Claimed by the Ice Heir

Restricted Airspace

The recorder felt cold and heavy in my hand as I walked away from the rink. Kaelen’s words kept playing in my head, especially his threat about Callan. I was so focused on it that I barely noticed the heating system running above me.

I wanted to press play.

I wanted to hear my brother’s voice right there and prove that Kaelen was lying. Maybe this was just another way for him to mess with my head. Another trick to make me doubt myself.

But the hallway outside the locker room was dark and quiet. It was narrow, and the only sound came from water dripping through the pipes above.

I looked down at the recorder.

My thumb hovered over the play button.

I was scared of what I might hear.

But I was even more scared of what it would mean if Kaelen had been telling the truth.

​I took three rapid steps toward the exit doors, clutching my satchel against my chest like a shield.

​"Running away so soon, Goldie?"

​I whipped around, my spine snapping straight. Kaelen had stepped off the ice. ​"I have a lecture in twenty minutes," I said. "And I'm not playing your games down here, Mercer."

​Kaelen didn't answer right away. He casually reached out, leaning one massive forearm against the locker right beside my head, effectively trapping me between his broad frame and the cold metal doors. He dropped the towel around his neck.

​"You brought a laminated schedule to our first session," Kaelen murmured.

​"It's called discipline," I snapped, leaning back as far as the lockers allowed. "Something you clearly know nothing about unless it involves beating a rubber puck across a sheet of ice."

​"It's not discipline, Marigold," Kaelen rasped, "It's fear."

​ "I am not afraid of you."

​"I'm not talking about me," he whispered, leaning down until his shadow completely swallowed me. His chest, still broad and rising with heavy post-practice breaths, was inches from mine. "You hide behind your neat little schedules and your high GPA because you think if you control every second of your day, the world can't hurt you again. You think a piece of paper is going to save your family."

​"Stop talking about my family," I choked out, my knuckles turning white as I squeezed the silver recorder in my hand. "You don't know anything about my life."

​"I know you spend half your night staring at tuition notices," Kaelen said, "I know you haven't bought a new coat in three years. And I know you think if you just follow all the rules, if you're just the perfect little scholarship girl, you can fix the mess Callan made."

​The truth of his words hit me like a violent slap. Tears of raw, suffocating frustration pricked the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

​He was stripping away every layer of armor I had painstakingly built since high school. He was mocking the very survival mechanisms that kept me afloat in a university built for the elite.

​"Why do you care?" I whispered, "Why do you care so much about tearing me down, Kaelen? You have everything! You have the Mercer name, the money, the athletic talent, the future! I have nothing! Why can't you just leave me alone?"

​The mockingly arrogant tilt of Kaelen's jaw vanished instantly.

​"You think I have everything?" Kaelen rasped, his bare hand coming up to rest on the locker beside my other ear, trapping me completely in his space. His fingers twitched against the metal, his hot, ragged breath brushing over my lips. "You think having a name that feels like an iron collar around your neck is having everything?"

​He leaned in closer, until the tips of our noses almost touched, his glacier-blue eyes burning into mine with a terrifying, wild desperation.

​"I mocked your schedule because it's a lie, Goldie," he whispered, his voice trembling with a dark, raw emotion that shook me to my core. "Because no matter how many hours you plan, no matter how many rules you follow... My father already wrote the ending to your story three years ago. And you're blaming the wrong man for letting him hold the pen."

​My heart hammered so violently I felt lightheaded. "What are you talking about?"

​"Press play on the recorder," Kaelen breathed, his gaze dropping to my lips before dragging back up to lock onto my eyes with a chilling promise. "Look at the time stamp on that bank call. Then check where Callan was the night your scholarship almost got revoked in high school."

​Before I could process his words, Kaelen pulled back, stepping out of my space as quickly as he had invaded it. He grabbed his towel, turned on his heel, and walked down the dimly lit hallway toward the showers without looking back once.

​The silence returned to the concrete corridor, heavy and suffocating.

​My legs felt like lead. I slid down the front of the cold metal locker until I was sitting on the concrete floor, my knees pulled up to my chest. My hands were shaking uncontrollably.

​I looked down at the silver digital recorder in my hand.

​Slowly, with a sickening wave of terror pooling in my stomach, I pressed the small black play button.

​A static hiss filled the quiet hallway, followed by the crisp, recorded audio of a phone call.

​"Oslo Central Bank, private wealth division," a professional female voice chimed through the small speaker. "How can I assist you today?"

​A familiar, handsome voice answered a voice I had trusted my entire life, a voice that had promised to protect me when our father died.

​"This is Callan Solberg," my brother's voice said smoothly over the line. "I need to authorize a transfer from account 402 to the Mercer Foundation clearinghouse. The full thirty thousand Euros."

​"Certainly, Mr. Solberg. And the authorization code?"

​"Use my sister's social security number," Callan replied without a single second of hesitation. "She doesn't monitor the secondary scholarship trust anyway. She thinks the money was lost in the high school transfer."

​The recording cut out with a sharp beep.

​My brother hadn't just kept secrets. He had stolen my future and used my name to sell me out to the Mercers years ago.