The morning sun sliced through the floor-to-ceiling glass, hitting my eyes like a spotlight.
I sat up on the king-sized mattress, the heavy Egyptian cotton pooling around my waist. Beside me, the sheets were cool and empty. My head pounded with a dull, thumping ache, but the memory of last night wasn't blurry at all. I remembered the rough grip of his hands on my hips, the heat against my skin, and the way I had thrown myself into a stranger’s bed just to prove I still owned my own body.
I scrambled out of bed, tugging the oversized white dress shirt down to cover my thighs.
My torn dress from last night was nowhere in sight. I found my leather shoulder bag sitting on the mahogany console table. My phone screen was completely covered in notifications—hundreds of hate comments, death threats from Wolves fans, and frantic voicemails from the state licensing board.
The heavy suite door swung open.
The man from the arena walked in, wearing fresh charcoal trousers and a crisp black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He carried two steaming ceramic mugs.
"You're awake," he said, setting one cup on the bedside table.
Before I could answer, the massive television on the wall flashed to life with a breaking news alert from the sports network.
An anchor with sharp makeup stood in front of the Wolves arena. *"In a stunning overnight development following their championship victory, the league has officially approved the sale of the Boston Wolves. Tech mogul and private equity titan Roman Black has finalized the purchase, taking full control of the franchise effective immediately."*
A photo flashed on the screen. It was the man standing three feet away from me.
The air left my lungs.
"Roman Black?" I asked, staring at the screen, then back at him.
"Drink your coffee," Roman said calmly, taking a sip from his own mug. "It's black. No sugar."
"You bought the team," I said, my voice rising as the reality crushed in. "Cole Mercer is your captain. You just bought the entire roster."
"I closed the deal at midnight," Roman replied, his dark eyes meeting mine without a flicker of apology. "Cole works for me now. So did the medical staff, until about four hours ago when the league flagged your credentials."
I set the untouched mug down with a sharp clatter. "I have to go."
"Running won't fix your reputation, Lena."
"I'm not running," I said, grabbing my bag and pulling on the black leggings I found folded on the armchair. "I have unfinished business."
Thirty minutes later, I slammed my hand against the buzzer of Cole’s luxury high-rise condo.
The door opened. Cole stood in the entryway wearing gray sweatpants and a championship hoodie. He looked tired, but when he saw me, a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"I knew you'd come home," Cole said, reaching out to pull me inside. "You didn't answer your phone. I was worried you did something stupid last night."
I stepped back out of his reach, stepping past him into the marble foyer.
"Call a press conference," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Tell them Dr. Kane put the stimulant in my kit. Tell them I had nothing to do with it."
Cole closed the front door, sighing as if I were a petulant child demanding a toy. He walked over to the kitchen island and picked up a thick manila folder.
"We talked about this, Lena," he said softly, sliding the folder across the counter toward me. "The league won't void the title if the blame stays on rogue medical staff. Grant and Kane already handled the paperwork."
I looked down at the documents. The header read *Non-Disclosure and Mutual Separation Agreement*.
"What is this?" I demanded.
"A six-month paid suspension," Cole said, stepping closer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box, snapping it open. Inside rested a flawless five-carat emerald-cut diamond. "Along with a two-million-dollar settlement from the team's private account. You stay quiet, take a vacation to Europe, and next summer we have a massive wedding. The press won't even remember this once you're wearing my ring again."
The disgust came up so fast it nearly choked me. He wasn't just covering his tracks; he truly believed he was being generous.
"You want me to take the fall for a drug ring," I said, "so you can keep your trophy and your contract extension."
"I'm protecting our future!" Cole raised his voice, his patience snapping. "You're a physical therapist, Lena. You make a hundred grand a year taping ankles and rubbing sore shoulders. Once you're my wife, you'll never have to work a day in your life. Why does the license matter?"
"Because I earned it," I fired back, my voice cutting through his arrogance. "I spent seven years in school. I built my career with my own hands, not by riding on your jersey."
"Be realistic," he scoffed. "Nobody cares about the trainer. They care about the captain."
"So my wedding ring is severance pay?"
I snatched the velvet box from his hand.
"Lena, don't be dramatic—"
I hurled the box directly at his chest. The heavy velvet struck his collarbone, bounced off, and sent the diamond ring clattering across the hardwood floor.
"The engagement is over, Cole," I said, staring straight into his widening eyes. "We are done."
Cole didn't flinch. Instead, a condescending smile crept onto his face. He bent down, picked up the ring, and rolled it between his fingers.
"You're angry," he said smoothly. "I get it. You're overwhelmed by the press. Go stay at a hotel for two days. Blow off some steam. When you realize you have no job, no money, and no other prospects, you'll be back on this couch. You've given five years of your life to me, Lena. You're not walking away from everything we built."
"Watch me," I said, turning on my heel and walking out the door.
I hit the lobby and pushed through the glass revolving doors into the cool morning air, my hands trembling with rage.
A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb, the tinted passenger window rolling down instantly. Roman sat in the back, holding an open tablet.
"Get in," Roman said.
I hesitated for a second before yanking the door open and sliding into the leather seat. "Are you following me?"
"I don't follow people," Roman said. He tapped the screen and turned it toward me. "I investigate assets I just purchased."
The screen displayed high-definition security footage from the arena's private corridors last night. It showed Cole taking my medical kit into the private examination room twenty minutes before the final buzzer.
"Look at the time stamp," Roman said, his voice flat and authoritative. "Cole took your bag into the back room at ten-fourteen. The league inspectors arrived at ten-thirty-five."
"That proves he had it," I said, leaning in. "Can we see what happened inside the room? Dr. Kane was in there."
"No," Roman replied, tapping another window on the screen to show a corrupted file log. "The interior camera feed for that room was manually purged at ten-thirty. Wiped from the local server."
"Cole couldn't have done that," I murmured. "He doesn't have system access."
"Exactly," Roman said, zooming in on the audit trail code at the bottom of the screen. "The deletion was executed using a master administrative override. That clearance only belonged to one person: the former majority owner of the franchise."
A cold dread settled deep in my stomach.
"This wasn't Cole panicking after the game," Roman said, turning his dark gaze onto me. "The trap was set for you before the puck even dropped."
