Sugar Baby for the Ice King

ROSALIE Love is just another way to get ruined. I learned that lesson at exactly 9:14 PM, staring through the cracked doorway of the team’s private locker room. My fiancé, Marcus, was the star forward for the city’s minor league hockey team. I had driven down to the rink early to surprise him after their big win, clutching a box of his favorite red velvet cupcakes. I expected to find him celebrating with his teammates. Instead, the team had already cleared out. Through the narrow gap in the door, the heavy scent of sweat, ice, and familiar perfume hit me. Marcus’s jersey was pooled carelessly on the concrete floor. Standing over it was my step-sister, Cynthia. My breath stopped the moment I turned the corner. Marcus had Cynthia pinned against the metal equipment trunks, his hands gripping her waist so tightly like he was afraid she would disappear if he let go. His mouth crashed against hers hungrily, desperately, and the sound of their kissing echoed through the empty hallway. Cynthia gasped as his body pressed harder against hers, making the storage trunks slam loudly against the wall. My mind couldn’t even process what I was seeing. Marcus. My fiancé. The man who had slipped a diamond ring onto my finger three months ago with tears in his eyes. The man who promised me forever. The man who used to hold my face gently and whisper that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And now he was kissing my step-sister like I had never mattered at all. “f**k,” Marcus groaned against her lips. “I’ve wanted you for so damn long.” Cynthia laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Then why did you date Rosalie?” My heart stopped. Everything inside me turned cold. Marcus smirked against her mouth before kissing her again. “You really think I wanted Rosalie?” he muttered. “You were impossible to get close to. But Rosalie?” He laughed quietly. “She made everything easy.” The cupcake box nearly slipped from my trembling fingers. I had spent hours baking those stupid cupcakes because Marcus mentioned once that homemade vanilla cupcakes reminded him of childhood. God. I was pathetic. Cynthia frowned slightly. “But you literally proposed to her.” Marcus rolled his eyes like the engagement meant nothing. “It was temporary,” he said carelessly. “I was already planning to end things. I just needed the perfect timing.” A sharp pain ripped through my chest so violently I could barely breathe. I finally stepped forward before I could stop myself. “What…?” My voice came out cracked and broken. Marcus snapped his head toward the door, his chest heaving as he pulled away from Cynthia. His eyes widened in sheer horror as they locked onto mine. "Rosalie? Wait—" he choked out, panicking as he tried to pull his shirt over his shoulders. "It’s not what it looks like, babe. Let me explain." "Don't touch me," I whispered as he approached me, holding my wrist. Cynthia on the other hand didn't even look guilty. She just smoothed down her tight dress, a small, victorious smirk playing on her lips. Before Marcus could say one more word, I turned on my heel, I sprinted through the concrete corridors of the arena, ignoring Marcus shouting my name behind me. I burst through the heavy exit doors and into the freezing, torrential rain, my heels splashing through the puddles as I tried to find a cab. But I didn't even make it to the street before a sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up directly in front of me, cutting off my path. The rear window rolled down. Sitting in the back seat was Arthur Vance, a wealthy, powerful corporate investor in his late sixties, known for his corrupt reputation and cold eyes. Beside him sat my father, looking pale, sweating, and completely broken. Arthur looked at me, his gaze traveling slowly down my rain-soaked body with a sickening, possessive look. He pushed the car door open, stepping out into the rain and he smiled. It was a terrifying grin that made my stomach violently churn. "There she is," Arthur purred, stepping into my personal space. He reached out a wrinkled, heavy hand, his fingers aiming directly for my wet cheek. "Even prettier when she's angry." "Get away from me!" I gasped, violently flinching and pulling away from his touch, my boots slipping slightly on the wet pavement. "Rose, get in the car and behave yourself!" my father snapped, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger as he stepped out after Arthur. "Are you insane?" I yelled at my father, the rain blinding my eyes. "Marcus just cheated on me with Cynthia! I am not going anywhere with his team's investors!" My father grabbed my upper arm, his grip desperate and painfully tight. He pulled me closer, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "You don't understand, Rosalie. You don't have a choice anymore. The gambling debts... they're going to kill me. I owe three million dollars to people who don't negotiate. You don’t want to be an orphan yet, right? Rose?” I stared at him, the cold rain freezing the blood in my veins. "What does that have to do with me?" "Arthur cleared the slate for me tonight," my father whispered, his voice cracking as he looked back at the old man smiling in the sedan. "He paid every cent. In exchange, I signed the intent contract. You're marrying him next week, Rose. It's the only way to save my life. You belong to his estate now." The betrayal cut deeper than Marcus's. My own father had used my life, my freedom, as collateral to pay for his sins. I was being sold like property to an old predator. With a surge of adrenaline, I ripped my arm out of my father's grip. "Never," I choked out. I turned and ran blindly down the sidewalk, ignoring my father’s furious shouts and the car driving behind me as though trying to convince me to get inside because I wouldn’t survive for too long in the rain. I frantically waved down a passing yellow cab, throwing myself into the backseat before they could further chase me. "Just drive," I told the driver, my voice shaking violently. "Downtown. Goke Hotel. Hurry." As the cab sped away into the stormy night, I stared out the window, my heart hammering against my ribs. If I went back to my apartment, they would find me. If I went to the police, my father's contracts would still ruin me. I was completely cornered. When the cab finally pulled up to the Goke, the city's most exclusive, hyper-luxury high-rise, I pushed through the gold revolving doors. It was a playground for billionaires, the only place safe enough to keep my father's low-life associates past the heavy security. Shivering in my soaked clothes, I bypassed the main lobby and slipped down a carpeted hallway toward the secluded, dimly lit VIP lounge, hiding in the shadows of a deeply recessed booth to catch my breath and stop my hands from shaking. But before I could even process a single tear, a deep, commanding voice cut through the quiet hum of the lounge from the booth right next to mine. It was a voice that vibrated with pure, unfiltered authority. "I don't care what it takes, Frank. Fix it," the voice growled, dark and dangerous. I peeked through the decorative frosted glass divider. Sitting there, looking absolutely massive in a tailored charcoal suit, was Rhett Donovan. The untouchable tech mogul. The brutal, lethal Captain of the city’s professional NHL hockey team. The "Ice King" himself. "Rhett, be realistic," a panicked man in a suit across from him pleaded, rubbing his temples. "The board of directors is strictly traditional. If this playboy PR disaster isn't wiped clean before the corporate merger closes next week, the whole billion-dollar deal collapses. We need to find a respectable, steady girlfriend to display to the media. Fast. Is it really that hard to find someone?" Rhett slammed his glass onto the mahogany table, the crystal rattling loudly. His jaw was set in a rigid, terrifying line. "Then find one! How f*****g hard is it to find a woman who can keep her mouth shut and play a role for a check? Get me anyone, as long as she can fool the board!" Anyone. The word echoed in my mind, flashing alongside the image of Arthur’s wrinkled hand and my father's transactional betrayal. If I stayed running, I was a possession. If I stepped into that light, I might just buy my freedom. Rhett Donovan needed a flawless deception. I needed three million dollars. Stepping out of the shadows, my wet heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, I walked straight up to their table. Rhett's piercing, icy grey eyes snapped upward, tracking the rain dripping from my hair down to my trembling, defiant jaw. I looked the Ice King dead in the eye, masking my terror with every ounce of strength I had left. "I’ll be your girlfriend," I said, my voice ringing clearly through the quiet lounge. "For three million dollars."