Chapter 8
1946 Words
MARY'S POV
"Put me down, you bastard!"
I hissed sharply, pounding my fists against Ryder's hard back as he carried me over his shoulder toward the penthouse's private elevator.
Instead of listening, his muscular arm clamped tighter around the back of my thighs. A low rumble of laughter vibrated in his chest, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.
"Stop struggling, Princess. Your precious ex is watching us from across the street."
My eyes widened. Henry?
"Good." Ryder's smirk widened, even though I couldn't see his face. "Show him how incredibly happy you are with me."
"Put me down right now, Vance!"
"No."
Then, without warning, his large fingers dug into my sides.
"Ryder!" I shrieked.
My body thrashed wildly as he mercilessly tickled my most sensitive spots. The overwhelming sensation completely shattered my defenses. An embarrassing burst of laughter tore from my lips, tangled with breathless, incoherent curses.
"Stop! Ah—you're the worst!"
"So you can laugh."
"Ryder!"
The man only laughed harder. Even after the elevator doors slid shut, he still didn't put me down.
Bastard. He was definitely taking advantage of the situation.
As soon as the doors opened on the top floor, Ryder strolled into the master bedroom and tossed me onto the bed.
My back bounced lightly against the plush mattress. My laughter died instantly. Suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that we were now completely alone in his bedroom, I scrambled backward and sat up straight.
"I told you not to touch me!" I accused, struggling to catch my breath. "You crossed the line, Vance."
Ryder didn't look the least bit guilty. Towering at the edge of the bed, he stared down at me with an expression that drove me absolutely crazy.
Without breaking eye contact, he shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Next came his watch. Then, to my horror, he reached for his belt and loosened it.
The breath hitched in my throat. I stood up immediately.
"Enough."
"What?" he asked innocently, though his dark eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Stop acting weird."
The smirk on his lips deepened.
I quickly stepped to the side, intending to brush past him and escape the room before all the oxygen vanished. But the second I moved, Ryder's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist.
I froze. My heart skipped a beat.
Ryder stared at me in silence for a few heavy seconds. His gaze dropped to my lips, making a sudden, frantic swarm of butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Then—he let go. Just like that.
"Just making sure you weren't going to run away again," he murmured casually.
I blinked, trying to process his sudden shift in demeanor. "Oh."
"Disappointed?"
"What?!"
Ryder let out a low chuckle.
Realizing he was playing me, I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. "Don't hold your breath waiting for me to kiss you."
Ryder held my gaze for two seconds. Then, very slowly, he leaned in.
He simply erased the distance between us.
"Which part of what I just said sounded like I was asking for one, Princess?" he whispered, his raspy voice absolutely lethal.
Checkmate.
My heart hammered twice as fast. I practically threw my head back and took a hasty step away, desperately trying to mask my flustered state.
Watching me unravel, Ryder let out a soft laugh. It sounded incredibly arrogant. Incredibly satisfied.
"That's cute," he murmured.
"What's cute?" I snapped.
"I haven't even asked yet."
Heat flared violently across my cheeks. Infuriating. This man was absolutely infuriating.
Ryder turned toward the door, leaving me rooted to the spot. "Go to sleep, Princess," he ordered.
But just as his hand grabbed the doorknob, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, and stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss me."
The door clicked shut.
I glared at door for two full seconds, my chest heaving. Without thinking twice, I snatched the nearest pillow and hurled it at the door with all my might.
"I'm not thinking about that!" I yelled.
From the other side of the door, his fading laughter echoed through the hall.
"Sure you aren't."
___
The Next Day.
I was back in the stands at the Kingsley ice arena. The exact same place. The place I used to visit religiously, never missing a single day.
Back then, despite our three-year age gap, I would arrive early. Even though I was still just a high schooler and he was already playing college hockey, I didn't mind looking out of place. Wearing my high school varsity jacket on a university campus, I would sit obediently in this very seat to watch Henry practice. I would wait faithfully for him to finish. Bring him his drinks. Listen to his complaints about the games. Loving him like a naive girl who believed life was a fairytale.
Now? Just looking at this rink made me sick to my stomach.
I crossed my legs, leaning back comfortably in the bleachers while pulling my coat tighter around me. The sound of scraping skates and clashing hockey sticks echoed through the arena, but my mind was miles away from the drill happening below.
Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't here for Henry Davis.
And somehow, that realization felt incredibly satisfying.
TWEEEET!
Coach Donovan's whistle pierced the air. I looked up.
Henry's playing today was an absolute disaster. Missed passes. Losing the puck. Shots that went wide of the net. A few of his teammates were already throwing their hands up in frustration on the ice.
The Henry I knew was a nearly flawless captain. But today? He was playing like a madman whose brain was somewhere else entirely.
Then, I realized why.
His eyes.
From behind his visor, Henry's eyes kept darting up to the stands. Searching for me. Again. And again. And again.
I nearly laughed out loud. What a twisted irony. I had spent years of my life dressing up, praying Henry would spare me a glance while he was in his element. And now, when the man finally couldn't tear his attention away from me...
I simply didn't care.
Our eyes met across the ice. Henry froze mid-stride, letting the play continue right past him. He stared at me like he was begging for a reaction. Anything. Anger. Disappointment. Tears. Longing.
Unfortunately for him, my emotional well had completely dried up.
I held the eye contact for one full second—just long enough to let him know I saw exactly how pathetic he looked—and then deliberately turned my head away. I pulled my phone from my purse, opened a text from Elena, and completely erased Henry from my existence.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Henry's jaw clench so hard the veins in his neck popped.
A small smile played on my lips. It turned out that being ignored like you didn't even exist hurt infinitely worse than being hated.
"Henry!”
Coach Donovan's voice boomed across the arena. Every player skated to a halt.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?!" the coach barked, his face flushed red. "A week from now we have the finals! Focus!"
Henry was breathing heavily. With a violent jerk, he ripped off his gloves and slammed his hockey stick against the rink boards.
CLANG!
"Maybe you should ask Vance," Henry hissed sharply.
The arena fell dead silent. Coach Donovan's brows furrowed. "What?"
Henry let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Don't think I don't know what's going on."
"Excuse me?"
"You've been trying to replace me ever since that bastard transferred here!" Henry pointed an accusatory finger.
Coach Donovan stared at his captain for a few seconds before letting out a long, exhausted sigh, like an old man who had finally run out of patience. "Oh, for God's sake." He pointed at the ice. "I'm trying to win games, Davis!"
A suffocating tension blanketed the team.
Then, Coach Donovan leaned forward, his voice dropping into something cold and final. "And if you can't control your emotions long enough to play hockey... maybe I should start looking for another captain."
Boom.
All the color drained from Henry's face. His entire ego had just been trampled in front of his team. Without another word, he turned his back and stormed off the ice toward the locker room tunnel, completely ignoring his coach yelling after him.
I rested my head against the plastic seat. I didn't know why, but watching him lose his grip and destroy the one thing he was proudest of felt vastly more satisfying than I ever imagined.
The college girls in the bleachers immediately jumped to their feet, waving their hands frantically like they were welcoming a rockstar. Which, honestly, wasn't far from the truth. Dressed in a tight black tee and dark sweatpants, Ryder Vance's presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
But the most ridiculous part about the screaming girls was the fact that Ryder didn't even spare them a single glance.
The second his boots hit the rubber matting by the rink, his eyes locked onto me in the upper stands.
As if out of the hundreds of people cheering for him, there was only one person in the room. Me.
Ryder's dark gaze pinned me in place. Lazily, he lifted his right hand, tapped his index and middle fingers against his lips, and pointed straight at me.
A simple, universally dominating gesture.
Stay there. I'm coming.
Dammit. My cheeks flared hot without my permission. How could a man look so arrogant and yet so devastating just by lifting his fingers?
The screaming in the stands pitched higher at his gesture. And down by the tunnel entrance, I saw Henry's retreating figure abruptly stop.
His gaze whipped from Ryder down below, up to me, and back to Ryder. His hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles turned bone-white.
But before Henry could react any further, Coach Donovan stepped right into Ryder's path.
"Vance."
Ryder's casual stride halted.
"Join the varsity team," the coach fired off without any preamble. "Kingsley needs a player with your Canadian league stats. Name your terms."
Ryder's answer came without a millisecond of hesitation. "No."
Coach Donovan frowned. "You haven't even heard the offer."
Ryder let out a dry, humorless chuckle. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking completely indifferent to the school's pride and joy.
"My terms? Coach, I captained a national-level team in Canada," Ryder drawled, his baritone voice echoing clearly across the dead-silent arena. "With all due respect, playing for Kingsley's varsity isn't an opportunity for me. It's a massive downgrade."
A collective gasp rippled through the stands. The air around me seemed to freeze. Down below, I could visibly see the veins bulging in Henry's neck.
Then, Ryder's dark eyes shifted, landing on Henry who was standing stiffly by the tunnel. A cruel, lopsided smirk touched the corner of Ryder's mouth.
"Besides," Ryder added mockingly, "looks like you already have a captain who... tries his best."
It was the ultimate disrespect. Ryder was provoking him on purpose, and the brilliant part was, everyone in the room knew it.
Without bothering to wait for a reply, Ryder walked past the stunned coach. He turned his body, his eyes finding mine once again.
Then, he started walking toward the bleacher stairs, heading straight for me.
His strides were unhurried. Confident. Lethal.
And for some reason... my heart, which had been perfectly calm all afternoon, began to beat far faster than it should.
- Writer
