Page 93 of Cold Carnage

“I don’t understand why you always put yourself in these situations,” she continued. “You should’ve listened to me and taken that safer job offer.”

I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of frustration and shame. “Mom, I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up on me?—”

“I’ll handle it,” I said firmly before ending the call.

The car felt like a cage around me as I stared at my phone screen again. Those photos were more than just a violation—they were a twisted reflection of how exposed and vulnerable I'd become.

I took a breath, then another, but the panic wouldn’t subside. For the first time, I had no idea how to fix this. I glanced at the photos again, feeling the sting of betrayal and exposure. How had it come to this? My career, my reputation—all hanging by a thread because of a few stolen moments.

“You may be a lot of things,” I whispered to myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter, “but you’re no coward.”

I started the engine and pulled away from the curb. The road stretched out before me, dark and empty, mirroring my thoughts. As I drove to the rink, the city lights blurred into a dizzying swirl. I focused on the task ahead: finding a way to clean up this mess.

When I reached the rink, it stood silent and imposing despite the bright sunlight. The arena's shadows seemed deeper tonight, as if they knew the weight of what lay inside. I parked and made my way to the entrance, my footsteps echoing in the stillness.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. The familiar scent of ice and sweat hit me like a wave, grounding me in reality.

I steeled myself as I walked to Gideon’s office, my heart pounding in my chest. Each step echoed through the deserted hallway, amplifying the dread that had settled in my gut. I paused at the door, taking a deep breath before knocking.

"Enter," his voice called from within.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Gideon sat behind his massive oak desk, papers neatly arranged in front of him. His sharp eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. He had the kind of face that could have been chiseled from stone—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a perpetual look of stern focus. His black hair was combed back meticulously, not a strand out of place.

I wished I could read his expression, but his face was an impenetrable mask. His eyes, a cold gray, revealed nothing.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. "We have much to discuss."

I lowered myself into the seat, my back straight and hands clasped tightly in my lap. The room felt oppressively silent, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights.

He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the desk. "You know why you're here," he began.

I nodded, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. Apologizing felt like the right thing to do, but the words lodged in my throat.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. "These pictures, Paige... They're a disaster. And Ryker's fight with Brendan? This team has already endured too many scandals. I brought you on board to help us manage these crises, not to add fuel to the fire."

His disappointment cut deeper than any reprimand I had ever received. I felt a hollow ache in my chest as he continued.

"The Serpents needed someone who could steer us through troubled waters. I believed you could be that person," he said, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the stress. "But now... I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I understand," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"And Paige," he added, his tone softer but no less firm, "stay away from Kane."

"Understood," I replied, rising from the chair. I made my way to the door, each step heavier than the last.

I stopped and turned back to face him. "You know," I began, taking a deep breath to steady myself, "I never wanted this to happen."

His expression remained unreadable as he listened.

"The Serpents are a legacy built by grit and unconventional methods," I continued. "Trying to assimilate into the culture of hockey dictates is only hurting the franchise. Maybe we should embrace being a team full of scandal instead."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my outburst. "Is that your professional advice?"

I shook my head slowly. "More of a realization," I admitted. "I've spent my whole life fighting to prove something—to be what everyone else wants me to be—and honestly? I'm tired. I'm tired of putting everyone else's needs over mine. And I think the team needs to do the same."

For a moment, silence hung between us like an unspoken truth.

---