"Cut the third question about his defense strategy." I tapped my pen against the metal clipboard. "Ryan hates talking about his mistakes on the ice. Focus on the game-winning goal."

Mark, the broadcast assistant, hesitated. "The network wants a balanced interview, Sophia. The fans want to know why he missed that block in the second period."

"I manage his PR." I stared him down until he shifted his weight. "I know what plays well. Stick to the script. We highlight the victory, nothing else."

"Fine. But the sponsor wants him wearing the new watch during the segment."

"He hates heavy watches," I countered, adjusting the collar of my blazer. "Tell him it comes with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. He'll put it on."

"Got it." Mark checked his earpiece. "Press is also asking about his personal life. Any updates on the engagement rumors?"

"Deflect." I crossed my arms. "Keep the focus on the trophy. We announce the engagement next month, after the sports magazine cover drops. Timing is everything."

"You really map out his entire life, don't you?"

"That's my job."

Mark hurried off down the arena corridor. The deafening roar of the crowd seeped through the thick concrete walls. Ryan Walker had just secured the championship. As his manager—and his girlfriend of three years—I needed this night to be flawless. I had spent months orchestrating this exact moment.

My phone vibrated against my hip.

I pulled it from my pocket. A text message lit up the screen. It was from Chloe Bennett, my best friend of ten years.

*Watch this right now,* the message read.

A hyperlink sat just below the text.

"Must be the new ad campaign numbers," I muttered to myself.

I swiped the notification and tapped the link.

A live video feed loaded. The lighting was terrible, casting long, dark shadows across what looked like a plush hotel suite.

Two figures tangled together on a velvet sofa.

A woman giggled. Her face remained half-buried in a man's neck. "Stop it, you're going to mess up my makeup."

"Who cares about the makeup, Chloe?" a rough voice responded.

My thumb froze over the volume button.

Ryan.

He shifted his weight, and the camera caught the sharp line of his jaw. A fresh, purple bruise marked his left cheek—the exact bruise he got from a nasty check during the second period of tonight's game. There was no mistaking the rising hockey star of the season.

And the woman wrapping her bare arms around his neck was the newly famous model from his latest sports apparel shoot.

My best friend.

"Ryan, wait, the camera is on," Chloe said. She pushed his shoulder playfully.

"Good. Let them watch," Ryan grunted.

He buried his face in her neck again.

"Stop, people are commenting," Chloe laughed. She reached out and tilted the phone slightly. "Look, they recognize you."

"Course they do. I'm the MVP."

Text scrolled rapidly up the left side of the screen. The viewer count climbed by the thousands every second.

*User99: Wait, is that Ryan Walker? Didn't he just win the cup an hour ago?*

*HockeyFanatic: That's definitely Chloe! The model from the billboard!*

*SpicyTea: Are they dating?? What about his manager?*

*PuckBunny: OMG they are so hot together.*

A conversation from three weeks ago slammed into my present reality.

"Chloe, you can't just leak paparazzi photos of yourself at the club," I had warned her over coffee.

"Why not? It gets clicks," she had argued, stirring her latte.

"It gets the wrong kind of attention. You're a model now. You need prestige, not cheap scandal."

"I have a better plan, Soph. A massive one." She had smiled, a sly, secretive curve of her lips. "Will you support me?"

"Always. You're my best friend."

Now, watching her slide her hands under Ryan's shirt on a live broadcast, the pieces snapped together. Her brilliant plan to secure her fame was stealing the hottest athlete in the league.

"Someone just asked where your girlfriend is," Chloe noted, reading the screen.

"Who cares?" Ryan pulled back. He grabbed his discarded jersey from the floor and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Chloe asked. She glanced directly toward the phone propped on the coffee table. "What if Sophia finds out?"

Ryan scoffed. He tossed the jersey aside, his expression twisting with pure arrogance.

"Let her find out." He sneered, grabbing Chloe's waist.

"She's been with you for three years, Ry. She built your brand."

"I built my brand." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "I score the goals. She just answers emails."

"She's going to be so mad," Chloe teased. Her tone lacked any real sympathy.

"Without me, Sophia is nothing." He leaned in closer to the camera. "Her biggest value is paving the way for my career. She negotiates the deals, I take the credit. Once the season wraps, I'm done with her anyway."

"And me?" Chloe whispered, trailing a fingernail down his chest.

"You're the prize." He crashed his mouth onto hers.

I hit the lock button. The screen went black.

The hallway suddenly felt freezing. My hands remained perfectly steady. I didn't scream. I didn't throw the device against the cinderblock wall. No tears blurred my vision.

Instead, a cold, sharp clarity settled into my bones.

"Sophia!"

I turned. Greg, a reporter for the Daily Sports, jogged down the corridor toward me.

"Quick question for the morning edition," Greg panted, holding up his audio recorder.

"Make it fast, Greg."

"Rumor has it Ryan is signing a massive endorsement with Apex Athletics. Any truth to that?"

"We are reviewing several offers."

"And your relationship? Fans are eager for wedding bells after tonight's huge win."

I looked at Greg. The memory of Ryan's lips on Chloe's neck burned in my mind.

"Ryan's focus is entirely on his career right now," I lied flawlessly. "He is committed to his future."

"Great quote. Thanks, Sophia."

Greg hurried away. Once he turned the corner, I opened my phone contacts.

I bypassed Mark. I bypassed the network executives. I bypassed my parents.

I scrolled down to the very bottom, to a name I had sworn never to call again.

Alexander Mercer.

The phone rang once. Twice.

"I told you you'd come back," a deep, gravelly voice answered.

"Alexander." I kept my tone entirely flat.

"Sophia Sinclair. It's been three years. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need a favor."

"A favor? The last time we spoke, you called me a monster. You stood in my office and told me my methods were too ruthless for you."

"I was naive."

"And now?"

"Now I've changed my mind."

"Someone hurt you."

"Someone made a miscalculation."

"Give me a name."

"Ryan Walker. And Chloe Bennett."

"The hockey golden boy and the new face of Vogue. You want me to kill their careers?"

"I want to ruin them," I stated, staring at the heavy double doors leading to the locker room. Ryan would emerge from those doors in exactly ten minutes, expecting a victory kiss. "Will you help me?"

A low chuckle vibrated through the speaker.

"I will burn their whole world down, sweetheart." Alexander's voice dropped, laced with a dangerous promise. "But my help comes with conditions. You know my price."

"I'll pay it."

"Even if it means binding yourself to me?"

"I don't care what it takes."

"Good girl. Come to my penthouse tonight. Let's draft a new game plan."

Silence stretched across the cellular connection.

I pushed open the heavy metal doors of the arena exit. The chilly night air bit at my cheeks, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the VIP corridor.

Only the faint hum of background static filled the gap between us.

Then, Alexander Blackwood laughed. The sound was harsh, scraping like ice skates over rough concrete.

"You have a lot of nerve calling me, Sophia," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.

"I have a business proposition." I kept my pace steady, heading toward the empty parking lot.

"We don't do business. We do war. You made sure of that."

"Wars end, Alexander. Alliances shift."

"Mine don't." Ice clinked against glass through the speaker. "You spent three years turning my sports agency into a punching bag just to elevate Ryan Walker. You poached my top draft picks. You leaked that gambling rumor about my head coach to the press."

"I protected my client."

"You protected your boyfriend. You played dirty to get him ice time."

"It worked," I countered, stopping under a flickering streetlamp. "He won the championship tonight."

"And now you want my help?" Alexander scoffed. "Why should I lift a single finger for you? You're a glorified assistant who carries his bags."

"Because I am offering you fifty million dollars."

The line went dead silent. The clinking of ice stopped.

I checked my nails. My pulse remained unnaturally calm. I should have been crying. I had just watched the man I loved defile my best friend on a live broadcast. Instead, I felt nothing but a cold, hollow drive.

"Excuse me?" Alexander finally asked.

"Fifty million dollars. Liquid capital. Transferred directly into Blackwood Sports Group by Friday morning."

"You don't have fifty million dollars."

"I do."

"A PR manager doesn't carry that kind of wealth." His tone sharpened, probing for the lie. "Where does a girl who fetches hockey gear get that kind of money?"

"My last name is Sinclair."

A heavy pause hung in the air.

"Sinclair," Alexander repeated. "As in Arthur Sinclair? Sinclair Media?"

"I am his only daughter."

"The runaway heir." Amusement laced his words now. "The industry thought you vanished. You threw away a billion-dollar media empire to manage a skater's Instagram account?"

"I believed in him."

"You were an idiot."

"I know." I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "I gave up my inheritance. I cut ties with my father. I played the starving PR rep so Ryan wouldn't feel threatened by my success. I built his entire career from the ground up."

"Love makes people stupid," Alexander noted.

"Which is why I am completely cured."

"So you caught him cheating."

"I caught him throwing me away." I stared at the concrete pavement. "I'm done being an idiot, Alexander. I want to rip his life apart, piece by piece. And I want to do it myself."

"And you think fifty million buys my loyalty?"

"I think fifty million buys your attention. The rest of my offer buys your loyalty."

"Go on."

I resumed walking, my footsteps echoing in the empty lot. "I am going back to my father. I will take my rightful place at Sinclair Media. When I do, I will control the broadcasting rights for the entire league."

"Arthur won't just hand you the reins after three years of silence."

"He will. He wants me back. He hates Ryan more than you do."

"Arthur is a shark. He'll want a contract."

"I'll sign whatever he wants. I don't care about the money anymore." I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. "I will funnel every prime-time game, every exclusive docuseries, and every major endorsement spotlight directly to Blackwood Sports Group."

"You'd sell out your own family's neutrality?"

"I'll hand you the monopoly. You will own the sports media landscape in North America."

Alexander exhaled slowly. "You are handing me the keys to the kingdom."

"If you help me crush Ryan Walker."

"I want him ruined," Alexander stated. "Not just benched. I want his sponsors gone. I want his fans turned against him."

"I want him to look around and realize every single thing he has is gone, because I took it away."

"And the model?"

"Chloe Bennett." I spat the name out. "She's a parasite. We squash her too."

A low chuckle vibrated through the speaker. The amusement morphed into genuine approval.

"You really are a Sinclair. Ruthless."

"Do we have a deal, Alexander?"

"I always hated that arrogant prick." The smile in his voice was unmistakable. "I love making my enemies lose everything. But I want to be the one holding the match."

"We can light it together."

"My driver is pulling up to the arena's east exit right now," Alexander commanded. "Get in the car, Sophia. We have a contract to write."

A sleek black town car rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark. It rolled to a stop exactly three feet from where I stood.

The rear window rolled down, revealing the shadowy interior.

"Don't keep me waiting," Alexander murmured before the line clicked dead.

My phone vibrated against the leather seat of Alexander’s town car.

*Twenty missed calls.* All from Ryan.

A new text message popped onto the illuminated screen.

*Where the hell are you? Get to the VIP lounge now. If you don't show up, you can forget about us. I won't forgive you this time.*

I stared at the glowing letters. Three hours ago, that threat would have sent me running down the arena corridors in a blind panic. Now, it just looked pathetic.

My thumb tapped the keyboard, typing out a rapid response.

*Go to the lounge. I'll be there soon.*

I slipped the device into my blazer pocket and pushed the heavy car door open.

The VIP lounge was located just past the locker rooms, insulated from the post-game chaos of the main press area. I pushed through the frosted glass doors.

Chloe stood by the champagne tower, swirling a crystal flute. She wore a skin-tight red dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"You actually showed up," Chloe said, stepping directly into my path.

"Move, Chloe."

She laughed, a sharp, grating sound that echoed in the empty room. "Why the rush, Soph? Ryan is busy getting ready for the cameras."

"I need to speak with my client."

"He's not just your client anymore." Chloe took a long sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim. "He's my future husband."

I met her gaze, keeping my posture rigid. "You planned this from the start, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." She leaned closer, her perfume suffocatingly sweet in the enclosed space. "Did you really think I wanted to be friends with a mousy PR assistant? I needed an introduction to the biggest star in the league."

"And now you have him."

"I do. He's the MVP. He's about to sign the biggest contract in hockey history." She smiled, showing off perfect, porcelain veneers. "And I'll be the champion's wife. While you go back to answering emails for nobodies."

The heavy wooden door at the back of the lounge swung inward.

Ryan walked in. He still wore his team track jacket, his hair damp from the locker room showers.

He stopped the moment he saw us.

"There you are," Ryan snapped, glaring at me. "Where have you been? The press is waiting for my victory speech."

He didn't look guilty. He didn't look remorseful. He just looked entirely inconvenienced.

He walked right past me and wrapped a heavy arm around Chloe's waist, pulling her flush against his side.

"Ryan," I started, keeping my voice dangerously even.

"Don't start with me, Sophia," he interrupted, raising a hand to cut me off. "You left me hanging out there. You owe Chloe an apology."

I stared at him. "I owe her an apology?"

"She's been waiting here for twenty minutes while you ignored my calls. Apologize to her, then get out there and set up the cameras."

I pulled my phone from my pocket. I didn't yell. I didn't scream. I just tapped the screen and turned the volume all the way up.

*"Without me, Sophia is nothing. I score the goals. She just answers emails."*

Ryan's own voice bounced off the lounge walls.

I held the screen up. The paused image showed him burying his face in Chloe's neck on the hotel sofa.

"Care to explain this?" I asked.

Ryan's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. Then, he rolled his eyes.

"Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over that?" he scoffed.

"A tantrum?" I lowered the phone. "You were sleeping with my best friend on a live broadcast."

"It's PR, Sophia. It's hype." He waved his free hand dismissively. "The fans eat this drama up. It drives traffic to my social media. You should be thanking me for doing your job."

"You think cheating on me in front of thousands of people is a marketing strategy?"

"It worked, didn't it? My follower count doubled in the last hour."

I looked at the man standing in front of me. Three years. I had cooked his meals, managed his brutal schedule, negotiated his multi-million dollar contracts, and hidden his endless flaws from the world.

To him, I was just a tool. A stepping stone he had finally outgrown.

"Did you ever love me, Ryan?" The question slipped out, quiet and sharp.

Ryan's face flushed dark red. His pride flared, ugly and vicious.

"Love you?" he spat, stepping away from Chloe. "You're a glorified secretary, Sophia! You're lucky I even let you stand next to me!"

His arm swung out.

The strike cracked across my left cheek.

My head snapped to the side. The sting radiated through my jaw, hot and violent.

Silence slammed into the room. Chloe gasped, taking a quick step backward.

I turned my face back to him. I didn't touch my cheek. I didn't shed a single tear.

Ryan rubbed his knuckles, his chest heaving with agitated breaths. "Fix your attitude. Go set up the post-game interview. If you mess this up, you're fired."

He grabbed Chloe's hand and stormed out of the lounge, letting the door slam shut behind him.

I stood alone in the quiet room. The faint throbbing in my face grounded me. It burned away the last pathetic shred of attachment I had left for Ryan Walker.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

An unknown number flashed on the screen. I swiped to answer.

"Is it done?" Alexander's voice rumbled through the speaker, cold and commanding.

"He just left the lounge," I replied, my voice steady as stone. "He's heading to the main press room now."

"Good." A low, dark chuckle followed. "The media is ready. I gave them everything."

"The gambling debts? The locker room fights?"

"All of it. Plus a few extra surprises I kept locked in my vault." Alexander paused. "Tonight, all of America will know exactly who Ryan Walker is."

"Burn him to the ground, Alexander."

"Watch the screens, sweetheart. The show is about to begin."

The line clicked dead.

I turned toward the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the lounge wall. The sports network logo flashed across the glass, transitioning to a red breaking news alert.

The anchor's face appeared, looking incredibly grim.

"We interrupt our championship coverage with a shocking development regarding MVP Ryan Walker. Authorities have just arrived at the arena..."