Chapter 219

JULIAN'S POV

The next few days passed in a dizzying, agonizing blur.

I pushed my body past its absolute limits. I was the first one on the ice every single morning and the last one to leave the locker room at night.

I skated until my lungs burned, slammed into the boards until my shoulders felt bruised, and took shot after shot until my wrists throbbed with raw pain.

I trained harder than anyone else on the team, driven by a desperate, toxic need to reclaim the only part of my life I had left.But no matter how hard I ran my drills, I couldn't escape him.

Brandon was always there.

Every single day, his sleek black sports car would pull into the arena parking lot. He would step out in his flawless, obscenely expensive tailored suits, completely invading my space.

He sat in the VIP lounge, stood by the glass, or lounged near the benches, always conversing quietly with Henderson and our coach.

I could feel his dark, piercing eyes tracking my every move on the ice. He wasn't just observing his investment. He was looking for a crack in my armor.

He was waiting for me to slip up, waiting for a failure he could use to completely destroy my career and banish me from Aria and Amelia's lives forever. I would be absolutely damned if I let that happen.

During our mid-week practice, the tension in the arena was thick enough to suffocate. The ice was sharp, the air freezing, and the echo of hockey sticks slamming against the pucks filled the cavernous room.

I was running an intensive breakaway drill, weaving through the defensive lines at maximum speed. From the corner of my eye, I spotted them. Brandon was standing right by the rink gate, flanked by Henderson and our coach.

He had his hands resting casually in his overcoat pockets, looking entirely untouchable. That single glance was enough to shatter my focus.

As I cut hard to the left to avoid a defensive player, my blade caught an uneven ridge in the ice. The absolute worst happened. I lost my footing, my balance completely vanishing as my center of gravity shifted.

My arms flailed, my skates skidding wildly across the slick surface. For a terrifying second, I was airborne, inches away from a brutal, humiliating face-plant right in front of the man I hated most.

With a frantic, desperate surge of adrenaline, I slammed my stick down against the ice, using it as a brace to force my weight back over my skates. I managed to right myself just in time, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as I slid to a messy, abrupt halt against the boards.

"Vance," The coach’s sharp, booming voice echoed across the quiet rink, dripping with irritation. "Keep your eyes on the rink and focus on the puck! Stop looking at the stands."

Humiliation, hot and biting, flooded my chest. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, keeping my eyes glued to the ice beneath my skates.

I didn't need to look up to know that Brandon was watching. I could practically feel his arrogant, mocking smirk burning holes right through my jersey.

After practice, the locker room was dead silent as the rest of the guys quickly packed up their gear, sensing the volatile rage radiating off me.

I stripped off my heavy shoulder pads and threw them violently against the bottom of my locker, the metal clanging loudly through the room.

I needed to get out of here. I needed to remind Brandon that he didn't own me, and he certainly didn't own the woman who had tasted like heaven on my lips just days ago.

Before anyone could leave for the day, the coach’s assistant poked his head into the locker room. "Change of plans, boys. The coach wants everyone in his office right now."

I grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from my face as a heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. I knew exactly what or who was waiting for us. We crowded into the coach's spacious office.

Sitting comfortably in one of the leather armchairs, looking as relaxed as if he owned the entire building, was Brandon. He didn't even look up when we walked in, casually swirling a paper cup of coffee in his hand.

The coach stood behind his desk, rubbing his hands together with an eager, frantic energy.

"Alright, listen up, boys. We have a massive game in exactly two days. It’s the final qualifier before the championship tournament. Mr. Brandon here has officially stated that if we win this game, he will thoroughly assess our performance and sponsor the team completely for the rest of the season and the finals."

Instantly, the tight space erupted into loud cheers and shouts of excitement. Sebastian clapped me on the shoulder, and the guys were buzzing, already tasting the victory.

The sound of their desperate gratitude made something snap inside me. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't stand watching my teammates treat this man like a god.

"We don't need his money," I barked out, my voice cutting through the cheers like a knife. The room went completely silent. Every eye snapped to me.

I stepped forward, glaring directly at Brandon, though he didn't even blink. "I can easily have my father write a check to sponsor this entire team. We don't need a handout from him."

Henderson, who had been leaning against the wall near Brandon, narrowed his eyes. He slowly pushed himself off the drywall, his expression hardening. "Is that so, Vance?"

Before Henderson could say anything else, the coach let out a forced, incredibly nervous laugh, his face turning a bright shade of red. "Ah, Mr. Henderson, please ignore him! Julian didn't mean it like that. He's just stressed about the upcoming game, right, Julian?"

"I meant exactly what I said," I growled, refusing to back down.

Henderson’s jaw tightened. He stood up fully, his tall frame radiating authority as he walked right past the coach's desk and stopped a mere inch from my face.

The sheer intensity in his eyes made the rest of the players subconsciously take a step back. "Let's get one thing straight, Julian," Henderson whispered, his voice dangerously low but loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You are a good as fuck ice hockey player. Maybe one of the best I've seen in this league. But this opportunity right here? This is a one-in-a-lifetime shot for this entire franchise. It isn't just about the money. It's about morals, networking, and the corporate backing that can fast-track every single one of these boys to the major leagues."

He poked a firm finger directly into my chest, right over my team logo.

"And if you don't quit acting like a fucking lovesick teenager instead of the mature man and captain you are supposed to be, then I will personally advise Brandon to take his offer elsewhere. Your team can play solo, and you can explain to your friends here why you ruined their futures over your own bruised ego."

The weight of his words hit me like a physical blow. From the corner of my eye, I could feel the panicked, angry stares of my teammates.

Sebastian was looking at me like I had lost my mind. If I pushed this further, the entire team would turn on me. I swallowed the bitter taste of defeat, my fists clenching at my sides. "That's... that's not what I want," I muttered, lowering my gaze.

Henderson stared at me for a few more agonizing seconds before his expression softened just a fraction, though his tone remained dead serious.

He leaned in closer, dropping his voice so the rest of the players couldn't catch every word. "Good. Because I know about your history with Brandon, Julian. I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid. But whatever stands between you two? That is your personal business.”

“But…” I started but he interrupted me calmly.

"Keep it out of this arena," Henderson warned, his eyes boring into mine. "Because the moment your personal life costs these boys their shot, you're stripped of that 'C' on your jersey. Do I make myself clear?"

The silence in the room was deafening. I could feel Brandon’s eyes on me from the armchair, though I refused to look over and give him the satisfaction of seeing me completely cornered.

"Clear," I choked out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Excellent," Henderson said, clapping his hands together once and turning back to the rest of the room, completely shifting the energy. "Two days, boys. Secure the win, and the world is yours."

The coach eagerly began ushering everyone out of the office, eager to diffuse the remaining tension. The guys filed out quietly, casting nervous, frustrated glances at me as they passed.

Sebastian hung back for a second, giving me a heavy look that said we need to talk, before he stepped out too, shutting the door behind him.

I was the last one left standing in front of the desk.

"You can leave, Vance," the coach said quietly, not looking me in the eye as he shuffled some papers on his desk.

Slowly, I turned around to head for the door. As my hand reached for the brass knob, Brandon’s smooth, deep voice halted me in my tracks. "Oh, and Julian?"

I stopped, my spine turning to ice. I forced myself to turn around and look at him. He had stood up from the armchair, adjusting the cuffs of his flawless suit jacket.

He wasn't even looking at me with anger; it was pure, terrifying indifference. "Make sure you get enough sleep before the game," Brandon said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Aria mentioned she likes a man who can actually keep his footing. It would be a shame if you embarrassed yourself on the ice again."

My knuckles turned white against the doorknob. The urge to fly across the room and tear his throat out was so intense my vision blurred at the edges.

But Henderson’s threat echoed in my head, loud and clear. My hockey career was the last string holding my life together. If I cut it now, I had nothing.

Without giving him the reaction he wanted, I yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind me, the loud bang echoing through the empty corridor.

I stormed back into the locker room, grabbed my duffel bag, and marched straight out to my car. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely get the key into the ignition.

As I tore out of the arena parking lot, the burning in my chest shifted from helpless rage into a cold, calculated desperation.

Brandon wanted to play god. He wanted to buy my team, threaten my future, and hold my woman and daughter captive in his perfect little world. But he had underestimated one thing.

A man with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous wildcard in the deck. Two days. I just had to win this game. I would perform so flawlessly that the scouts wouldn't be able to ignore me, sponsor or no sponsor.

And once my position was secured, I would find a way to tear Brandon’s perfect empire down brick by brick, starting with the secrets he was so desperately trying to keep hidden from Aria.