Her trust scared me more than any hit I’d taken on the ice. It was quiet and complete. Unarmored. She’d given it to me without ceremony, without expectation. Like she didn’t know how easily I could ruin it.
I shifted, barely, just enough to relieve the tension in my spine—but even that movement made her lean in closer. Her arm brushed mine, skin warm where we touched. My chest tightened, a visceral urge rising inside me. Not lust. Not exactly. Something deeper. More dangerous. A need to keep her safe. To deserve this moment.
She smiled in her sleep. Just a little. The kind of smile that made something deep in my chest crack open. Maybe she was dreaming of something soft. Something safe. Maybe—somehow—she was dreaming of me.
I stared at the blank TV screen, unsure what to do with the weight settling in my ribs. This wasn’t a game anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.
I didn’t know what came next. What she’d choose. What I’d allow myself to want.
But I knew this much: I’d burn down the world before I let it hurt her again.
Even if it meant burning part of myself with it.
I lifted her without effort, her weight barely more than the gear bag I carried every day—but nothing about this felt light.
Mina stirred in my arms, just a soft breath and a quiet shift of her head as she nestled into the crook of my neck like she’d always belonged there. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, and something deep inside me tightened. Something dangerous. Something that wanted to keep her like this. Forever.
She looked ridiculous in my hoodie—drowning in it, swallowed whole—but somehow she made it beautiful. The sleeves covered her hands; the hem brushed her thighs, and her bare legs peeked out like a secret. She smelled like vanilla and fire and something wild that didn’t belong in a world as cold as mine.
My pulse kicked up, but it wasn’t just lust. That, I could handle. This was worse. This was affection. Tenderness. It curled around my ribs like a question I didn’t want to answer.
I carried her to my bed, my grip firm but careful. She didn’t stir. Her breath hitched once, then settled, and I felt the soft thump of her heart against my chest. Fragile. Steady. Too trusting.
She didn’t know how easily people could break.
I did.
I laid her down gently, tucking the blanket around her like she might shatter if I got it wrong. She sighed and curled onto her side, one hand fisting the edge of the hoodie, still clinging to it like armor. My chest ached.
She didn’t need another man who mistook her for property. Another man who made promises with conditions. The bet hovered in the back of my mind, sour and heavy. Thirty days. That was all this had started as. A game.
But it wasn’t a game anymore.
I stepped back, every muscle in my body screaming to stay near her. To touch her. To lie down beside her and pretend, just for a moment, that this could be something easy.
Instead, I turned. Walked to the far wall. Leaned against it like it could hold me up while I wrestled down the heat curling through my blood.
She was beautiful.
She was here.
And I couldn’t touch her—not the way I wanted to. Not if I wanted to live with myself in the morning.
This wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about what she needed.
And right now, she needed space. Safety. The kind that came without expectations.
So I stood there, keeping watch in the silence, knowing the only way to keep from ruining this—ruining her—was to keep myself carefully, painfully, on the other side of the room.
I walked into the kitchen, needing to put a wall between us. Between her softness and the way it clawed at everything hard and careful I’d built inside myself.
I filled a glass with water. Let it run a little longer than necessary, just for the sound. Something steady. Something I could control. I stared out the window as the water pooled, the glass cool against my palm. Outside, the garden glistened beneath a thin sheen of frost. Streetlights stretched long shadows across the pavement—everything sharp, cold, quiet. Fitting.
Mikel’s face surged into my mind. Not the one he wore for press conferences, for fans, for her. The real one—the one I’d seen right before he raised his hand.
The memory of his voice, sharp and venomous, echoed louder than I wanted to admit. I could still see the way she froze under it. Like the noise alone had knocked the breath out of her. She’d folded in on herself—not physically, not fully, but enough for me to feel it across the room. Like someone had flipped a switch in her and she’d dimmed without thinking.
And over what? This bet.
