Page 64 of Unleashed

The presumption in those two words hit like a nasty jolt of electricity against my skin. As if Viggy belonged in Malone’s collection of ratings-generating assets. As if seventeen years of sacrifice could be reduced to forty-seven minutes of docu-reality TV.

My thumb found its familiar spot at my wrist, tapping against the pulse point. Think producer thoughts. Analyze the situation. Work it to your advantage. The predatory gleam in Malone’s shark smile set my gut to churning.

But no way this was a casual visit. Malone was hunting his next salacious ratings win.

“The whole team played well all year.” My voice came out steady, each word carefully measured while I tracked his movements. “Our ratings reflect that.”

“They certainly do.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, even as he acknowledged the success ofAcesUnleashedfor the first time. “But I’m more interested in what comes next.”

I forced my fingers to unclench. “The series against Chicago should give us plenty of content.”

“Oh, I think we both know there’s a bigger story brewing.” He paused behind me, close enough that his cologne made my eyes water and my skin crawl. “The way your boy favored that knee after that late hit? I didn’t know hockey was so cutthroat. Didn’t take an expert to see what was going on and, trust me, everyone was watching to see what he’d do.” He chuckled. “The media chatter is on fire.”

The footage on my screen showed Viggy celebrating Riley’s goal, that rare smile breaking through his stalwart game face. The strong cut of his jaw. His pure joy on display—on behalf of his teammate. I swallowed hard and forced my attention back to Malone.

“We’ve covered the injury angle.” The words still tasted like ash on my tongue. “The episode aired. Story’s done.”

“Stories like this are neverdone, Lily.” He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. “They evolve. Develop.Escalate.”

My heart thundered against my ribs, but I kept my breathing steady. Resisted the urge to leap up, whirl around, and punt the man and his rank cologne into next week. “Is there something specific you need, Mark? I have work to do.”

“Actually...” He straightened, circling back around to the front of the table with the kind of smile that raised the tiny hairs along the back of my arms. “I have a proposition for you.”

Ice crystallized in my veins.

Game face, Sutton. Whatever comes next, remember—you survived Sydney. You survived being blacklisted by the industry you loved. You even survived Jack’s disappointment.

Though that last one remained debatable.

You can survive whatever Malone throws at you.

Malone settled into the rickety chair pulled up to the other side of the table, the expensive cut of his suit at odds with my cramped office. He steepled his fingers, radiating the kind of confidence that came from holding all the cards.

“How does your own series sound?” His words hung in the air between us like a baited hook. “Full creative control. Bigger budget. Your name in the credits.”

My producer’s brain kicked into gear even as my gut screamed “trap!” Years in the industry had taught me exactly what “creative control” meant when attached to a contract—usually about as much control as a rowboat in a hurricane. As long as someone else held the purse strings, you were never really “in control”.

But my name in the credits put me one big step closer to getting out from under the control of people like Malone.

I kept my expression neutral while my mind raced through the implications. “That’s quite an offer.” Especially for someone whose career had been radioactive until Malone had offered theUnleashedlifeline. “What’s the catch?”

He spread his hands, all faux innocence. “No catch. Just good business. You’ve proven yourself withUnleashed. The numbers don’t lie.”

Right. Because Mark Malone was known for his altruistic support of emerging—or re-emerging, in my case—talent. I suppressed an eye roll and waited.

“The Vignier episode showed exactly what you’re capable of,” he continued, fingers flicking through the papers scattered atop the table. “Raw. Real. The kind of storytelling that resonates. We want more of that—but with other teams, other players. Different cities, fresh stories.”

My throat tightened. “You want more dirt. Exposés.”

“Frame it however you need to, Lily.” His shark smile widened, all teeth and calculated manipulation. “Think about it—a weekly deep dive into the world of professional hockey. Set up all the inspirational stories you want, just make sure there’s enough controversy to keep the socials buzzing.”

My pulse thundered in my ears as I parsed the implications. A clean slate. New subjects. No more betraying Jack’s trust.

Just digging up other people’s secrets instead.

“I’d need to see the terms.” My heart pounded, but I would keep it professional. Stay in the game, as Adele would say. “Timeline? Budget details? Network commitment?”

He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket. Of course he had the contract ready. Sharks always came prepared.

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