through deep mud. The roar of the arena crowd was a muffled hum behind the thick steel doors, but inside my own head, the noise was deafening. My pulse slammed against my temples like a heavy piston. My green and silver Wolves jersey felt like it was made of solid lead, the heavy shoulder pads pressing down on my collarbones until my lungs couldn’t expand. I didn't make it to the locker room. I was ten feet past the media backdrop when my vision completely went black around the edges. The white concrete walls began to spin, tilting sideways until the ceiling lights blurred into a single, blinding streak of white glare. A massive, white-hot wave of pain ripped through my lower abdomen, a deep, visceral cramp that felt like an iron claw twisting my insides clean out. My left skate guard caught the edge of a rubber floor mat. My knees buckled instantly. T