All Chapters of The Hockey Captain’s Curvy Obsession: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The door to the hotel suite closed behind Victoria Vance and her two federal escorts, the latch catching with a precise mechanical click. The interior climate remained at sixty-nine degrees, but the emotional charge inside the eight hundred square feet of space had reached a dangerous ceiling. Lars Vance sat at the mahogany table, his head buried in his hands, his posture slumped forward by fifteen degrees. His respiratory rate was elevated to twenty-four cycles per minute. He had spent thirty years serving as the head trainer for this franchise, only to watch his own daughter execute a corporate takeover that stripped his nephew of his life’s work."I didn't know, Rhys," Lars whispered for the third time, his voice flat and strained. "She told me she was setting up a private wealth management firm in Delaware. I had no idea she was buying Arthur's debt."Rhys did not answer immediately. He stood in the center of the room, his six-foot-four frame completely motionless. His hands rem

The Grand Ballroom of the InterContinental Geneva was packed with a few hundred of the most powerful executives, team owners, and sports medicine authorities in the world.Outside, the rain swept across Lake Geneva, but inside, the air was sharp with corporate tension. The International Sports Rights Summit was where multi-billion-dollar broadcasting deals were secured and global league expansions were greenlit.I stood at the side of the main stage, wearing a tailored emerald-green silk blazer with crisp white trousers. My dark hair was swept back, highlighting the sharp lines of my face and the quiet, unshakeable confidence that had become my trademark.Beside me stood Rhys. In a bespoke black tux with his top button undone, he looked commanding, lethal, and utterly imposing. He didn't look like an athlete waiting for instructions; he looked like a sovereign ruler surveying his domain. His hand rested firmly at the small of my back, his thumb executing a slow, steady stroke against

​The Hallenstadion in Zurich was packed to capacity, a sea of navy, red, and silver jerseys filling the steep arena stands.​Even though it was an international exhibition game between the Seattle Kraken and the Zurich Lions, the atmosphere felt like a playoff elimination match. The Swiss media had spent three days hyping the matchup, framing it as a clash between European tactical play and North American physical dominance.​Behind the visitor bench, I stood in dark tailored trousers and a cream cashmere sweater, holding my diagnostic tablet.​I wasn't barking orders or maintaining a rigid, icy posture. My shoulders were relaxed, and when Lars walked past with his clipboard, I offered him a soft, quiet smile.​"Heart rate metrics look stable across the first line, Lars," I said smoothly, leaning over to show him the telemetry graph. "Rhys’s quad loading is perfectly balanced on the left turn."​"He’s playing like he's on a Sunday skate, Sasha," Lars chuckled, glancing over his should

The private reception hall at the Hôtel de Crillon was filled with the heavy hitters of European sports governance. Jean-Luc Moreau had positioned himself in the center of the room, surrounded by three key presidents from the French and German hockey federations.As Rhys and I walked back into the main hall from the terrace, Moreau turned toward us, taking a slow sip of his drink before stepping directly into our path."Ah, Dr. Keller, Captain," Moreau said, his tone smooth but sharp. "My colleagues and I were just discussing the expansion proposal your institute submitted to the European board this morning."Rhys kept his arm steady around my waist, his posture calm and imposing. "I hope you found the terms clear, Moreau. Our integration model has already passed review in Zurich.""The terms are clear, Captain," Moreau replied, turning his gaze toward me. "What is unclear is why an independent medical firm believes it should have final veto authority over player contracts in European

​The Seattle rain hit the windows of our private transport in steady, quiet rhythms as we drove up the winding mountain pass toward the compound.​Ever since we left the Savoy in London, Rhys had shifted into a state of hyper-attentive, protective focus. He hadn't let go of my hand once on the nine-hour transatlantic flight. He had personally instructed his head of security to double the perimeter patrols at the mountain estate, and he had checked the climate control settings in the vehicle three times before we even left the tarmac at Sea-Tac airport.​I sat beside him on the leather bench, wearing a soft cream knit sweater and dark trousers, looking at him with an amused, affectionate smile.​"Rhys," I said softly, squeezing his thick fingers. "I'm eight weeks pregnant, not made of spun glass."​Rhys didn't relax his grip. He turned his head, his dark grey eyes scanning my face with intense, unyielding tenderness.​"You're carrying our baby, Sasha," Rhys rumbled, his voice low and g