บททั้งหมดของ The Hockey Captain’s Curvy Obsession: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

By six-thirty on Saturday morning, I was already in the kitchen, staring at the fresh biometric logs. The compound was silent, but the digital fortress we built the night before had stayed intact. No alerts. No failed login attempts. But my hands were cold as I measured out Rhys's morning protein isolate.​I was terrified.​I had spent my whole career tracking numbers because numbers do not have a hidden agenda. They do not look at your body with disgust like Victoria, and they do not try to snap your knee like whoever altered that machine. But now, the stakes were human. If my security override failed, Rhys would pay the price on live television.​The heavy door to the training wing clicked open. Rhys walked into the main space, his face pale and his mouth set in a hard line. He had his workout gear on, but his posture was completely stiff.​"My father just called," Rhys said. He did not say good morning. He sat on the bench near the hydration station, his large hands gripping his kn

At exactly four o'clock on Monday afternoon, the perimeter alarm did not sound, but the main front doors unlocked from the outside. Helen Vance walked into the foyer. She did not have the IT team with her. She carried only a leather briefcase and a digital tablet. ​She walked straight into the dining room where Rhys and I were reviewing his afternoon metabolic data. ​"You locked out the technical team, Rhys," Helen said. She did not take off her coat. She sat down at the opposite end of the table and opened her briefcase. "Your father spent the weekend with the franchise attorneys. The board is in a panic because they think you are losing your mind in isolation." ​"I am protecting my recovery site," Rhys said, his voice flat. He did not look up from my laptop screen. "The technical team had no medical clearance to alter my equipment." ​"They were sent to secure the network," Helen said, sliding her digital tablet across the polished wood toward Rhys. "It does not matter now. Your f

The metabolic logs on my laptop screen confirmed that Rhys’s recovery curve was perfect. His cellular repair markers were running high, and his quadriceps strength had increased by twelve percent. I was about to print the morning supplement schedule when the security console on the wall beeped, displaying a bright red flashing light. ​A sensor in the rear training facility had triggered. ​The only thing located in that specific sector was the private, indoor synthetic ice patch that Arthur Kendrick had installed for offseason shooting drills. Rhys had strict medical orders to avoid that room. He was not cleared to skate for another two weeks. ​I walked down the long, glass corridor toward the rear wing, my steps fast and silent. I pushed open the heavy double doors of the ice room and stopped. ​The overhead stadium lights were off, but the emergency exit fixtures illuminated the space with a dull white glow. ​Rhys was out on the synthetic surface. ​He was not wearing his full gea

The high-pitched blare of the security terminal echoed down the hallway, filling the ice room with a continuous, frantic alarm. On the wall monitor near the entrance, the perimeter gate status indicator turned from green to a flashing violet code.​Forced Entry Detected—North Gate.​Rhys did not let go of my shoulders. His grip tightened, his large fingers digging through the fabric of my shirt as the alarm continued to sound. The shock of the trade announcement was instantly replaced by a cold, protective instinct. He moved his body smoothly, stepping directly in front of me to block my frame from the double doors of the rink.​"Stay behind me, Sasha," Rhys ordered, his voice dropping into a low, flat register.​"The gate was breached by vehicle impact," I said, my voice steady despite the rapid pounding of my heart. I reached around his waist to access the portable tablet attached to his training belt, pulling up the live perimeter feed. "It is not a technical hack. Someone used a h

The wheels of the medical transport plane hit the tarmac at the private airfield in Seattle with a heavy, mechanical shudder.​I unbuckled my safety strap immediately and stood up. Rhys was already on his feet, holding his equipment bag in his left hand while keeping his right leg balanced to protect the graft. The flight technicians opened the main cabin door, and the cold Washington air entered the aircraft.​"The transport vehicle is waiting at the bottom of the steps," I said, checking my tablet as we descended the metal staircase. "The Seattle General Manager, Lars Vance, changed the physical evaluation location from the downtown hospital to their private practice facility to avoid the media."​"Let's move," Rhys said, his voice flat and focused. "My father's legal team has probably already sent them our old medical files. We need to establish our own data before they review his narrative."​We loaded our specialized cargo crates into the back of a waiting black SUV. The driver