Riding The c**k Of My Hockey Ex’s Hot Daddy

CHAPTER 015: THE STATEMENT

JADA

Horace stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “That is not reassuring, Jada.”

~

Jordan stepped forward, holding out a digital security badge toward Nora. “Miss Nora, I need to escort you down to the main security desk to formalize your clearance logs. Mr. Wallace requires a full background validation before you can stay on this floor.”

Nora rolled her eyes, shoving her hands into her pockets as she looked at Jordan’s neat suit and serious expression. “Oh, look at you, corporate Batman. Stop hovering over me. I’m not going to steal the expensive coasters.”

“You entered a restricted residential building by pretending to be a food delivery person and threatening a trained security guard with a container of soup, Miss Nora,” Jordan said, his voice completely deadpan behind his glasses.

“The soup was boiling hot and the guard was being incredibly rude to me,” Nora said, completely unbothered. “It was a functional negotiation.”

Jordan pushed the elevator button, his mouth twitching slightly before he caught himself. “You are a significant operational liability.”

Nora walked past him into the elevator bay, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “And you are completely allergic to fun, Jordan. Move out of my way.”

~

By afternoon, the television in the main room was flashing with sports news updates. Jordan cleared his throat and pointed a remote at the screen, bringing up a live press clip from the stadium downtown.

Zayden was standing in front of a wall of microphones, wearing his official team jersey. He looked calm, his face practiced as he looked into the cameras.

“Jada has been through a very traumatic experience with the fire,” Zayden said into the microphone, his voice smooth and full of fake sympathy. “The entire Wallace organization just hopes she gets the professional medical help she needs right now. It’s a difficult family matter, and her sister, Mila, has been unfairly dragged into a lot of old, irrelevant drama because of it.”

A reporter leaned over the front row, thrusting a microphone forward. “Zayden! What about the warehouse location? Are the police investigating the arson leads?”

Zayden did not look at the reporter. He simply waved his hand, adjusted his jersey cuffs, turned his back to the microphones, and walked straight out of the press room without giving a single answer.

I watched the screen with a completely blank face. My skin went completely cold.

He had sat right there on the screen and talked about medical help, but his mouth never opened about the three days his phone rang while I was locked in the dark.

“That complete piece of trash,” Nora cursed, slamming her coffee mug down onto the counter. “He is setting the stage to make you look crazy to the public.”

Horace did not look at the television screen once. He stood by the edge of the sofa, his eyes fixed entirely on my profile, watching for any sign of a breakdown.

I did not cry. I did not feel like crying; I just felt a cold, clear focus taking over my mind.

I turned to Jordan. “How quickly can we release a formal statement correcting this timeline without making me sound desperate for media attention?” I asked.

Jordan looked up from his tablet, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He looked over at Horace, who was still studying my face with a quiet, intense look of approval that he did not bother to hide this time.

~

We sat around the large marble island for the next hour, working through the wording of the press release piece by piece.

I typed out the initial draft on the laptop Jordan provided, my fingers moving fast across the keys as the professional terms came back to me naturally. Horace leaned over my shoulder, his large hand resting on the back of my chair as he read the lines over my head. The proximity between us was distracting, his warm breath hitting the side of my neck, but we both kept our focus entirely on the text.

“Change this paragraph,” Horace said, pointing a finger at the screen. He dictated a sharper, harder sentence that completely exposed the timeline of my hospital admission.

I highlighted the line and deleted half of it. “No. That sounds too threatening, Horace.”

“Threats are highly effective in corporate management, Jada,” he said, his voice low.

“Women get called unstable and hysterical when they threaten powerful men in public,” I countered, looking up until my jaw almost brushed his jacket. “I am going to let the cold facts do the work for me. It leaves them with nothing to fight.”

Horace looked down at me for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. “You remember high-level strategy even when you don't remember your own identity, Jada.”

“Then maybe I was never as pathetic as my family keeps hoping I was,” I said.

We uploaded the statement, and within ten minutes, the online news outlets picked it up. The comments began to change rapidly, the public turning their suspicion back onto Mila’s sudden takeover of my accounts. It was working.

Then, my phone hummed with a live notification from Mila’s verified social media page.

A new video clip appeared. Mila was sitting on a white sofa, her eyes red and tearing softly as she looked into the camera. “Jada has always had a way of twisting the facts to suit her narrative when she feels cornered,” Mila said into the lens, her voice shaking with fake sorrow. “Our family has definitive medical proof that this is not the first time my sister has faked severe memory loss to gain public attention and financial leverage over our mother.”

Directly below the video link was a scanned, multi-page psychiatric evaluation report. I scrolled down to the final page and froze.

There was a signature at the bottom of the medical assessment, written in clear, dark ink. It was my name, written in my exact handwriting.

“I don't remember signing that,” I signed softly, my voice completely losing its strength.

Horace reached down and took the tablet out of my hands. His eyes scanned the document, moving down to the digital timestamp and the official date printed at the top of the header.

Suddenly, his entire frame went completely still, his features turning to stone.

“You couldn't have signed this document, Jada,” Horace said, his voice dropping into a deep, absolute chill.

I looked up at him, my heart stopping in my chest. “Why?”

Horace set the tablet down flat against the marble counter, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying certainty. “Because you were with me in Room 1704 the entire night this report was issued.”