Chapter 5
SEBASTIAN
The cabin was exactly what we needed. Four days of just us—swimming in the lake, making love on every surface, watching her read on the porch wrapped in blankets while I brought her coffee.
Four perfect days where I memorized every curve and dip of her body, every expression on her face.
I didn't think it was possible to fall deeper, but I did.
Now, back in the penthouse, I watch her unpack our bags, humming softly to herself. Hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing nothing but my hockey shirt. Sockrates follows her around the bedroom, occasionally nudging her leg for attention.
He's always by her side now. I've no doubt if I ask him to choose, he would go for her. Little traitor.
"You're doing that thing again," she says without looking up.
"What thing?"
"Staring at me like you're peeling my clothes off one by one."
I move behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and press my lips to her neck. "I like staring at you. It's a game I liked to play these past few years. Stare at you and look away quickly before you catch me."
"You're so obsessed with me."
"I am and not ashamed to admit it."
Her phone vibrates on the dresser. Then mine. Then hers again. And again.
"That can't be good," Mad says, reaching for her phone.
I tighten my hold on her. "Ignore it."
"Sebastian, that many notifications at once means something's happening." She scrolls through her messages, her body tensing against mine. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
"What?"
She holds up her screen. "Kyle released a video. He's claiming your attack was unprovoked, that he was just trying to get a quote about the game when you assaulted him."
"And?"
"And?" She twists in my arms, staring at me in disbelief. "He's calling me your 'glorified secretary' who you conveniently married to save your reputation. He's implying the whole thing is fake."
I shrug. "So?"
"So? This is exactly what we were trying to avoid! Your reputation, the endorsements—"
I kiss her forehead. "Let me make some coffee while you process this."
She follows me to the kitchen, still clutching her phone. "Sebastian, this is serious. He's trying to destroy everything you've worked so hard for."
"He can try."
The thing she doesn't understand yet is that nothing Kyle does matters anymore. Four days at the cabin showed me what matters, and it isn't endorsements or public opinion. It's her. It's us.
Change my mind.
Maddison sits cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees, phone pressed to her ear. I set a mug of coffee on the side table and sink onto the couch beside her.
"Yes, I understand the timeline concerns," she says into the phone. "But context matters here. We have witnesses who heard what he said about me before Sebastian intervened."
On the screen, Kyle's rat-like face is freeze-framed in mid-sentence. The video shows me shoving him against the wall, his camera falling. What it doesn't show is the five minutes before that—his disgusting comments about Maddison, his hand reaching for her.
"It's trending on three platforms," she continues. "We need to issue a statement within the hour."
I slide my hand under her shirt, tracing circles on her lower back. She shoots me a look but doesn't move away.
"No, absolutely not. Sebastian will not be apologizing." Her voice hardens. "Because he was defending me, that's why."
I lean closer, studying her profile—the tight set of her jaw, the sharp intelligence in her eyes. On the ice, I can read plays before they develop, anticipate where the puck is heading. I've always had that instinct. And right now, every instinct tells me to let her handle this her way.
"Yes, we have the full unedited footage from the venue security cameras," she says. "I'll send it over as soon as we hang up."
When she finally ends the call, she immediately starts typing furiously.
"Kyle's claiming I married my assistant to rehabilitate my image," I say, reading over her shoulder. "Original. Really groundbreaking stuff."
"Sebastian, this isn't funny. He's specifically attacking our marriage. Calling it a PR stunt." She doesn't look up from her laptop. "The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so potentially damaging."
I sweep her hair aside and press my lips to her nape. "It's a little funny … because he's kinda right."
"He's saying I'm just a 'glorified secretary' you married for convenience." Her fingers fly across the keyboard. "That I'm using you for your money and fame."
"You do have my credit card, and you did agree to a hundred grand per month," I whisper against her skin. "And you've been photographed with me. Highly suspicious."
She elbows me lightly. "I'm trying to save your career here, and we already talked about the money. I'm not taking it."
I move my hands to her shoulders, feeling the tension knotted there. "Baby, my career doesn't need saving, and of course you don't need a hundred grand per month. Your allowance is double that."
"Your Velocity endorsement is worth eight million." She leans back into my touch despite herself. "That's just one of five major deals at risk."
I knead the tight muscles at the base of her neck. "All numbers on paper. Not real."
"Tell that to your bank account."
"My bank account will survive." I press deeper into a knot, and she lets out a small moan. "What matters is right here."
For the next hour, I watch her work. It's like watching game film of a particularly brilliant play—the efficiency of her movements, the strategy behind every decision.
She fields calls from my agent and mostly just communicates with Anya.
She drafts statements, reviews footage, charts out response scenarios. There's a reason she's Anya's favorite.
I bring her fresh coffee, steal kisses between calls, keep one hand on her at all times—her knee, her back, twirling a strand of her hair. She pretends to be annoyed but leans into every touch.
While she talks, I trace the shell of her ear with my lips. She swats at me half-heartedly.
"I understand timing is critical," she continues. "We'll issue the initial statement in twenty minutes and follow with the security footage within the hour."
When she hangs up, she turns to me with exasperation. "Are you trying to make this impossible?"
"I'm just admiring my wife working."
"Your wife is trying to control a PR disaster."
I take her laptop and set it aside. "My wife is brilliant at her job. And the disaster is already controlled."
"How do you figure that?"
I pull her onto my lap. "Anyone who matters already knows the truth. Coach Anderson, the team."
"The public—"
"The public will believe what they want regardless." I press a kiss to her temple. "In hockey, you learn quick that the only opinions that matter are in the locker room. Everyone else is just noise."
Her hands rest on my chest. "Your endorsements aren't noise. They're your future."
"My future is right here." I touch her face, letting my thumb trace her cheekbone. "The rest is just details."
At first, I was worried about how hard she was working to fix this. But watching her in action—the intelligence, the strategic mind, the absolute competence—my concern has shifted. I don't worry for her anymore. I pity anyone stupid enough to stand in her way.
"Anya's releasing the security footage now," she says, checking her phone. "The full audio transcript will go to selected journalists within the hour."
"And then?"
"And then we wait." She sighs, finally putting her phone down. "Monitor social media response, adjust our strategy if needed."
I pull her closer. "Or we could not do that."
"Sebastian—"
"Kyle's already lost, baby. He just doesn't know it yet." I run my fingers through her hair. "You've outmaneuvered him at every turn."
A small smile finally breaks through her serious expression. "It was pretty satisfying to tell that gossip blogger exactly what Kyle said to me before you intervened."
"See? Crisis handled."
She studies my face. "Why aren't you more worried about this?"
"Because I've already won everything that matters."
"Your career—"
"Is important, but not everything." I meet her gaze directly. "I've proven myself on the ice. Multiple times. Won the championships, broke the records, earned the contracts. If I never played another game, I'd be at peace with what I've accomplished."
"You don't mean that."
"I do." The realization had come to me at the cabin, watching her sleep in the early morning light. "Hockey was everything because I didn't have anything else. Now I do."
"Sebastian..."
"I'm in love with you, Maddison. Not for the cameras. Not for the contract. For real."
She sucks in a sharp breath. "This wasn't part of our agreement."
"Sue me." I plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I fell in love with my wife. Shocking development. Breaking news."
Her eyes search mine, looking for any sign of deception. She won't find any.
"When?" she whispers.
"Maybe the first time I saw you roll your eyes at me across a conference room." I smile at the memory. "Definitely by our wedding night. Without question by the time we left the cabin."
She's quiet for a long moment. Her phone vibrates again, but for the first time, she ignores it.
"I'm in love with you too." Her voice is soft but certain. "I think I have been for a long time."
I pull her closer, resting my forehead against hers. "Then Kyle can say whatever the hell he wants. We already have everything that matters."
Her smile is worth more than every endorsement deal ever signed. "How is this possibly going to work? We're supposed to divorce in a year."
"Change of plans." I kiss her gently. "You're stuck with me now. Forever."
“I feel something stirring.” I sink my hips down freeing space for my erection to flip up. Her eyes widen, “Not now, seriously?”
With one quick manoeuvre I switch places rolling her onto her back on the couch and kiss her deeply.
I stand and release my cock, sliding my pants down in one slick motion.
Mad springs up and immediately grabs my shaft.
She spits and rubs then opens her mouth and slides it down the shaft in one smooth movement.
Bobbing rhythmically, slowly, her saliva lubricating as she sucks.
Her mouth tightens. I slam my eyes shut.
How that might stop me from coming instantly I have no idea, but somehow it works.
Maddison stops, removes her slippery lips, and looks up at me, “I like that change of plan”.
She returns to her work until I stop her just in time.
I flip her around, kneel, spread her ass-cheeks and folds with my thumbs, then slide my tongue between her pussy lips and suddenly delve deeper into her sweet, wet cunt.
She squirms, her butt bucks. I stop, stand, bend forward then I slide my tip into her entrance, slowly, carefully, teasingly, “Oh, for fuck’s sake Sebastian, do it. ”
“No more video distractions, today?”
“Fuck me, husband!”
“Certainly will, my dear… wife” We finish in a sweaty, gasping, but flushed and contented heap and collapse onto the couch.
Mad just curls against me, her head on my chest, while her phone keeps buzzing with notifications neither of us care about anymore.
Let Kyle throw his tantrum. Let the media speculate. The truth is between us, solid and real, and that's all that matters.
Like I said, the rest is just noise.