Page 87 of Misconducts & Temptation

I picked up speed again, driving myself harder and faster until my muscles screamed for relief. This was my sanctuary—this brutal dance on the ice where nothing else mattered but strength and precision.

I thought about Damien's words earlier—give up the inheritance for freedom. He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t just about money or power. It was about everything I’d been groomed for since birth: control, dominance, success at any cost.

The ice beneath me felt like it could crack open any moment under the weight of everything pressing down on me.

But no one knew what went on behind closed doors. None of them understood that while they saw a confident star defender with a bright future, all I felt was suffocation and anger simmering just below the surface.

My skates carved deep lines as I circled back toward center ice one last time before stopping abruptly. Breathless and sweating despite the cold air, I stood there panting heavily.

Here on this frozen stage where control reigned supreme—where every move had purpose—I finally felt like myself again.

Even if it was only temporary.

I grabbed my stick from the rack and a puck from the neat pile behind the home bench, then skated to the blue line. I set the puck down and lined up my shot, taking a deep breath before firing it at the net. The sound of the puck hitting the boards behind the goal echoed through the empty rink. I repeated the process, over and over, each shot harder than the last.

As I shot, my thoughts drifted to my mother. She’d been gone for years, but her memory still haunted me. What would she say if she saw me now? Would she be proud of what I’d become, or disappointed by the man I was forced to be?

I hated that I cared about what she would think. She was dead. Her opinions shouldn’t matter anymore, but they did. They always did.

Another puck flew toward the net, slamming into the back with a satisfying thud. My mother had always been my refuge from my father’s relentless expectations. She saw me for who I was, not just what I could become. But now she was gone, and all that remained was his voice telling me who to marry, how to live.

I set another puck in front of me and stared at it for a moment. The ice beneath me felt like a fragile mirror reflecting everything wrong in my life. My mother wouldn’t recognize this version of me—cold, distant, controlled by someone else’s plans.

Another shot rang out. This time, it went wide, missing the net completely. I swore under my breath and set up another puck. What would she think about this arranged marriage with Lola? She’d probably be horrified, knowing how toxic Lola was and how much I despised her.

My chest tightened at the thought of her disapproval. Even in death, she had this hold on me—a reminder of what life could have been if she were still here.

I fired another puck at the net, channeling my frustration into every swing of the stick. Each shot was a silent scream against everything trapping me: my father’s control, Lola’s manipulations, and the walls I’d built around myself.

But even as I tried to shut out these thoughts, Elodie’s face crept back into my mind.

I took one final shot at the net before dropping my stick and standing there in silence. The rink was empty except for me and my thoughts—a stark reminder that no matter how fast or hard I skated, some things were impossible to escape.

Elodie’s words echoed in my mind as I stared at the empty net. “You’re amazing.”

The nerve she had, talking to me like she knew my life, my struggles. She was just the scholarship kid, cleaning up after us privileged assholes. What did she know about pressure, about expectations that crushed you from the inside out?

And yet…

I hated that a part of me wanted to listen to her. She made it sound so simple, like I could just step away from my father’s shadow and into a future where I called the shots. The draft was my ticket out—my escape from this suffocating life where every move was dictated by someone else.

But if I did go to the draft and my father cut me off, what then? My whole life, I’d been groomed for this path, every decision made for me. The thought of being truly on my own was both thrilling and terrifying.

I’d married Elodie to get her away from her shitty life, from poverty and all of it. But defying my father meant risking everything we had. There was no guarantee I’d even make it to the NHL; the draft was a gamble with no certainty of success. What if I failed? What if I dragged her into an even worse situation than before?

The ice beneath me felt like it could crack open any moment under the weight of these thoughts. My skates carved aimless patterns as I circled back toward center ice one last time before stopping abruptly.

Maybe she was right about the draft. Maybe it was my chance to reclaim some semblance of control over my life. But the fear of failure gnawed at me like a relentless beast, reminding me that breaking free came with risks too great to ignore.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I stiffened, my muscles tensing at the sound of my father’s voice. Turning slowly, I saw him standing by the door to the ice, his presence a dark shadow against the bright lights of the rink.

"You're a terrible shot," he said, his tone cold and dismissive.

I looked away, feeling the sting of his words. "That's why I'm a defender," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, well, you and your wife have that in common," he said. I could be mistaking it, but I could swear there was a hint of respect in his voice.

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