บททั้งหมดของ The Hockey Captain’s Curvy Obsession: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

The silent playback of the video clip looped on my tablet screen. In the low light of the hotel suite, the digital face of Marcus Vance was unmistakable. He had a look of cold, precise calculation as he stepped away from the pneumatic console, his task completed.​"Rhys," I said. My voice was very quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. "Do not move. Look at this."​Rhys stopped in the middle of adjusting his tie. He walked back to the kitchen counter, his stride heavy but balanced. He leaned over my shoulder, his large chest pressing against my back as his eyes locked onto the screen.​I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten until they looked like carved stone. The color drained from his face, leaving only a hard, dangerous mask.​"Marcus," Rhys whispered. The name came out of him like a curse. "He was in Chicago on Thursday. The Kraken played the Blackhawks on Wednesday night. He stayed behind for an extra day."​"He had access to the compound," I said, scrolling through t

The briefing room was configured like a small stadium, with rows of leather seats rising toward a massive digital projection screen. Every player on the Seattle Kraken active roster was already seated when Rhys and I entered through the side door.​The silence was heavy. Fifty pairs of eyes tracked Rhys as he walked down the aisle. He did not limp. He did not show a single ounce of hesitation. He sat in the front row, his massive shoulders square and his face a cold, unreadable mask. I stood at the back of the room near the technical booth, my tablet active to monitor the team’s internal communication grid.​Lars Vance stood at the center podium. His face was pale, and he held a thick legal binder in his hands.​"Listen up," Lars said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "We received a formal injunction from the league compliance office in New York ten minutes ago. It was filed by Arthur Kendrick's legal team, acting on behalf of the Chicago Iron ownership group."​Marc

Rhys did not move from the doorway of the server room. He stood perfectly still, his massive frame blocking the only exit from the small space. His face was a mask of cold, absolute determination. He did not look at the glowing monitors or the server racks. His eyes remained locked on Marcus’s hand, which was hovering inches from my tablet.​"Keller, you are suspended," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a defensive tone. He took a step back, his shoulders hitting the hard edge of the server rack. "You are not allowed on this property. If I press this panic button, the security team will have you in custody within two minutes. You will be arrested for trespass."​"Press it," Rhys said. He did not raise his voice. He walked forward, his stride deliberate, steady, and perfectly balanced. He did not show any physical weakness in his right knee. He stopped when he was less than an inch from Marcus, his chest pressing directly against the other player's chest, physically dominating the s

Lars Vance's footsteps faded down the hotel corridor, leaving the suite in absolute silence. The door clicked shut, but the emotional weight of his revelation remained in the room, suffocating and heavy.​I stood by the kitchen counter, my spine rigid. I did not look at Rhys. I kept my eyes fixed on the blank television screen, waiting for the anger and the distrust to return to his face. I had kept my family history a secret from him, and now that secret had threatened to destroy his life permanently.​"Sasha," Rhys said. His voice was very quiet.​He walked toward me, his steps even and deliberate. He stopped when he was inches away, his massive body blocking the light from the kitchen fixtures. He did not ask me to explain. He did not yell. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his large hands around my waist, pulling my body tightly against his broad chest.​"You are not going to leave," Rhys whispered, his forehead pressing against mine in the dark room.​"Rhys, my father is Thomas

The drive to the Seattle Municipal Hospital was a frantic blur of speed and silence. Rhys kept his foot flat on the accelerator, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his skin was white. He did not say a word, but the raw, terrified energy radiating from him filled the interior of the rental car.​His sister was an elitist, and she had tried to ruin my career, but she was still his blood. And now, she was the victim of their father’s corporate war.​We parked the vehicle in the emergency zone and ran through the sliding glass doors of the hospital. The air inside was warm and smelled of sterile chemicals. We walked straight to the secure desk of the intensive care unit.​Lars Vance was already there, standing near the glass partition. His face was completely pale, his usual executive confidence gone. He looked at Rhys, his eyes wide with a sudden, dark realization.​"Lars," Rhys said, his voice rough. "Where is she?"​"She is in surgery, Rhys," Lars said, his voice flat. "T