Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

4. Keaton

Chapter 4

Keaton

S tanding in front of my closet, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The engagement party was supposed to be a celebration, another social charade orchestrated by my father to showcase our perfect family image. He’d already laid out a suit for me—a stiff, charcoal-gray monstrosity that screamed corporate puppet.

I refused to be paraded around like some prized possession tonight.

Ignoring the tailored suit, I reached for the back of my closet. My fingers brushed against the fabric of a garment bag, and I pulled it out with a sense of defiance. Unzipping it, I revealed my custom Chanel suit. Striped black and white, it was bold, unapologetic—everything I aspired to be but rarely felt allowed to.

I shrugged out of my shirt and slipped on the jacket. The fabric hugged my shoulders perfectly; the stripes creating an almost hypnotic effect. It was my way of reclaiming a piece of myself from the constant demands and expectations.

Checking myself in the mirror, I adjusted the cuffs and smoothed down the lapels. The reflection staring back at me looked confident, almost unrecognizable compared to how I felt inside. My eyes, though—those betrayed the storm brewing within.

I adjusted my tie, the bold black and white stripes almost blinding against the crisp white shirt. The whole ensemble gave off a chaotic, almost rebellious energy, like a demon had decided to crash a high-society gala. And maybe that was exactly what I wanted. I needed to disrupt the carefully crafted illusion of control my father had over me.

As I turned to grab my car keys, I couldn’t help but imagine the look on my father’s face when I walked in wearing this suit. His steely gaze would probably harden into something even more unyielding, if that was even possible. My mother—if she were alive—would’ve laughed and said it suited me. But she wasn’t here to see it, and my father’s disapproval would have to do.

Good. Let him seethe.

I knew he expected me to fall in line tonight, to smile and nod and pretend like everything was fine while he practically sold me off to Lola’s family. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it. Lola had her own set of expectations and manipulations; she thrived on control as much as my father did. Her idea of marriage was a merger, a calculated move in a long game of chess.

I hoped she would be furious when she saw me. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be so put off by my appearance that she’d call the whole thing off. I could almost see her eyes narrowing in disgust, her perfectly manicured hand waving me away as if I were an inconvenience she didn’t want to deal with.

Perfect.

I stepped out of my dorm, the cool night air hitting my face like a welcome slap. It was refreshing. The party awaited, but first, I needed a moment to breathe. My car was parked in its usual spot—Maserati. Midnight black with chrome accents, it was a beast of a machine that exuded both power and elegance.

The Maserati had been a gift from my father, an attempt to win my loyalty with material things. While I resented the strings attached, I couldn’t deny the car’s allure. The sleek lines and polished surface reflected the streetlights as I approached it, keys jingling in my hand. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I felt a strange sense of freedom, if only for a moment.

The engine roared to life with a deep, throaty growl that echoed through the empty parking lot. I reveled in that sound; it was raw and untamed, much like the chaos brewing inside me. Shifting into gear, I eased out onto the road, leaving Crestwood Academy behind.

As I drove through town, the night unfolded around me like an old film reel. The streets were mostly deserted at this hour, save for a few scattered pedestrians and the occasional car passing by. Streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, creating an eerie yet mesmerizing pattern that danced along the road.

Part of me wished I had someone on the team to talk to about all this shit. But keeping my distance had always been my modus operandi. I maintained control by maintaining distance—chaos thrived in close quarters, and I couldn’t risk anyone getting too close. Not that anyone wanted to get close, anyway; my reputation as an unpredictable force kept most people at bay.

The Maserati glided through the streets effortlessly, its powerful engine purring beneath me. As I drove past darkened storefronts and quiet residential areas, I felt an odd sense of detachment from it all. This town, these people—they were just part of a backdrop.

The neon signs of late-night diners flickered in and out of view as I passed by, casting colorful reflections on the car's hood.

The road stretched out ahead of me, winding through familiar territory but feeling foreign all the same. Each turn brought me closer to that dreaded party and further from any semblance of normalcy or freedom.

Tonight would be another act in this endless performance. But for now, at least during this drive, I could pretend otherwise—even if just for a fleeting moment.

As I drove, my thoughts drifted back to the girl from the locker room. Not the one who’d been sucking my dick, but the one who’d watched.

The locker room attendant.

Her image floated in my mind—blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and those striking green eyes that had widened in surprise and then narrowed in disgust. There was something about her, something innocent and pure, that stuck with me. It was so different from everything I knew, everything I was used to.

I’d never seen her before, but she intrigued me. There was an aura around her that drew me in, like a moth to a flame. Innocence. It was a rare thing in my world, something I didn't encounter often. Maybe that's why it captivated me so much.

Innocence wasn't meant to last. My father had drilled that into me since I was a kid. "You can't be trusted with important things, Keaton," he'd say, his voice as cold as his eyes. "You'll ruin them." And for the most part, he wasn't wrong. Everything I touched seemed to crumble, eventually.

But her?

She lingered in my mind longer than I expected. I could still see her standing there, looking shocked and repulsed but also... curious. That curiosity—it hooked me. It was as if she saw something in me that no one else did or could even imagine seeing.

Or maybe I wanted to ruin her.

I hated that part of myself that wanted to see her again, wanted to know what she thought when she looked at me with those green eyes. What did she see? Did she see the broken pieces held together by sheer willpower? Or did she see something else entirely?

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I approached the venue for tonight's engagement party. The neon lights reflected off the hood as I pulled into the parking lot. I cut the engine and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The girl from the locker room was an anomaly in my otherwise predictable life. She represented everything I feared—innocence, purity—and everything I desired—curiosity, connection.

I needed to focus on tonight's charade and not get distracted by fleeting thoughts of a girl whose name I didn’t even know.

But as I stepped out of the car and adjusted my jacket one last time, her image lingered in my mind like an unresolved question demanding an answer.

And it was that curiosity—hers and mine—that kept pulling me back into thoughts of her.

The valet took my car keys with a practiced smile, but I barely registered his presence. My thoughts were already miles away, wrapped around the enigma of that locker room attendant. As I walked toward the entrance, the luxury of the venue hit me like a punch to the gut.

The place was gaudy as hell. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like they were made of liquid gold, casting a sickly glow over everything. Marble floors gleamed beneath my feet, polished to a blinding shine. There were too many mirrors, too many reflections of people pretending to be something they weren’t.

I hated it.

Stepping inside, I pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between my fingers. The urge to light it up was almost overpowering, but I knew the rules. No smoking indoors. Not that it stopped me from wanting to rebel, even in this small way.

"It's showtime," I muttered under my breath, shoving the unlit cigarette back into my pocket.

I could already hear the dull roar of conversation and laughter coming from the main hall. It was filled with people who’d been groomed for moments like these—polished, practiced, perfect. They were masters of the art of pretense, much like my father.

He'd be in there somewhere, probably schmoozing with Lola's parents and making sure every detail was perfect for tonight's big announcement. My engagement to Lola. A match made in business heaven but personal hell.

Masks. Everyone was in masks. It was like some twisted masquerade ball where everyone played a part, hiding their true selves behind layers of expensive fabric and false smiles. I recognized some faces from Crestwood Academy—peers who probably thought they were better than me because they didn't have a leash around their necks. But tonight, I couldn't care less about them.

As I made my way deeper into the venue, I couldn't help but notice the lavish decorations—flowers that probably cost more than most people made in a month, draped elegantly over every available surface. The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and desperation.

It was suffocating.

I navigated through the sea of well-dressed guests with practiced ease, offering nods and forced smiles where necessary. My suit drew more than a few curious glances and disapproving looks, which only fueled my resolve. Let them think what they want.

I found myself at the edge of the room, scanning the crowd for familiar faces while trying to maintain an air of indifference. This night was just another performance in a long series of acts designed to keep up appearances.

But no matter how hard I tried to blend in or play along, I couldn't shake the image of her—the girl from the locker room—standing there with those green eyes full of something real in a world full of fakery.

And as much as I hated to admit it, that flicker of authenticity was something I craved more than any material comfort this life could offer.

I made my way to the bar, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Pouring myself a whiskey, I took a long drink, letting the burn chase away some of the bitterness gnawing at my insides. The liquid warmth did little to settle my nerves, but it was better than nothing.

My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for anything to distract me from the impending nightmare of an engagement announcement. And then I saw her—Lola.

She stood in the center of a group of her friends, her harpies. Lola was like a vision straight out of an old Hollywood film—dark hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, eyes that could pierce through armor, and a body that could stop traffic. She had that same magnetic allure as a gothic actress, an effortless elegance that commanded attention.

My gut twisted in disgust at the sight of her. Lola was everything I despised—manipulative, controlling, and utterly fake. A lying bitch. I downed the rest of my whiskey in one gulp, hoping it would dull the nausea roiling in my stomach.

Tonight had to be about something else—anything else. The thought crossed my mind like a dark promise: I intended to fuck at least three girls tonight, hopefully at the same time. If Lola caught me in the act, maybe she'd finally call off this charade of an engagement.

"You look like shit."

The voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. I looked up and saw Damien Sinclaire standing there, his silver-blond hair falling in disarray around his face. He had that same brooding intensity as a warrior—stormy blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of chaos behind them and an athletic frame that spoke of controlled power.

"Thanks for noticing," I replied, unable to muster any real sarcasm.

Damien smirked, his eyes flicking over my striped suit with amusement. "Nice outfit. Trying to make a statement?"

"Something like that," I muttered.

He chuckled darkly, leaning against the bar next to me. "Good luck with that."

I grunted, acknowledging Damien's presence but barely registering his words.

"I can't believe you showed up," Damien said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Adrian thought you wouldn't. Bastard owes me a hundred bucks."

I smirked, a small victory in this sea of defeat.

His eyes narrowed as he studied me. "Why are you here, Douglas? You clearly don't want to be."

"If I didn't show up, my father would disown me," I muttered, turning to the bartender and signaling for another drink.

"So?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding.

Scoffing, I tried to find the right words. I had no intention of attempting to explain the nuances of this to someone like Damien fucking Sinclaire. At the end of the day, I didn't give a shit about my father or my money, but my mother… She might be dead, but…

"Fuck it."

"Speaking of your father," Damien said, glancing over my shoulder. "He's heading this way. I'll see you around."

"Fuck you, fuckface," I muttered as Damien slithered away like the snake he was.

My father's imposing figure loomed closer, a man who commanded attention without uttering a single word. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul. His hair was slicked back with not a strand out of place, the perfect image of control and authority.

"Keaton," he began, his voice low and filled with barely concealed disappointment. "What on earth are you wearing? You look like a circus clown."

"Nice to see you too, Dad," I replied dryly, taking a long sip of my drink.

"And you're late," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "This is an important evening for our family, and you show up looking like this?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm here now. Isn't that what matters?"

"No, Keaton," he snapped, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "What matters is that you present yourself in a manner befitting our family name. Your appearance reflects on all of us."

I felt the familiar weight of his expectations settle on my shoulders like an iron mantle. "Sure thing, Dad."

"And your behavior tonight," he added, his eyes narrowing. "I expect you to be on your best behavior. No more stunts like last time."

"Of course." My voice dripped with sarcasm that he either ignored or chose not to acknowledge.

"And remember," he said, leaning in closer, "you have a responsibility to this family."

His words hung heavy in the air between us as I stared into my drink. The same lecture I'd heard a thousand times before—about duty, responsibility, and upholding the family name.

But tonight? Tonight was going to be different.

"Now," my father said, his tone clipped. "Let's go. Lola has been waiting all night."

"You think I give a flying fuck?" I growled, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a cigarette. I lit it with deliberate slowness, savoring the rebellious act as I took a long drag and exhaled a plume of smoke into the air.

"Goddammit, Keaton," he muttered, eyes narrowing in anger and frustration.

"Well, come on," I said, sauntering toward the front with an exaggerated swagger. "Don't we have an announcement to make?"

The crowd parted as we made our way through, whispers following us like shadows. My father's face was a mask of barely controlled fury, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. But he kept his composure—image was everything to him.

I flicked ash from my cigarette onto the pristine marble floor as we approached the main stage where Lola stood, radiating smugness in her designer dress. She looked every bit the part of the perfect fiancée, poised and polished with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," my father began, stepping up to the microphone with practiced ease. "Thank you all for being here tonight."

I took another drag from my cigarette, ignoring the disapproving glances from guests who clearly thought I was ruining their perfect evening.

"It is with great pleasure," he continued, "that we announce the engagement of my son, Keaton Douglas, to the lovely Lola Perez.”

There it was—the moment he'd been waiting for. The room erupted in polite applause as Lola stepped forward to join us. Her smile widened as she slipped her arm through mine, her grip like a vice.

I scowled back at her, tugging my arm from her grasp. I didn't want the bitch to touch me. I didn't know where she had been.

"Thank you all for your support," Lola said sweetly into the microphone. "Keaton and I are thrilled to share this special moment with you."

Thrilled? Hardly. I took another drag of my cigarette.

As the applause died down and people began to mingle again, Lola leaned in close, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Try not to embarrass me any further tonight."

I smirked down at her. "Wouldn't dream of it."