Todos los capítulos de North & Rye: The Billionaire Hockey Captain Next Door: Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Ethan: The bell above North and Rye gave me away the moment I stepped inside, a bright little chime that felt far too cheerful for the way I was suddenly aware of myself. I paused just over the threshold, as if hesitation might help me assemble the right version of Ethan to walk forward with, but nothing about me felt particularly assembled. Christine looked up first, already wearing that faintly entertained expression she always got when she sensed incoming chaos. At the same time, Emma stood behind the counter wiping down a surface that did not need wiping, the kind of motion that looked less like cleaning and more like something to do with her hands while her mind worked through something else. Her shoulders tightened the instant she saw me, though she did not stop. “Ethan,” she said. “Hey,” I answered, keeping my voice even as I stepped further in. “We’re a little busy.” I glanced around the bakery. It was not busy in any meaningful sense. An older man sat by the window with

Emma: The rink looked like someone had finally decided to care about it again. In daylight it was almost unrecognizable, scaffolding hugging one side like a half-finished promise, fresh boards stacked near the entrance, and through the open doors the ice itself stretched out smooth and bright, too clean for a place that used to feel forgotten. I was still taking it in when Danny came sprinting across the lobby. “Ethan!” He didn’t slow down, skates already on, helmet tucked under his arm like he was ready to play a game that had already started without him. Ethan crouched a little as Danny skidded to a stop in front of him. “You checking out the new ice?” “It’s so much better. Did you see it? It’s so much better.” “I heard you the first time,” Ethan said, amused. Danny ignored that completely, eyes flicking between us like he was about to deliver classified information. “My dad says someone’s paying for all of it. A secret someone. Do you know who?” Ethan glanced at me for hal

Emma: Sophie had made herself comfortable on my bed like she paid rent there, legs folded, arms behind her head, watching me like I was a science experiment gone slightly unhinged. “You’re overthinking it,” she said, like it was the most obvious diagnosis in the world. “I’m not overthinking it,” I shot back, even though I was already on outfit number four and starting to question my entire personality. “You’ve changed three times.” “This is the last one,” I said, mostly to convince myself. Sophie didn’t argue after that, which honestly felt more suspicious than if she had. I finally gave up on trying to reinvent myself and pulled on a soft green dress I’d owned forever but never had a reason to wear. When I turned to the mirror, I didn’t feel transformed, just… settled. Sophie nodded like she’d been waiting for me to stop spiraling. “Okay. That one.” “Are you sure?” “If you change again, I’m throwing your entire closet into the street.” That sounded like a threat she would a

Emma: Sophie was the one who said the name. We were at the counter during the afternoon lull, sorting supplier invoices and arguing over a wholesale rose order that had arrived looking as though someone had been packing it during an earthquake. Sophie scrolled through her phone with one hand while shuffling papers with the other, dividing her attention between the bakery’s accounts and whatever neighborhood news had found its way to her screen. “Mrs. Dawson texted me,” she said. “The Whitfield building finally closed.” I glanced up from the invoice in front of me. “That was fast.” “She says the paperwork came through with the actual parent company this time. Apparently they got tired of hiding behind the shell company.” “And?” Sophie checked the screen again. “Brooks Development.” The name landed with the quiet force of something that had been waiting for me to notice it. I knew Brooks. I knew Ethan. I knew his family had money, property, and the kind of influence that made o

Ethan: I called my father the morning after Emma left. I had spent the night staring at the ceiling, eating nothing except half a piece of toast I had forgotten on the counter. By the time he answered, I had already decided I was done being polite. “I want the deal dead,” I said. “Ethan.” “Not paused. Not under review. Dead. You had six days to have your team look into it, and you did nothing.” “I’ve been dealing with the lawsuit.” “Then deal with this too.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to. Still, I had no patience left for the usual family performance where everyone pretended a bad decision was merely an unfortunate development. “I watched her cry yesterday,” I said. “I’ve known her a long time, and I’ve never seen that happen. She was crying because of something your company was doing without anyone bothering to find out whose life it was going to wreck.” My father went quiet. I expected an argument. Instead, he gave me the kind of silence that meant he was