[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The kiss was an act of war.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. Maverick's mouth crashed against hers with eight years of starved, violent desperation. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her in place while his other arm wrapped like an iron band around her waist, hauling her flush against his chest.

Lanaya gasped against his lips, the sound entirely involuntary.

He took immediate advantage. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot and dominant, claiming territory that didn't belong to him. The taste of him-mint and dark, expensive bourbon-flooded her senses, obliterating every rational thought she possessed.

For two terrifying seconds, she kissed him back.

Her hands, which should have been shoving him away, tangled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She felt the heavy, frantic thud of his heart against her palm. It beat just as wildly as hers.

Then reality shattered the haze.

Crew's jersey number. The penalty box. The blackmail.

Lanaya ripped herself away, shoving her hands hard against his chest.

She stumbled back, hitting the edge of the mattress. Her chest heaved. Her lips burned, swollen and tingling with the ghost of his touch.

Maverick didn't move. He stood exactly where she left him, breathing heavily. His dark hair was slightly messy where her fingers had gripped it. His grey-blue eyes were completely black, fixated on her mouth with a hunger that made her skin crawl.

"Don't," Lanaya choked out, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. "Don't ever do that again."

"It was a test." His voice was a raw, jagged rasp.

"A test?" She let out a harsh, broken laugh. "Are you insane?"

"I had to see if you could fake it."

"Fake it? You practically swallowed me whole!"

"And you kissed me back."

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. The air vanished from the room.

"I didn't," she lied.

Maverick took a slow, predatory step forward. "You did. Your hands were in my shirt. Your mouth opened for mine. If Alexander or the press saw that, they would buy the engagement in a heartbeat."

"They aren't here!" Lanaya backed up until her calves hit the bed frame. There was nowhere else to go. "We are in a bedroom. Alone. There was no one to perform for, Maverick."

He stopped mere inches from her. The heat radiating off his body was suffocating. "Maybe I was performing for myself."

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "that if you look at me like you hate me on the press tour tomorrow, I will pull you in front of the cameras and do exactly what I just did. Until you stop fighting me."

"You are blackmailing me into a relationship, forcing me to live in your house, and now you're threatening to assault me on national television?"

"It's not assault if you're my fiancée."

"I am not your fiancée!" Lanaya screamed, the rage finally snapping her control. She swung at him.

Maverick caught her wrist in mid-air. His reflexes were terrifyingly fast. He didn't twist her arm, but his grip was unyielding.

"You are," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm against her rising panic. "Until the ink dries on that merger, you belong to this lie. You belong to me."

"I would rather see Redstone burn."

"No, you wouldn't." He stepped closer, crowding her completely. "Because if Redstone burns, Crew's foundation burns with it. And you will never let that happen. You will let me kiss you. You will hold my hand. You will smile for the cameras."

He released her wrist slowly, his thumb brushing over the frantic pulse jumping beneath her skin. The gentle touch was infinitely worse than the harsh grip.

"Get dressed, Huntress," he ordered softly. "Dinner is in ten minutes. And you are going to sit next to me and act like you like it."

He turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

Lanaya sank onto the mattress, her legs completely giving out. She stared at the empty doorway, her heart hammering a toxic, terrified rhythm against her ribs.

She raised her hand, her fingers trembling as she touched her bruised, swollen lips.

She hated that her body remembered him before her mind could stop it. Hated that her muscles recognized the shape of his mouth, the way his hands fit around her waist, like some cruel kind of muscle memory she hadn't consented to. For two seconds, she hadn't been kissing her enemy in a stranger's bedroom.

She had been kissing the boy who used to make her laugh on frozen ponds and cheap neighborhood rinks, before the lake took everything and turned him into the monster she needed him to be. She had never let herself think about what he had looked like that day at the lake, the exact tilt of his face when he came out of the water without Crew. She wasn't going to start now.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being.

But the most terrifying part wasn't the kiss.

The most terrifying part was the dark, twisted knot low in her stomach that realized he was right.

She had kissed him back.

[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The blinding flash of cameras was a physical assault.

Lanaya stood at the center of the Redstone arena press room, her face locked into a smile that felt brittle enough to shatter. The air was thick with the smell of cheap coffee and expensive perfume. Dozens of reporters shoved microphones forward, their voices a deafening roar of overlapping questions.

Maverick stood beside her.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit that made him look less like a hockey player and more like a predatory CEO. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist. His hand rested low on her hip, his long fingers pressing possessively against the silk of her dress.

Every time she tried to put an inch of space between them, his grip tightened, pulling her flush against his side.

You will hold my hand. You will smile for the cameras.

His threat from the night before played on a vicious, agonizing loop in her mind. Along with the ghost of his mouth on hers.

"Maverick! Lanaya!" A reporter from Boston Sports Network shoved his way to the front. "The rivalry between Thornhill and Redstone is legendary. How did you two keep this relationship a secret for so long?"

Maverick leaned into the microphone. "It wasn't easy," he said, his voice a smooth, deep rumble that carried perfectly over the noise. "But when you find something real, you protect it. We didn't want the media circus interfering with our seasons."

"And the merger?" another reporter shouted. "Critics are saying this engagement is awfully convenient timing."

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. She opened her mouth to recite the PR-approved script, but Maverick beat her to it.

He shifted his stance, turning slightly to look down at her. His grey-blue eyes locked onto hers. The expression on his face was terrifyingly gentle, completely masking the toxic, volatile man she knew he was.

"The merger was a surprise to us both," Maverick lied flawlessly. "But my father and Camden Roux realized what Lanaya and I have known for months. Some partnerships are meant to be permanent."

He reached up. His thumb lightly brushed a stray curl away from Lanaya's face. The touch was agonizingly tender.

The cameras went wild.

"Miss Roux!" A sharp female voice cut through the chaos. "You're wearing Crew's number. Does this engagement mean the feud over his foundation is finally over?"

The room went dead silent.

Lanaya froze. The smile melted off her face. The name Crew was a physical blow to her chest. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. The lights in the room suddenly felt too bright, too hot.

She felt Maverick's hand tighten sharply on her hip, grounding her.

"The foundation," Lanaya forced the words out, her voice trembling slightly, "is exactly why we are all here. The merger ensures that Crew's legacy will continue to grow and support young athletes across the city."

"So you forgive Maverick for the accident?"

The question was a grenade.

Lanaya stared at the reporter. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. She could feel Alexander Hayden's furious gaze burning into her from the side of the stage. She could feel her father's panic.

She felt Maverick go completely rigid beside her. The arm around her waist felt like iron.

She looked up at him. The mask had cracked. Under the glaring lights, the raw, broken guilt he hid from the world was painfully visible in his eyes. He was waiting for the execution. He was waiting for her to say no.

If you look at me like you hate me... I will pull you in front of the cameras and do exactly what I just did.

Lanaya swallowed the bile in her throat. She looked back at the reporter, forcing a serene, devastating lie past her lips.

"There is nothing to forgive. It was a tragedy. Maverick was Crew's best friend. He loved him just as much as I did."

The words came out steadier than she expected. She told herself it was because she was a good liar. She didn't examine the other possibilities.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the executives. The reporters scribbled furiously.

Maverick stared down at her, chest heaving slightly. The shock in his eyes was absolute.

"Thank you, everyone," the lead PR director announced, stepping quickly to the podium. "That is all the time we have for today."

Maverick didn't wait. He dropped his arm from her waist, grabbed her hand, and pulled her off the stage. His grip was entirely too tight as he dragged her down the hallway, ignoring the executives and PR reps trying to intercept them.

He didn't stop until they reached a deserted VIP lounge. He shoved the door open, pulled her inside, and slammed it shut, locking it.

"What was that?" he demanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating rasp.

Lanaya ripped her hand from his grip. "That was me doing my job. That was me saving my brother's foundation."

"You lied."

"Of course I lied! That is the entire point of this arrangement!"

Maverick stepped into her space, crowding her backward until her spine hit the heavy oak door. The distance between them vanished. The suffocating heat of his body was overwhelming.

"You don't forgive me," he stated.

Lanaya didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched one beat too long, thin and fragile and loaded with everything she had spent the morning performing over. She turned her face slightly to the side, not quite looking at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat - not cold, but controlled, the way a person sounds when they are keeping something from moving.

"No," she said. "I don't."

Something shifted in Maverick's face. Not softness. Nothing as readable as that. More like the faint recognition of a man who has heard a line before and knows exactly what it costs to say it. His jaw tightened once, then released. He looked at her the way she had looked at the photograph in the tunnel - like he was standing at the edge of something he couldn't afford to step into.

Then it was gone.

He leaned down. His face was mere inches from hers. The heavy scent of cedar and pure adrenaline flooded her senses.

"Good," he said, his voice dropping into a dark, low register that made her shiver. "Because if you stop hating me, Huntress... we are both going to lose."

She turned away first. She didn't slam the door on her way out. She just left, quietly, which was worse, and both of them knew it.

[POV: Lanaya Roux]

The heavy oak door of the VIP lounge vibrated behind Lanaya's back.

Maverick was too close. The suffocating heat radiating from his massive frame trapped her against the wood. His dark, toxic promise still hung in the air - Because if you stop hating me, Huntress... we are both going to lose.

"I am not going to stop hating you," Lanaya breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly against the tight silk of her dress. "That is the one thing you never have to worry about."

Maverick's jaw flexed. The raw, broken guilt she had seen on the press stage was completely gone, replaced by the ruthless, predatory captain she knew.

"Good." He stepped back, instantly severing the electric tension between them. The sudden loss of his body heat made her shiver, though she would die before admitting it. "Keep that energy for the cameras. We have a dinner in two hours."

"Another one?" Lanaya pushed off the door, her legs trembling slightly. "I just lied to fifty reporters. I'm done for the day."

"You are done when I say you are."

"I am not your hostage, Maverick!"

"You are my fiancée." He turned, his broad back to her as he adjusted his suit jacket. "And tonight is the Redstone charity gala. The entire board will be there. Including my father."

The name Alexander Hayden sent a spike of ice through her veins. "So what? I have to parade around in another tight dress and pretend you don't make my skin crawl?"

Maverick stopped. He turned slowly, his grey-blue eyes locking onto hers with a chilling intensity.

"Yes," he said softly. "You will smile. You will hold my hand. And you will not flinch when I touch you."

"I flinched because you cornered me!"

"You flinched because you are terrified of me."

"I am disgusted by you. There is a difference."

He crossed the room in two massive strides, invading her space again. He didn't touch her, but his sheer size was completely overwhelming.

"Are you?" His voice dropped to that lethal, vibrating rasp that scraped directly down her spine. "Because when I kissed you last night, you didn't feel disgusted, Lanaya. You felt desperate."

Her breath hitched. A dark, twisted pull tightened low in her stomach. "I pushed you away."

"Eventually." He leaned down, his mouth brushing dangerously close to her ear. The heavy scent of cedar and pure adrenaline flooded her senses. "But for two seconds, you were entirely mine."

"You're insane." She shoved his chest, desperate to put distance between them. It was like shoving a brick wall.

"Maybe I am." He caught her wrist, his long fingers wrapping around her pulse point. "But I am the only thing standing between your father and bankruptcy. Remember that tonight when my father starts asking questions."

He released her wrist and opened the lounge door. The chaotic noise of the arena hallway flooded back in.

"The car leaves in an hour," Maverick ordered without looking back. "Don't be late."

The Redstone charity gala was a glittering, suffocating trap.

The ballroom was packed with Boston's elite, all of them eager to stare at the newly engaged couple. The crystal chandeliers overhead felt like spotlights.

Lanaya stood near the ice sculpture, her hand tightly trapped in Maverick's. He was playing the devoted fiancé flawlessly. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a slow, agonizingly tender rhythm that made her heart pound a frantic beat against her ribs.

She hated him. She hated her body's traitorous reaction to his touch even more.

"Smile, Huntress," Maverick murmured, his lips brushing her temple as a photographer snapped their picture. "My father is watching."

Lanaya stiffened. She looked past the flashbulbs and saw Alexander Hayden standing near the bar. He wasn't smiling. His cold, calculating gaze was fixed entirely on them.

"He knows," Lanaya whispered, her throat tight. "He knows this is fake."

"He suspects," Maverick corrected, his grip on her hand tightening painfully. "Which is why you need to sell it."

"I am trying!"

"Try harder."

Before she could argue, a sleek, sharp-featured woman in a red dress broke through the crowd, heading straight for them.

Lanaya's stomach plummeted. It was Chloe Vance. The lead anchor for Boston Sports Network, and Maverick's very public, very recent ex-girlfriend.

"Maverick." Chloe's voice was a purr that grated on Lanaya's nerves. She ignored Lanaya completely, resting a manicured hand on Maverick's arm. "Congratulations on the... sudden engagement."

Maverick didn't pull away from Chloe's touch. "Thank you, Chloe."

"I have to admit, I was shocked." Chloe finally turned her predatory gaze to Lanaya. "Especially considering how much you two despise each other. Or is the whole 'blood feud' thing just for the fans?"

Lanaya felt Maverick tense beside her. This was a trap.

"It's not a feud," Lanaya said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "It's passion. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference on the ice."

"How romantic." Chloe's smile was venomous. "But I know Maverick. He doesn't settle down. Not unless he's getting something out of it. So tell me, Lanaya..." Chloe leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "How much is Alexander paying you to wear that ring?"

The silence between them snapped tight.

Lanaya's blood ran ice-cold. She opened her mouth to defend herself.

Maverick dropped her hand.

He didn't defend her. He didn't step between them. He simply went still - his weight shifting almost imperceptibly toward Chloe, his attention narrowing in that specific, contained way that meant he was managing something he didn't want witnessed.

The stillness was the thing that broke her.

She knew this shape. She had carried a version of it in her chest for eight years - the image she had never let herself complete, of Maverick standing at the edge of the lake while Crew went under. Not running. Not shouting. Just that terrible stillness, the same contained quiet she could never find an explanation for, the detail that lived at the center of everything she believed about him and had never once let herself examine directly. She wasn't examining it now. But her body had already made the connection her mind refused to.

His inaction in this room was not the same as that day. She knew that. She told herself that.

It didn't matter. Something that had been holding for eight years gave way anyway.

"That is none of your business, Chloe," Maverick said, his voice terrifyingly calm. But he didn't step away from her.

"Excuse me," Lanaya choked out.

She didn't wait for a response. She turned and fled through the crowded ballroom, not because of Chloe's accusation, not even because Maverick had dropped her hand. She fled because the armor had cracked in a place she hadn't known was load-bearing, and if she stayed another second the thing she had been holding since the lake was going to come apart in full view of Boston's entire social elite.

She made it to the corridor before her back hit the wall and the breath finally left her in one long, ragged collapse.

Eight years. She had carried this for eight years. And she was so tired of holding it.