Page 1 of Cold Carnage

Chapter 1

Paige

Istared at my reflection in the sleek bathroom mirror of the Serpents’ headquarters, willing my nerves to settle. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare that made my skin look pale and drawn. I smoothed my hands over my blazer, the stiff fabric a far cry from the relaxed, familiar wardrobe I’d left behind when I traded my small-town life for this high-stakes role.

Assistant General Manager of the Detroit Serpents.

I repeated the title silently, trying to convince myself I belonged here. The white blazer hugged my shoulders too tightly, its sharp lines clashing with the memory of cozy flannels and worn jeans. My reflection stared back with wide eyes that couldn’t quite hide the flicker of uncertainty beneath their surface.

You earned this. You belong here.

My mind raced. Working here was risky. Not because of the demanding hours or high expectations—though those were challenges on their own—but becauseheplayed for the team. The thought sent a ripple of tension through me, but I shoved it down, just like always. If I kept my head down and focusedon my job, there was no reason our paths would cross. We were worlds apart in this massive organization, after all.

The bathroom door creaked open, and two staff members strolled in, laughing about some inside joke. Their laughter echoed against the tiled walls. They glanced my way but didn’t say a word, their attention already drifting elsewhere as they continued their conversation.

My stomach tightened into a knot. I took a deep breath, reminding myself this was just another test.You’ve been underestimated before. You can handle it.

I turned away from the mirror and stepped toward the sink, letting the cold water run over my fingers. It was soothing, a brief reprieve from the tension coiling inside me. The two staff members leaned against the counter beside me, still engrossed in their conversation.

“Did you see Weston’s face when he found out about the trade?” one of them said, chuckling.

“Priceless,” the other replied. “He’s never going to live that down.”

I forced myself to focus on their words instead of the nagging voice in my head telling me I was out of place. The water continued to run over my fingers, grounding me in this moment.

One of them glanced at me again, curiosity flickering in her eyes for a brief second before she returned to her conversation.

I turned off the faucet and dried my hands slowly, each motion deliberate. It was time to step out of this bathroom and into that conference room with my head held high.

My thoughts drifted to Minka Mathers, the Serpents’ young owner, who had taken a gamble on me this past summer. After her uncle was forced to step down as owner until Minka graduated, she saw potential in me that no one else had.

"This isn’t a charity hire," she’d assured me during the interview. "I don’t care what anyone says, you’re ready. Justkeep your head up and don’t let them intimidate you. You’re here to do a job."

If anyone understood the sentiment, it was Minka herself. Her first month of college, she endured her own slew of controversies including breaking off an engagement and scandalous videos released of her and her team's number one draft pick. And she was still here, head held high.

I hadn’t forgotten that conversation, even though the pressure seemed to settle heavier on my shoulders with every passing moment. This wasn’t just about hockey. It was about proving that I could stand on my own two feet.

I took a deep breath and straightened my posture. The mirror reflected the face of someone ready to fight for her place. Maybe not perfectly polished like the other staff members, but determined.

It’s just another room full of people. You’ve been in worse situations.

With one last glance at my reflection, I left the bathroom and headed down the corridor to the Serpents’ conference room. The sound of my heels clicking against the polished floor echoed through the hallway, each step a reminder of the weight on my shoulders. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh glare that matched the unease twisting in my stomach.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, lined with framed photographs of past victories and legends of the team. I paused briefly in front of one picture, an action shot of Minka’s grandfather, the founder of the NHL team, celebrating a championship win. His grin was infectious despite his serious reputation. He passed about a year ago, his legacy up in the air, especially after it was made public that Minka would inherit the team upon her graduation at the prestigious Crestwood Academy.

You can do this,I reminded myself, squaring my shoulders as I continued walking.

The door to the conference room loomed ahead, a barrier between me and what felt like a battlefield before the whistle had even blown. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was filled with the buzz of conversation and rustling papers. A long table dominated the space, surrounded by stern-faced executives and coaches. They turned to look at me as I entered, their eyes weighing and measuring me in an instant.

And him.

Fuck.

I didn't think I'd see him this soon, but…

Across from the coach sat Ryker Kane, the team’s captain and my ex-boyfriend's older brother. His glacier-blue eyes tracked my every movement with an intensity that could freeze water. I hoped he didn't recognize me—we met only a handful of times—but no. He knew me. His expression was a mask of stoic indifference, but I knew better. His sharp gaze and perfectly chiseled features made him look as untouchable in person as he did on the ice. His reputation preceded him: elite athlete, no-nonsense leader, and emotionally cold as the rink he dominated.

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