Chapter 253

JULIAN'S POV

The sharp slice of steel blades cutting into the fresh ice and the violent thud of a puck slamming against the plexiglass usually brought a sense of absolute control. Today, it was just grating noise.

I leaned against the boards, my breathing heavy beneath the weight of my shoulder pads and hockey jersey. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Aria’s receptionist trembling, the shattered remains of that glass vase on the office floor, and the suffocating grip of that brute Anthony pinning me against the wall.

“If you come back, the security detail outside the building has orders to take you down.”

I gritted my teeth, gripping my hockey stick so hard the composite frame creaked. Let them try. I was a Vance. My father’s name, Vance Enterprises, carried enough weight to crush a dozen cheap security guards.

Aria was just scared. Once the shock wore off and she realized that Brandon’s dark past made him a liability, she would realize I was the only logical choice to give Amelia a stable future.

"Vance. Quit daydreaming and get back in the drill!"

Coach’s whistle blew loudly, echoing through the freezing air of the arena. I shook my head, skating lazily toward the center circle. As the star forward and the son of one of the city's wealthiest elites, I didn't need to sweat the small stuff.

But as the team began to gather near the benches for a break, I noticed the heavy double doors of the rink swinging open. Walking out onto the sub-zero concrete walkway wasn't just our coach.

He was flanked by Henderson. Henderson didn't look like a guy looking for talent today. His expression was completely unreadable, his eyes sweeping across the entire roster.

"Bring it in, everyone," Coach Miller called out.

The guys skated over, spraying ice against the boards as they came to a halt. I glided over at a leisurely pace, leaning against the glass with a smug, easy confidence.

"I have an announcement to make regarding the team's sponsorship and scout funding,"

Henderson began, his authoritative voice cutting through the chilly arena. "Our primary corporate benefactor, Mr. Brandon, has just finalized a massive restructuring of our scouting syndicate’s budget. Moving forward, he is injecting an additional twenty percent into our facility development, doubling the performance bonuses for the rest of the season, and securing top-tier sports medicine contracts for the entire roster."

A collective murmur of excitement broke out among the guys. Sticks tapped against the ice in celebration, and a few teammates slapped each other's pads. I smiled, tapping my own stick lightly.

Typical Brandon. Trying to buy his way into everyone's good graces because he knew he was losing his grip on Aria. But money was money, and as the star player, a chunk of those doubled performance bonuses was going straight into my pocket.

"Enjoy the rest of practice, boys," Henderson said with a tight nod. Then, his eyes locked dead onto me, cold and piercing. "Julian. Step off the ice. I want to have a word with you.”

The smile faltered slightly on my face. The guys gave me a few curious glances as I unlatched the rink door and stepped out onto the heavy rubber matting, the blades of my skates digging into the floor.

Henderson waited until we walked a few paces away from the bench, deep into the shadow of the concrete corridor where the coaches couldn't overhear.

"Mr. Henderson?" I asked, forcing a casual shrug. "What's up?"

Henderson didn't waste time. He stepped directly into my personal space, his voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "You're getting the bonuses, Julian. You're getting the facility upgrades. Do you know why?"

I frowned. "Because I'm the top scorer—"

"Because Mr. Brandon ordered it," Henderson cut me off, his eyes full of pure disgust. "He explicitly stated that he wouldn't let your pathetic, unhinged actions affect the livelihood of the rest of this team, or even your own contract. He wants you to have every single dollar. He wants you to feel entirely secure."

I blinked, completely caught off guard. "What?"

"He's letting you keep your little playground, Julian," Henderson sneered, leaning in closer. "But make no mistake, you are a dead man walking in this league. You thought you could play dirty? You thought you could put your hands on Aria and walk away clean? Enjoy the money while it lasts, kid," Henderson sneered, leaning in closer. "Because outside of this rink, Brandon is going to systematically strip you of absolutely everything else. You're an outcast. You just don't know it yet."

He turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy boots echoing down the concrete corridor before the double doors swung shut behind him. I stood frozen on my skates, my chest heaving beneath my pads, a toxic mixture of shock and sheer rage paralyzing me.

"Hey, Julian." I flinched slightly as Seb skated up to the low half-wall of the corridor, leaning his arms over the barrier. He looked at me, his brow furrowed with curiosity. "What the hell happened out here? What did Henderson say to you?"

I swallowed hard, forcing my features into a mask of pure indifference. I shook my head, my voice tight. "Nothing. Just corporate scouting bureaucracy. Don't worry about it."

"You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost, man."

"I'm fine," I snapped, though my throat suddenly felt incredibly dry, itching for a harsh, burning drink to wash away the bitter taste Henderson had left in my mouth.

I couldn't stay here. The cold air of the arena was suddenly suffocating. "I need to get home. I'll catch you later, Seb."

Without waiting for his reply, I stepped onto the rubber mats, walked straight to the locker room, and ripped my gear off in record time. I didn't even shower.

I threw on a hoodie, grabbed my keys, and walked out to my car. The drive back to the penthouse was a blur of aggressive lane changes and white-knuckled steering.

Brandon thought he could touch me? He thought an inflated scout budget and a few vague threats through a middleman would make me crawl into a hole? He was delusional. I was a Vance.

When I threw open the front door of the penthouse, the quiet luxury of the apartment did little to calm my racing pulse.

Leonie was there, completely relaxed, lounging across the expansive leather couch with her phone in hand. She looked up lazily as the door slammed shut behind me. "Back early, aren't we?"

I didn't answer her. I walked straight past the living room and into the kitchen, ripping open the liquor cabinet. My hands gripped a bottle of premium whiskey. I didn't bother with a glass.

I twisted the cap off and shoved the bottle to my lips, gulping the amber liquid down, letting the harsh burn tear through my throat and chest.

I set the bottle down on the marble counter with a heavy thud, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The alcohol hit my stomach, warming me, but the rage remained. I still couldn't believe it.

Brandon actually thought he could intimidate me. He thought he could outmaneuver me just because he had a dark reputation. Suddenly, the violent vibration of my phone against the counter shattered the silence.

I looked down. The caller ID flashed brightly. Father. I let out a harsh sigh, grabbing the device and sliding it open. "Dad, look, I'm really not in the mood right now. The scouts just—"

"Julian, shut up and listen to me!" My father's voice boomed through the receiver, entirely stripped of its usual calm, calculated arrogance.

He sounded breathless, frantic, and older than he ever had. "Get yourself down to the company headquarters immediately!"

"Dad, what—"

"Do not argue with me! Get here now!" The line went dead before I could even blink. I stood there, the phone pressed to my ear, a horrible, sinking feeling settling deep in my gut.

Leonie sat up on the couch, her eyes narrowing as she watched me drop my hands. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I brushed her aside sharply, my mind racing as I turned toward the hallway. "Stay here."

I hurried into the bathroom, stripping down and taking a brutally fast, scalding bath to wash the scent of the rink off my skin.

I threw on a tailored suit, practically throwing myself out of the penthouse and speeding across the city toward the towering skyscraper that bore our family name.

When the elevator doors dinged open on the executive floor of Vance Enterprises, the atmosphere was chaotic. Employees were rushing down the halls with stacks of files, their faces pale.

I walked swiftly toward the massive double doors of the main boardroom. My father's executive secretary stood outside, her phone glued to her ear.

The moment she saw me, she slammed the receiver down, her eyes wide with relief and panic.

"Mr. Julian, thank God you're here," she gasped, her hands shaking as she gestured to the door. "Your father is inside in an emergency board meeting with the other primary stakeholders. I was strictly instructed to let you in the absolute moment you arrived. Go straight in."

My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I pushed the heavy wooden doors open and stepped into the room.

The air inside was thick with tension. The massive projector screen displayed a live financial market graph, and the numbers were horrifying.

"Victor Sterling launched a hostile takeover an hour ago," one of the senior board members roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Internal financial leaks just hit the financial press, the board is in a total mutiny, and our stock is shorting at a terrifying rate! The opening bell just rang... and our shares are in a catastrophic freefall!"

Hearing the sheer scale of the disaster, my entire brain instantly landed on one single, looming figure. The pieces clicked together with brutal, terrifying clarity. The scouts. The budget. Henderson's cryptic warning.

Brandon.

It wasn't a corporate competitor. It was him. He was burning our legacy down. My breathing hitched, the color draining from my face as I stared at the crashing red numbers on the screen.

My father, sitting at the head of the table, noticed the sudden, drastic change in my expression. His piercing eyes locked onto me, recognizing the exact moment the realization hit me.

He stood up slowly, his chair scraping violently against the floor, his gaze drilling into me with absolute fury.

"Julian," my father demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, trembling vibrato that silenced the entire room. "What the hell did you do?”