My Hockey Captain Ex is Now the Ruthless CEO

Paranoia in the Show

The breath froze in my chest.

I stared down at the glowing screen, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The words burned into my eyes and refused to let go.

"Emily?"

Daniel was looking at me across the laminate table. His forehead was creased, his dark eyes locked onto my face.

"What is it?" he asked. "Who texted you?"

I could not speak. Slowly, I turned my head toward the diner window. Outside, the night was pitch black, swallowed by a thick curtain of falling snow. The diner neon sign cast yellow light across the empty asphalt. Near the edge of the lot sat a dark sedan with its engine off. I swore I saw the shadow of a driver sitting behind the wheel.

"Emily, you are white as a sheet." Daniel reached across the table and grabbed my wrists. His grip was tight, his palms warm against my freezing skin. "Look at me. What happened?"

"We need to check your car," I whispered. I jammed my phone into my coat pocket. My mind was spinning too fast to catch a single thought. "Now, Daniel. We have to go outside right now."

"Talk to me." Daniel slid out of the booth and stood up, his tall frame blocking the view of the back room. He threw a bill onto the table without checking it. "Did Vance find us? Is someone sitting outside?"

"Just walk fast," I begged. I grabbed his forearm as we pushed through the glass door.

The winter wind hit us the second we stepped out. My boots crunched against the ice as we hurried toward his car. Every shadow between the parked vehicles felt like a trap waiting to spring.

"Wait." I pulled hard on his sleeve just as his hand touched the driver door handle. "Do not get in."

Daniel frowned, turning around. "Emily, what are you doing? It is freezing out here."

"The brakes," I gasped, my voice shaking in the wind. "Someone texted me. They said they did something to your brakes."

Daniel stopped. The confusion on his face vanished, replaced by a cold glare. He dropped to one knee in the slush, pulled out his phone, and turned on the flashlight. He shined the beam underneath the rear tires, checking the fluid lines, the ground, and the wheels.

He stood up slowly, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. "Everything is fine. The lines are dry. No leaks. Nobody touched this car."

I took a step back, blinking against the wind. "But the text was so specific."

"It was a trick," Daniel said. His voice dropped low as he stepped closer and put his hands on my shoulders. "They did not touch the car. They wanted to mess with your head. They wanted us paranoid, fighting each other, too scared to move."

I looked up at him, my distrust rearing its head. "Or maybe Vance is just warning me. Maybe he wants me to know that being seen with you makes me a target."

Daniel flinched slightly, his eyes darkening. "Is that what you think this is? Me using you?"

"I do not know what to think anymore," I admitted, pulling back until his hands slid off my shoulders. "You have everything to gain if Vance gets exposed. I have my entire future to lose."

"I am not going to throw you to the wolves, Emily," he said, though his voice sounded hurt. "You do not have to trust me yet. But we still need to figure out what Vance is hiding before we make a move."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying we do not rush into his office blindly tomorrow night," Daniel said, wrapping his coat tighter against the wind. "Vance is too smart for that. At the Pep Rally, we do recon first. We figure out who is guarding his hallway and where the safe key is kept. We take this step by step."

I swallowed hard. The logical part of my brain screamed that following Daniel into Vance's office was reckless. But what choice did I have? My uncle already had my notebook. He already suspected I was holding something back. If I did nothing, he would find a way to destroy me anyway.

"Fine," I said. "But we do it carefully. No stupid risks."

"No stupid risks," he repeated.

He opened the passenger door for me. But as I turned to climb inside, my phone vibrated in my palm again.

I looked at the screen. Same hidden number.

Good test, Emily. Now you know I am right behind you.

I spun around, staring wildly into the dark parking lot. There was nothing there. Just the howling wind and the empty road and the shadows between the streetlights.

"Another text?" Daniel asked, leaning over the door frame.

"They are playing with us," I said softly. I stepped into the car and pulled the door shut before he could see the sheer panic in my eyes.

Daniel got into the driver side and started the engine. He drove me home in heavy, uneasy silence. Neither of us spoke. The thin layer of trust between us was stretched so tight it felt ready to snap.

When he pulled up to my apartment building ten minutes later, he kept his eyes on the road. "I will find you near the gymnasium tomorrow before the speech starts. Keep your head down until then."

"Okay," I said. "Drive safe."

I stepped out into the biting cold and hurried inside. I took the stairs to the third floor, my heart heavy with doubt. Halfway up, I stopped and looked out the stairwell window at the parking lot below.

My uncle's black sedan was not there.

He was still at the school, or somewhere else. But he would be home soon. He was always home soon.

I pulled out my keys, unlocked my deadbolt, and pushed the door open.

The apartment was pitch black. I reached for the light switch on the wall and flipped it. Nothing happened. The bulb was dead.

I took a hesitant step inside. My boot kicked against something soft on the floor.

Lying in the center of the entryway was a single, crumpled sheet of notebook paper.

I picked it up with trembling fingers and held it into the hallway light. It was a page torn directly from my missing stat notebook, filled with my own handwriting from the night of the hockey game.

Across the bottom of the page, someone had drawn a heavy red line through Jesse's stat line. Beneath it, in black ink, was a single question.

Who checked the tape before Daniel did?

I recognized the ink immediately. It was the same heavy pen my uncle kept on his desk at school, the one he tapped when he was angry. He had been inside my room. He had gone through my things. And now he was asking me a question he already knew the answer to.