Chapter 2
Nick
The elevator hummed, but the tension? That was all her.
Kennedy stood across from me like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into her perfect little life.
Flushed cheeks. Chest rising too fast. Eyes still wide from the stunt she just pulled.
Her body hadn’t caught up with the fact she’d just told her golden boy fiancé to fuck off in front of a room full of sharks.
And now she was trapped in a metal box with me.
Good.
She looked like a spark just waiting to catch fire.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring her down like I was deciding whether to eat her alive or let her sweat it out a little longer.
“You already regretting this, princess?” My voice was low—taunting. I wanted to see if she’d fold now that the leash was off.
She squared up like she had something to prove. “I don’t regret anything.”
I smirked. There it was. That fire in her throat, sharp and stupidly brave. Like she didn’t realize she was standing a few feet from a man who didn’t do mercy.
“No shit?” I pushed off the wall and stalked closer. “Not even leaving your little knight in shining bullshit upstairs? He looked real heartbroken.”
She scoffed, eyes rolling, but there was steel behind it. “He’s not a knight. He’s a dictator in Dior.”
That earned a low laugh from me. Sharp. Surprised. She had claws—dull from disuse, maybe, but still there. And I wanted to be the one to sharpen them.
The elevator dinged. She flinched. Just a tick—but I saw it. She glanced back at the doors like she was debating whether to bolt.
“Go ahead,” I said, voice cool, hands in my pockets. “Run back to him. Let him wrap that leash back around your throat.”
Her jaw tightened. She didn’t move.
That’s right. Stay.
“Gutsy move,” I added, eyeing her. “Not many girls would’ve pulled what you did.”
She rolled her eyes again, but there was a flicker of pride tucked in her smirk. “What’s life without some risks?”
I stepped into her space—close enough to feel her breath hitch, close enough that if she wanted to run, she’d have to shove me. She didn’t.
“You got no idea what kind of risk you just walked into.”
Her chin lifted, fire still there. “Then I guess I’ll learn.”
The doors slid open.
She didn’t move.
Neither did I.
Because this? This wasn’t the start of a mistake. It was the start of a war.
And I was already planning how to win.
I smirked as she squirmed, just a little. Not enough for most people to notice, but I saw it. I always saw it.
“That so?” I drawled. “Then why do you look like you’re one step from bolting?”
She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she stepped into my space—challenging. Her perfume hit me like a dare: sweet, defiant, expensive.
“If I was going to run,” she said, voice tight but steady, “I wouldn’t have gotten in this elevator with you.”
Well, shit.
This was gonna be fun.
The elevator opened with a soft ding, spilling golden light into the hallway. My penthouse stretched out beyond it—glass walls, shadows, and sharp edges. Luxury with a pulse.
The kind of place that whispered: once you’re in, there’s no going back.
She hesitated. One step out of the elevator, one foot still in safety.
Her eyes flicked toward the open doors, then back to me.
Good. Let her think about it. Let her feel the weight of what she’s walking into.
I leaned against the doorframe, not saying a word. Just watching.
I could feel it—the static between us. That edge-of-a-knife kind of tension.
“The choice is yours.” My voice came out low, quiet. Deadly.
She looked at me like she wanted to call bullshit. But she didn’t.
She just stood there, staring.
Trapped between two cages. One gilded. One burning.
“What’s it going to be?” I asked, straightening up. No smile. No softness.
Just a question—and a promise.
She swallowed, but her stare didn’t break. “You think this is some kind of game?”
“Only if you’re ready to lose.”
I stepped closer. One pace. That’s all it took. The space between us vanished like it never existed.
For a second, the world went silent.
No elevator hum. No party noise echoing through the floor. Just her breath—shaky, determined.
She was standing at the edge of the fire. And she hadn’t moved.
Not away from me, at least.
Then she took that breath—the kind people take before doing something they can’t undo. And she stepped inside.
My world. My rules. My fucking game now.
The door shut behind her with a soft click.
But in my chest?
Everything slammed open.
The door clicked shut behind her like a trigger being pulled. The noise of the party died, swallowed by the silence of my penthouse—and just like that, she was in my world.
No cameras. No fiancé. No one to save her from me.
Good.
I crossed to the bar, untucking the top two buttons of my shirt, letting the silence stretch. She followed, steps slow, careful—but not scared. Not yet.
She should’ve been.
I grabbed the bottle—top shelf shit; the kind reserved for nights you don’t want to forget, or maybe the ones you can’t afford to remember. Poured two fingers each into heavy crystal. The whiskey caught the light, burning gold.
Like her.
She reached for the glass, all smooth fingers and practiced elegance.
I stopped her hand with mine. Firm. No room for question.
“Don’t sip it like a rich girl.” My voice dropped into something rougher. “Take a real drink.”
She arched a brow, mouth twitching like I’d dared her. Good. I had.
Without blinking, she tossed it back—like it was water and not fire. The line of her throat worked as the whiskey went down, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
She slammed the glass back onto the counter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand like a fucking rebel.
Damn.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, that challenge sparking again in her eyes.
“Didn’t expect you to have bite.” I took my own shot, slow and deliberate, letting the burn remind me this wasn’t a dream.
“Don’t mistake this for bravery.” Her voice was sharp, cocky. “It’s just whiskey.”
I liked that. A little heat. A little edge.
“So tell me, princess—why the hell are you with a guy like him?”
The shift in her was immediate—like I’d punched the breath out of her. Her spine went rigid. Her expression iced over.
“Why do you care?”
I stepped in, slow but deliberate. Closing the distance like a predator.
“Because I know his type.” My voice turned to steel. “And I fucking hate guys like him.”
That made her blink. She wasn’t expecting honesty.
Wasn’t expecting me.
“Why?” she asked, the disbelief creeping into her tone.
“Because they don’t see past their bullshit.” I said it slow, sharp. Like every word mattered. “They see a prop. Something to stand next to in a photo op. Smile, princess. Don’t speak. Don’t think. Don’t bleed.”
For a beat, she froze.
That was the crack in the mask I’d been waiting for.
“I’m not some trophy,” she bit out. But her voice faltered just enough for me to hear the lie underneath.
I tilted my head, voice dark and cutting. “No? Then what the hell are you doing here?”
The question landed like a blade between us.
She didn’t answer. Not right away.
But her silence? That was loud as hell.
Because we both knew—she didn’t come here by accident.
And I wasn’t letting her leave untouched.
She took a breath like she was bracing for a hit, then looked me straight in the eye. “What’s your deal? Why do people hate you?”
I snorted, arms crossing as I leaned back against the bar. “Because I don’t kiss ass. And I don’t pretend to be something I’m not just to make weak people feel comfortable.”
I let the silence stretch. Let her feel how unapologetic that truth was.
She tilted her head, watching me like she was looking through me.
“That’s not really an answer.”
My lip curled. Of course it wasn’t. That was the point.
But the look in her eyes? It wasn’t disgust. Or fear.
It was curiosity. Dangerous, stupid curiosity.
Most women looked at me like I was a red flag wrapped around a live wire. They flirted, then flinched.
Not her.
Kennedy stared like she was trying to disassemble me. Like if she found the right cracks, she could pull me apart and understand how the hell I worked.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
I held her gaze and dropped it straight.
“I play the way I live—reckless. No leash. No filter. No fucks given. People don’t like what they can’t control.”
Her lips pressed together. She felt that. “So instead, you make them fear you?”
“Damn right I do.” I stepped in closer, just enough to watch her pupils shift.
“Fear gets respect a hell of a lot faster than kissing the right rings. What about you?” I let my tone sharpen, twist into something surgical.
“You do everything right, yeah? Say the right things. Wear what he tells you. Smile when it’s expected. ”
Her fingers tightened around her glass—tight enough to break it if she kept going.
Bullseye.
I pushed further. I wanted her cracked open. “He tell you how to walk? How to fucking breathe?”
Her silence hit harder than a scream.
It dropped between us, heavy as a body. The truth sat right there, raw and ugly.
And for a second, I didn’t want to smirk.
I wanted to break her free.
But I couldn’t say that out loud—not yet.
So I leaned in, voice quiet and lethal. “You’re not some doll on a shelf, Kennedy. So why the hell are you letting him treat you like one?”
She blinked once, but she didn’t deny it.
She couldn’t.
And now that I’d seen the cracks, I wasn’t done.
I leaned against the bar, eyes locked on her. That fire in her gaze? It flickered—not out, just dimmed. Like she’d taken a punch and wasn’t sure if she’d swing back or walk away.
“Tell me something about you that’s real.”
My first instinct was to scoff. Shut her down.
I didn’t do real. I did rage. Hits. Wins. Pain.
Everything else? That shit stayed buried.
“I don’t like small talk,” I muttered, tone clipped.
She narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening like she wasn’t about to back off.
“I’m not asking for small talk,” she said, voice steady. “I want to know something no one else does.”
That pissed me off a little.
Not because she was wrong.
Because she was right.
She didn’t want the public version of me—the one plastered across headlines and fined for unsportsmanlike conduct.
She wanted the cracks. The dark corners.
The version of me I didn’t let out unless someone begged for bruises.
Still… I looked at her and—hell.
I gave her something.
“I remember my first fight on the ice.” The words came rough, like they scraped their way out of me. “I was a rookie. Nobody gave a shit about my name.” I glanced at her. “One of their defensemen blindsided one of our guys. Cheap hit. Dirty.”
My hands curled around the glass like I was gripping a stick again.
“So I dropped gloves. Didn’t even think—just went straight for him.
Boom. Fist to jaw. He dropped. I didn’t stop.
I wanted him to feel it. I needed it. That moment?
” I smirked faintly. “That was the first time I felt like I mattered.
Not ‘cause of a goal. Not ‘cause of a stat. But because someone knew I wasn’t afraid to hit back.”
She leaned in slightly—just enough to feel it. The difference between listening and really hearing.
“And afterward?” she asked.
I barked a dry laugh, sharp and bitter.
“Coach ripped me out. Said fighting didn’t win games.” I shrugged. “He didn’t get it. Wasn’t about winning. It was about not being invisible.”
Her expression shifted—subtle, but real. Something behind her eyes cracked open. I didn’t ask. I just watched it happen.
“You’re not the only one who’s had to fight,” she said, voice softer now. Like a confession slipping out between ribs.
I didn’t interrupt.
“My first love wasn’t my fiancé.” Her voice wasn’t bitter. It was hollow. “It was the idea of freedom.”
That stopped me cold.
She let out a humorless laugh, more breath than sound. “I used to think love meant safety. Security. A place to land.” Her hands clenched on the edge of the bar. “But now I know… security’s just another word for a cage with gold bars.”
I didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Because that? That hit like a fucking freight train.
I’d spent my whole life fighting to never feel caged again. And here she was—saying the quiet part out loud.
Not whining. Not begging.
Just bleeding.
And I realized I’d kill for her and not blink.
Not because she was mine.
But because I knew exactly what it felt like to scream inside your own skin, and have no one hear it
She pushed herself up from the seat like she was trying to shake off the weight of a world that had always held her down—every forced gesture, every practiced smile. She moved stiffly, like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times.
“I should go,” she said, steady but with a tremor of doubt that I could taste.
I leaned back against the bar, arms folded like I was sizing up a piece of meat. The exit door loomed behind her—a tempting, easy escape back to that suffocating life she’d been chained to.
“Run if you want, princess,” I drawled, my tone mocking, as cold and casual as a slap.
I saw her pause—those gears turning in that brilliant head of hers. That door was her ticket back to safety, back to his control. But something in her kept her rooted.
“Go on,” I urged, voice low and dangerous. “It’s your shot at something else.”
Her fingers clenched hard at her sides, nails biting into her palms like she was trying to hold herself together against a storm brewing inside.
“And if I stay?” she whispered, barely audible but loaded with defiance.
My smirk twisted slowly, deliberately—a wolf savoring the thrill of the chase. “Then you’re mine,” I said, flat and final.
Time stretched out, each second taut as a live wire. The choice hung in the air like a challenge—her eyes locked on mine, searching for permission, for truth, for an escape from the chains that had defined her.
In that electric pause, I saw something fierce ignite in her gaze—a raw, untamed determination ready to tear down every barrier. At that crossroads, one path led back into the darkness of his control, the other into uncharted territory with me.
And just like that—without a word—she made her choice.