All Chapters of My Hockey Captain Ex Is Now The Ruthless CEO : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Emily’s PoVThe apartment was dark when I walked in. I closed the door softly behind me, the way I had learned to do years ago, and stood still in the entryway listening for any sound. Nothing. Maybe he was already asleep. Maybe I had gotten lucky.Then the kitchen light flicked on.My uncle was sitting at the table in his suit, his tie loosened, a cup of cold coffee in front of him. He had been waiting. The same way he waited every time I came home late. The same way he had waited the night my parents died and social services dropped me on his doorstep."Emily."Just my name. Calm. Quiet. That was how he always started."Uncle Vance." I kept my voice even. My bag was still over my shoulder. I did not move from the doorway."Sit down."It was not a request. I walked to the table and sat across from him, my hands folded in my lap, my back straight. I had learned years ago never to slouch in front of him. He notic

Emily’s POV The note was slipped into my locker between second and third period. I almost threw it away without looking. But the paper was thick and expensive, the kind of stationery only one girl in this school used. Meet me in the music room during lunch. I have information about Tyler and your uncle. I know you don't trust me. You shouldn't. But I'm not your enemy anymore. Chloe Sterling's name was signed at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting. I stared at the note until the bell rang. Every instinct told me it was a trap. Chloe had humiliated me in front of the entire school days ago. She called me a traitor. She made me cry. She told everyone I sold out Jesse for a boy who didn't even like me. And now she wanted to talk. I crumpled the note and shoved it in my pocket. But I didn't throw it away. The music room was empty when I walked in. Chloe was sitting on the piano b

Emily’s PoV I stood in my bedroom, staring at the mirror without really seeing my reflection. The dress was dark blue, simple, the kind of thing my uncle would approve of. Modest. Unremarkable. Easy to ignore. I had spent ten years picking outfits he wouldn't notice, walking through rooms he wouldn't see me in, shrinking myself into the smallest possible shape.Tonight, I was done shrinking.I reached into my jacket, hung over the chair, and pulled out the memory card. Still there. Still safe. I tucked it into the hidden pocket inside my dress, the one I had sewn myself three days ago. My uncle never noticed things like that. He never noticed me at all, except when I was useful or when I was in his way.I picked up my phone. Daniel's message from last night was still open. Tomorrow.I typed: "I'm leaving now."His reply came before I even set the phone down. "I'll be at the side entrance. Don't walk in alone."I took on

Emily’s POV woke up to sunlight streaming through my window and the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. For a moment, I forgot everything. Then I remembered. The dinner. Jesse walking down the aisle. My uncle's fingers digging into my arm. Daniel's hand in mine. The truth finally spilling out after ten years of silence. I reached for my phone. Messages from Daniel. A voicemail from the athletic board. A text from Sienna with a heart emoji. And an email from the scholarship foundation. I opened it. Read it twice. Then I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling. My application had been revoked pending review of new information. My uncle must have contacted them before the dinner. Before he was escorted out. Before everything fell apart. His last act of control. Even if he went down, I would go down with him. The scholarship was gone. I already knew what I had to do. I typed a short message to Daniel. Can we meet at The Blue Line? I need to talk. He replied almost

Emily’s POV Seven years.Seven years of late nights and early mornings. Internships and rejections. Small wins and bigger ones.My first published article. My first front page story. My name in print.Emily Vance. Investigative journalist.I didn't just survive. I built myself from nothing.The city was different from the town I grew up in. Taller. Louder. It didn't care who I was or where I came from. It just kept moving, and I moved with it.I learned how to chase stories. How to knock on doors that slammed in my face. How to sit in cold parking lots waiting for a source who never showed. How to take a "no" and turn it into a "maybe" and then into a front page headline.My first big story came three years in. A local politician skimming funds from a housing project. I spent six months digging through public records, interviewing whistleblowers, connecting dots that no one else bothered to see.When t