RUINED BY THE RIVAL: THE CAPTAIN’S SECRET SACRIFICE

CHAPTER 4: DEAD KNOCK

RUINED BY THE CAPTAIN

“Check the lock on your door again before you sleep.”

He doesn’t look back at me when he says it, just stands pressed flat to the wall beside the entryway, hand resting loose but ready on the gun at his hip. The knock comes again—slow, heavy, three sharp raps that echo like gunshots through the quiet penthouse. Rain lashes the windows like it’s trying to get in too.

I press my back to the wall a few steps behind him, heart hammering so hard I can hear it over the storm. My lips still tingle from his kiss, hot and raw, like a brand. My skin feels tight, alive, like every nerve is waiting for something to snap.

“Who is it?” Kael calls out, voice flat, cold, no shake in it at all.

“Package for the reporter.” The voice through the wood is rough, unfamiliar, flat as gravel. “League drop-off.”

Kael’s jaw tightens. He glances at me once—sharp, warning—then reaches for the chain. “Stay behind the wall. Don’t move.”

He unlocks the top deadbolt. Then the bottom. Slips the chain loose. Opens the door just enough to see out. I peek around the edge, hands curled tight into fists at my sides.

A man in a plain grey jacket stands on the step, hood pulled low, holding a flat cardboard box. He doesn’t look at Kael. He looks right past him, straight at me, and smiles. Cold. Empty. No teeth showing, just a twist of the mouth that makes my blood run cold.

“Sign here.” He holds out a tablet.

Kael doesn’t take it. “Leave it. No signature needed.”

“Rules.” The man shifts forward half a step. Rain drips off his hood onto the floor. “She has to sign.”

Kael shoves the door wide enough to block me completely. “She’s not signing anything. Leave it or take it back.”

The man stares at him for a long beat. Then he drops the box on the threshold. Hard. It thuds heavy, like something solid inside.

“Tell her it’s from an old friend.” He pulls his hood up and steps back into the rain. “Tell her he remembers what she owes.”

He’s gone before Kael can say another word. Vanished into the dark like smoke. Kael slams the door shut and locks it all three times—fast, sharp, every click loud in the silence. He leans his forehead against the wood for a second, breathing hard, then turns and kicks the box across the floor so it skids away from us.

“Don’t touch it.” He holds up a hand like I’m already reaching. “Not with your hands. Not with anything.”

“What the hell was that?” My voice shakes, sharp and thin. “What did he mean—what I owe?”

He drags a hand down his face, jaw set so hard I can see the muscle feathering. “Nothing you did. Nothing you chose. Debts get passed around in this world. Whether you know it or not.”

I stare at the box sitting twisted on the floor, plain brown, no name, no address. I think of Liam. I think of the note in my pocket. I think of Kael sitting guard outside my door, gun in his lap, acting like being close to me is a death sentence.

“Liam sent it, didn’t he?” I take a step forward, boots dragging heavy. “He’s not just in trouble. He’s working for them. Isn’t he?”

Kael doesn’t answer. He just grabs a pair of kitchen tongs from the counter and kneels down slow. He flips the lid open from the side, staying far back, like it might bite.

Inside, wrapped in old newspaper, is a single broken hockey stick. The same one Kael used in the final game five years ago. Splintered down the middle, scarred, faded tape still blue and white. Taped to the handle is a photo—me, Liam, and Kael, taken the night before the scandal. I’m smiling at Liam. Kael is staring at me like I’m the only thing in the room.

Written on the back in messy, scrawled handwriting: You should have let me take the fall.

Kael goes still. So still I can almost hear his breath catch. His fingers tighten around the tongs until the metal bends.

“He knows,” he says, quiet and broken. “He knows I didn’t do it for hate.”

I reach out without thinking, fingers brushing his shoulder. He flinches like I burned him, then leans into my touch like he’s been starving for it.

“They’re using him to get to you,” I say, voice steady now, hard. “And they’re using me to get to both of you.”

He stands up slow, drops the tongs on the counter with a loud clatter, and looks at me—really looks at me—no mask, no coldness, just raw, exhausted fear.

“I should have sent you away that first day,” he whispers. “I should have made you hate me enough to run.”

“I’m not running.” I step closer, stare right back at him. “And I’m not letting you carry this alone anymore.”

His hand comes up slow, cups my cheek rough and warm. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, right where his lips were earlier.

“They’ll kill us both before they let the truth out,” he says.

“Then we make sure they lose.”

A phone buzzes on the counter—his old burner, the one he hides in the drawer. He snatches it up fast. The screen lights up with a single message: Game starts early. And this time… she plays too.

CHAPTER 4 END