I Found the Hockey King's Son, Now He Wants Me as His Mate

Chloe Sullivan POV:

I could feel the weight of their stares.

To Manhattan's high society, New York's most notorious, scandal-ridden socialite was finally getting tied down. The news of my engagement to the golden boy, Evan Parrish, had instantly set the city ablaze with gossip.

Tonight, the grand ballroom was packed with the elite, and I knew exactly what they were whispering behind their champagne flutes—they were waiting to see if the infamous Chloe Sullivan would actually get her happy ending.

My fiancé Evan's handsome profile blurred into a soft-focus dream. He was charming a reporter from Sports Illustrated, his laughter echoing the clinking glasses around us.

My gaze drifted across the crowded ballroom and landed on my stepsister, Ariane Mclaughlin.

She stood near Evan, a wine glass in her hand, her posture deceptively casual. But her eyes, sharp and venomous, were aimed directly at me.

A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I pushed it down.

Tonight was my night. I wouldn't let her ruin it.

With a practiced smile, I walked toward Evan, my arm linking naturally with his.

Then, the acrid smell of smoke hit me.

A flicker of orange erupted from the far end of the ballroom. The first scream tore through the music.

"Fire!" someone yelled.

Chaos exploded.

Guests shrieked, shoving their way toward the exits. The wave of panic was a physical force.

My face went pale, my hand clutching Evan's arm. "Evan, we have to go!"

But his eyes were fixed over my shoulder, locked on something in the distance. Ariane. She had stumbled over a fallen decoration, coughing weakly, her face a mask of terror as she looked toward us.

My heart plummeted into a cold, dark void.

I saw the flicker of conflict in Evan's eyes, but it lasted only a second. He ripped his arm from my grasp. The force of it sent me stumbling backward.

"Chloe, you get out first! Ariane, she..." He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't have to.

He turned, fighting against the tide of fleeing people, and ran toward her.

For a split second, the sheer betrayal rooted me to the spot, the sight of his retreating back severing three years of my life with one clean, brutal cut. But the blistering heat quickly snapped my survival instincts into overdrive. I wasn't going to just stand here and wait to die.

Coughing violently as thick, toxic smoke choked my lungs, I turned and fought my way toward the nearest emergency exit.

The heat was a physical presence, scorching my skin. The panicked crowd was a mindless, frantic beast. "Move!" I tried to shout, but a terrifying wall of bodies surged past.

A frantic guest slammed hard into my shoulder, sending me careening forward. Before I could regain my footing, another heavy blow struck my back.

I was knocked to the ground by the frantic mob, my cheek hitting the cold marble floor.

I scrambled desperately, gasping for oxygen and trying to crawl away from the encroaching inferno, but my limbs felt like lead. I looked up, my vision blurring, at the grand crystal chandelier swaying precariously above.

Am I going to die?

Here, at what was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, abandoned by the man I loved. The irony was a poison spreading through my veins.

As my consciousness began to fade, a pair of strong arms scooped me up from the floor. I was lifted against a hard chest, the scent of clean air, smoke, and something cold and sharp filling my senses.

I struggled to open my eyes, seeing only the blurred outline of a tall figure wearing a firefighter's mask. He was built like a mountain, a final, solid presence in a world that was falling apart.

Then, everything went black.

I woke to the blinding white of a hospital room and the sterile scent of antiseptic. An IV was taped to my arm, and my throat felt like sandpaper.

A nurse entered, her voice gentle. "You're awake, Ms. Sullivan. You have some smoke inhalation, but you'll be fine. We'd just like to keep you for observation overnight."

I opened my mouth, wanting to ask about Evan, about Ariane. But the words wouldn't come. His back, as he ran away from me, was the only answer I needed.

The nurse must have seen the desolation in my eyes. "Your family will be here soon," she said, trying to offer comfort.

Family?

A bitter smile touched my lips. Did I have one of those anymore?

I turned my head, gazing out the window at the New York City skyline. The neon lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of meaningless colors.

I closed my eyes, Evan's turn replaying in my mind on an endless loop. The ache in my chest was a thousand times more real than the burn in my throat.

My perfect future, a carefully constructed lie. And I was the last one to know.

The television in the corner of the room was on, playing the morning news. A breaking news banner crawled across the bottom of the screen, each word a fresh stab to my heart.

"Fire at Socialite's Engagement Party: Fiancé's Heroic Rescue of Bride's Sister..."

Heroic rescue.

I looked at the words, and a laugh, dry and sharp, escaped my lips. The agonizing ache in my chest instantly calcified into something cold and hard. What a hero. What a touching story.

I fumbled for the remote and shut it off, plunging the room into silence. I reached up, aggressively wiping away the single tear that had managed to escape.

He had left me to burn to death just to play the knight in shining armor for Ariane. They thought they could humiliate me and walk away unscathed?The naive Chloe might have died in that fire, but the one who survived was going to make them both pay.