ON ENEMY ICE

CHAPTER TEN

JACE

I am three steps down the corridor when the weight of my pockets shifts.

I stop dead on the marble tile. I check my coat. Empty. I can picture it with absolute clarity: face down on the dark leather cushion where I was sitting, discarded right next to the roses I left behind like trash.

I turn on my heel. The heavy oak door to the private interview room is shut tight, sealing the silence inside.

I twist the brass handle and push it open.

Elian is sitting on my couch. His long legs are stretched out over the edge, his trophy sits on the floor by his wingtips, and my phone is trapped in his palm, the screen bleeding light across his fingers because he’s already breached it. My roses are crushed beneath his weight where he’s leaning back, entirely too comfortable.

He looks up as the door clicks, holding the device up like a trophy he didn't earn.

"Looking for this?" he asks, his voice dripping with that infuriating golden-boy confidence.

I extend my hand, my voice level. "Give it to me."

He doesn’t move. He turns the phone over, studying the absolute void of the lock screen. Just a black interface and the digital clock.

"Wow," Elian murmurs, his smirk widening. "Even your lock screen looks like a monolith. No picture? No secret girlfriend? No little mafia manifesto?"

"Give me the phone, Cole," I say, dropping my tone an octave.

"Say please," he replies, shifting back into the leather, anchoring himself into the space I just occupied.

"I am not begging you for my own property."

"You are so damn rigid," he says, tilting his head, his green eyes scanning me like he's looking for a weakness to exploit. "Has anyone ever told you that you walk like an enforcer even when you're off the ice? You’re a statue, Rhys. You think your silence makes you look dangerous, but it just makes you boring."

"I think I’m better than you because I understand the concept of boundaries," I say, taking a step into the room.

"Possessive, aren't we?" Elian mocks, his thumb dragging across the glass. "It’s a piece of plastic, Jace. What are you hiding? Supply lines? Execution orders? Scouting reports?"

"Give. It. Back."

"Make me," he barks, and there it is—that sharp, reckless flash of defiance in his eyes that has been hunting me for years.

Something violent and instantaneous snaps in my chest. Two hours of his voice. Two hours of him trailing me from media scrum to media scrum, breathing the same air, bleeding into my space.

I cross the floor in a fraction of a second.

I seize the lapels of his green velvet jacket with one hand, lifting him slightly as I slam him back against the wall next to the NCAA backdrop. The entire frame rattles.

Before he can recover, my other hand drives upward, my forearm pinning him hard against his collarbone, my palm locking against the column of his throat. Not to cut off his air. To paralyze him. To force him to look at the monster he keeps poking through the bars.

He lets out a sharp, caught breath, but he doesn’t fight the restraint. His fingers fly up, locking around my wrist, his nails digging into my skin like claws, but he doesn’t try to break the hold.

"Stay out of my perimeter," I hiss, my face inches from his. I can feel the frantic, terrified rhythm of his pulse drumming against my palm. Up close, the green of his eyes is blinding, frantic with a sudden hit of adrenaline. "I am not your playground. I am not your media prop. I am not your friend. Do not touch what belongs to me. Do not follow me. Do not speak to me. Step out of my path, Cole. Am I clear?"

He stares back, his breathing ragged against the pressure of my hand. Then, with terrifying slowness, his mouth curves into that same arrogant, suicidal smirk.

"Or what?" his voice is rough, strained against my forearm, but entirely steady. "You’ll break me? Go ahead, Rhys. Let the world see what’s behind the ice prince facade."

"You think everything can be negotiated," I say, my fingers tightening against the velvet of his jacket.

"I think you’re terrified of admitting that we’re cut from the exact same cloth," he fires back, his nails drawing blood on my wrist. "You look at everyone like they’re beneath your family's empire. But on the ice, Tie says we bleed the exact same color. Whether your legacy likes it or not."

"We are nothing alike," I drop the words like lead.

"Then prove it," he challenges. "Let me go. If you're so much more disciplined than me, walk away."

I shove off him with enough force to send him staggering. He hits the wall again, catching himself by the molding, his velvet jacket rumpled, the skin above his collar stained a dark, angry red where my hand had been.

I snatch my phone from the cushion where it fell when I lunged. I leave the roses. I refuse to leave a single trace of myself in this room with him.

Without another look, I wrench the door open and slam it shut behind me.

Halfway down the hall, near the shadow of the alcove leading to the restrooms, I freeze.

Tian is pinned flat against the marble wall by Novak. Novak has one hand planted hard against the stone beside Tian’s ear, caging him into a physical trap, their bodies completely flushed. They are breaths apart. Their lips are hovering, almost touching, and the harsh sconce light cuts across Novak's shoulder, throwing a massive, consuming shadow over Tian.

Tian looks completely trapped—half defiant, half complicit. His fists are clenched tight at his sides, his head tipped back against the cold marble, his eyes fiercely locked onto Novak's mouth in a silent, desperate war against his own denial.

What I see happening isn't my concern. I walk past without breaking my stride.

I enter the main hall, navigating the suffocating crowd of corporate donors and mafia affiliates toward the double-door exit, when a voice cuts through the ambient noise.

"Well, if it isn't the league’s second most expensive asset," Cassian Vale calls out. He is leaning against a marble pillar, his tie completely undone, a champagne flute dangling from his fingers. Theo is right beside him.

"The media’s favorite rivalry looked exceptionally lethal tonight. Tell me, Jace, where did you leave your other half?"

I stop. My gaze drops to him like stone.

Theo is standing directly behind Cassian, his arms casually folded over Cassian’s shoulder, his chin resting a top them. He reads the violence in my expression instantly.

"Uh-oh," Theo says, his voice a smooth, low purr. "I know that particular brand of rage."

He detaches one hand, patting Cassian’s hair with a slow, patronizing rhythm.

"My condolences, Vale. I’ll personally ensure your family handles the funeral arrangements after our next scrimmage."

Cassian scoffs, completely oblivious to the calculating look in Theo's eyes as he strokes his hair. "Please. The big man couldn't crack my defense if he spent his whole inheritance trying."

I take one slow step into their space. My voice stays perfectly conversational, which makes it worse.

"My private ring," I say, locking eyes with Cassian. "Twenty-one hundred hours. Tomorrow night. You and me. Don’t make me wait."

Theo’s face splits into a sharp, beautiful grin that doesn't reach his eyes. He looks down at Cassian.

"s**t. You’re in for a bloodbath. Pray he doesn't damage that face, Vale. It’s the only asset your family's firm actually values."

Cassian turns his face slightly, looking up at Theo with a practiced, lazy pout. "I'm wounded, Theo. You're playing dirty tonight."

Theo rolls his eyes. "Please. With your lifestyle, petty insults don't even scratch the surface. Nothing verbal lands with you anyway."

"True," Theo murmurs, his voice dropping into a dangerous, intimate register as he leans his face down until their skin is almost touching, his eyes narrowing. "Want to see how I handle the physical side instead?"

Cassian's pupils dilate by a fraction of a millimeter. It is a biological tell that ninety-nine percent of the room would miss, but I see it. He goes perfectly still under Theo's shadow, rooted to the spot, refusing to pull away.

I watch the transaction with a cold, analytical eye.

"I believe the real headline couple is standing right here," I say smoothly.

That comment hits its mark. Theo tries to detach instantly, his calculated cool slipping, but Cassian handles it like a playboy. He laughs it off, locking his fingers together, trapping Theo’s arms around his own neck, pinning Theo’s chin back down onto his shoulder to restrict his escape.

"Caught us red-handed," Cassian grins up at me, his tone light and easy. "Should we tell him our secret, babe?"

Theo’s expression hardens into something terrifyingly sharp for a split second before he digs his elbow into Cassian’s ribs.

"Babe, my ass. I wouldn't merge our assets if your family went bankrupt and paid me to sign the contract, Vale."

Cassian laughs, the sound rich and unbothered, but he drapes his arm back over Theo's shoulder, claiming the space. Theo shoves it off with a practiced flick. Cassian replaces it a second later.

To anyone watching from the corporate tables, it is just their usual high-society banter.

But I catch the precise moment Theo's facade hitches. A brief, micro-tenseness in the muscles of his back. A sudden, hyper-focused darkness that flashes in his eyes before vanishing beneath his golden-boy mask. He doesn't voice a single complaint. He just keeps the banter alive, smiling, elbowing Cassian away while Cassian laughs and keeps his fingers locked into his suit.

I just stand there, decoding the silent chess match between them.