I Gained the Stanley Cup Rival, Why Are You Begging for My Anniversary Suite?

Three years of secret marriage, three years of washing his jerseys, and pretending to be just his “loyal fan.” On our third wedding anniversary, I waited in the penthouse suite we bought together, holding the homemade dinner he promised to share. Instead, I opened my phone and watched his live-streamed championship party. There was my NHL superstar husband, kissing his high school sweetheart, and casually announcing to millions of fans that he had given our anniversary suite to her. His mother, his manager, laughed on camera, calling me a "clingy nobody." They thought I had nowhere to go. They thought I depended on his scraps. They didn’t know I am the sole heiress of the billion-dollar sports fund that owns his team. Game over, Liam. Let’s see how you play when I buy your contract and hand it to your worst enemy.

***

POV: Elena

The aroma of rosemary garlic steak filled the quiet kitchen.

I set the crystal wine glasses beside the porcelain plates, adjusting the silverware until every line was straight. In the center of the mahogany dining table sat a small velvet box, left open under the warm glow of the chandelier. Inside lay Liam’s championship ring, polished until the white gold gleamed like fresh ice.

Three years.

Three years ago today, Liam and I signed our marriage license at a dusty downtown courthouse with nobody else in the room. He had been recovering from a torn knee ligament back then, dropped by his AHL farm team and drowning in unpaid medical bills. We shared a drafty basement apartment where the radiator clanked all night, eating boxed macaroni and dreaming of the day he would make the NHL.

I had spent those years wrapping his swollen joints, cooking strict nutritional meals on a shoestring budget, and keeping our marriage hidden from the public eye so his agents could market him as an unattached rising star.

Now, Liam was the starting center for the Boston Titans. Two nights ago, he scored the overtime goal that won the national cup.

He had promised me tonight would be different.

*“The team dinner wraps by eight, El,”* he had told me that morning, kissing my forehead before he headed out in his tailored charcoal suit. *“I’m coming straight home. Just you and me. We’ll finally celebrate us.”*

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eight-thirty.

I smiled faintly, reaching out to straighten his cloth napkin. He was probably stuck signing autographs for the sponsors. He always lost track of time when the fans mobbed him.

My phone vibrated sharply against the granite island.

I picked it up, expecting a text apologizing for being late. Instead, a push notification flashed across the screen from a major sports entertainment network:

*LIVE: Titans MVP Liam Hayes Celebrates Victory at The Grand Horizon Gala.*

I unlocked the screen. The livestream loaded instantly, loud with the roar of a ballroom crowd and the rapid click of cameras.

The camera zoomed in on Liam.

He looked striking in his bespoke tuxedo, his broad shoulders commanding the red carpet. But he wasn’t alone. Draped in a backless emerald evening gown, a slender woman stood tucked under his arm, her manicured hand resting casually over his lapel.

Chloe Vance.

His high school sweetheart. The girl who had dumped him to study fashion in Paris the very summer his hockey career nearly ended.

"Liam! Liam, over here!" a reporter shouted over the din, shoving a microphone toward them. "Rumors are swirling about Chloe's sudden return to Boston. Are congratulations in order for more than just the championship trophy?"

Liam laughed easily, his thumb brushing over Chloe’s bare shoulder. He wore that warm, indulgent smile I hadn't seen him direct at me in months.

"Chloe’s always been my lucky charm," Liam said, his deep voice carrying clearly over the audio feed. "She landed this afternoon just to be here with me. That means everything."

Chloe looked up at him, her eyelashes fluttering as she leaned closer into his side. "He wouldn't let me stay at a regular hotel, you know," she teased into the mic, flashing a dazzling smile. "He’s entirely too sweet."

The reporter grinned. "Is that right? What did you arrange for her, Liam?"

"Only the best," Liam answered without missing a beat. "I booked the Diamond Penthouse at the St. Regis for her. The whole floor. She had a long flight from Europe, and she deserves to rest in luxury."

My breath caught in my throat.

The Diamond Penthouse.

Two weeks ago, Liam had proudly shown me the reservation confirmation on his tablet. He had told me he booked it under an alias so we could spend our three-year anniversary looking out over the city skyline, away from reporters and prying eyes. Then, just yesterday, he told me the team had commandeered the booking for out-of-town executives and that we would have to celebrate quietly at home instead.

He hadn't lost the suite.

He had given it away to Chloe. On live television.

"Any special lady in your personal life we should know about, Liam?" another voice called out from the press gaggle. "The fans want to know if the league’s most eligible bachelor is truly single!"

Liam chuckled, sliding his hand down to rest firmly on Chloe’s waist.

"My focus has always been the game," he said smoothly. "And the people who truly belong in my corner."

The screen blurred before my eyes.

A tight, crushing weight settled against my chest. Three years of hiding in shadows. Three years of pretending to be his live-in assistant whenever his teammates came over. All so he could tell the world he was unattached, while holding Chloe under the spotlight.

The livestream was abruptly cut off by an incoming call.

The screen displayed Margaret Hayes—my mother-in-law.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tapped the green button, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Elena?" Margaret’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence of the apartment like broken glass. "I assume you’re watching the broadcast."

"I am," I whispered.

"Good. Then you know your place," Margaret snapped, not even bothering with a greeting. "I’m calling to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Do not call Liam tonight. Do not blow up his phone, and do not dare show your face anywhere near the hotel."

"Margaret, today is our anniversary," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to steady it. "He told me he was coming home."

A harsh laugh crackled through the speaker.

"Coming home to what? Cold leftovers in a suburban condo?" Margaret sneered. "Wake up, Elena. Chloe is a Vance. Her family has connections that will carry Liam into multi-million-dollar corporate endorsements. What do you offer him? A warm meal and a laundry basket?"

"I took care of him when he couldn't even walk," I said, my grip tightening on the phone until my knuckles turned white. "I gave him three years of my life."

"And he gave you a roof over your head," Margaret countered coldly. "You were convenient when he was broke and injured, but look at him now. He’s a superstar. A boy like Liam needs a woman who can elevate his status, not some stray nobody with no family and no fortune. You're an embarrassment to his image."

The cruelty in her words wasn't new, but tonight, stripped of Liam's false promises, it pierced deep.

"You're a background detail, Elena. A secret," Margaret continued, her tone dripping with venom. "If you try to ruin his victory night with your petty jealousy, I will make sure he divorces you by tomorrow morning without a single cent to your name. Stay in the dark where you belong."

The line went dead.

Silence swept back into the room.

I lowered the phone and stood frozen in the quiet kitchen. The candles on the dining table flickered, the wax melting down the silver candelabras in slow, sluggish tears.

On the table, the championship ring stared back at me. Beside it, the two plates of food had grown completely cold, the butter congealing on the steak.

A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and heavy. Then another.

I didn't sob. I didn't scream.

I just let the tears fall until the burning in my chest ran dry, replaced by a deep, terrifying emptiness. The illusion was shattered. The man who swore he only needed me to be happy had never intended to bring me into the light. To him and his family, I was merely a temporary caregiver whose contract had expired.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. The warmth in my eyes vanished, leaving behind an icy, crystalline resolve.

I looked down at my left hand.

A simple silver band circled my ring finger, cheap and plain, bought from a pawn shop three years ago when we couldn't afford anything else.

Slowly, deliberately, I slid the ring off my finger.

I walked over to the dining table and dropped it into the open velvet box, right next to his glittering championship ring.

Then, I walked to the bedroom, pulled a sleek, encrypted smartphone from the hidden safe behind the closet wall, and powered it on for the first time in three years.

The screen flashed to life, flooding with automated security pings and missed executive alerts.

I dialed a private number memorized long ago.

It rang once before a crisp, professional voice answered, instantly alert.

"Sterling Family Office. Mr. Vance speaking."

"Thomas," I said, my tone completely devoid of emotion.

The man on the other end gasped, his composed demeanor fracturing. "Miss... Miss Elena? Good heavens, is that really you? It’s been three years since you vanished."

"It's me," I said, looking around the empty apartment one last time. "The hiatus is over. Initiate Protocol Zero. Unfreeze all trust accounts under my name."

Thomas took a sharp breath. "Understood, Miss Sterling. Your global assets and corporate holdings will be fully restored within the hour. Is there anything else?"

I stared at the television screen across the room, where Liam was still smiling down at Chloe under the flash of a hundred cameras.

"Yes," I said softly, my voice laced with steel. "The Boston Titans franchise. Who owns their stadium and eighty percent of their commercial sponsorship?"

"The Sterling Group, ma'am," Thomas replied without hesitation. "You do."

"Good," I said. "Pull every dime of our funding by sunrise."