"You’re trending again, Emma."

Marcus slid his iPad across the polished mahogany table.

A grainy video looped on the screen. Sienna and Cole walking into the hotel lobby last night, her arms wrapped around his neck. Then, the slide switched to a still photograph.

Me, standing outside Cole’s penthouse door at 2:00 AM.

"I was bringing him his fever medication," I said, shoving the tablet back toward the agent. "You know he had a 101-degree temperature last night. I went to the 24-hour pharmacy for him."

"The internet doesn't care about his temperature," Marcus stated, his voice flat. "They care that Cole and Sienna spent the night together, and you were caught lurking in the hallway."

"I wasn't lurking. I was doing my job."

"Not anymore." Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Fans figured out who you are. The narrative is shifting. They're calling you a homewrecker. A crazy, obsessed assistant trying to ruin hockey's new golden couple."

"Then fix it," I demanded. "Tell them the truth. Tell them I was his girlfriend."

"The truth doesn't sell jerseys, Emma." Marcus crossed his arms. "The obsessed assistant angle? It works perfectly. It makes Sienna look like the victim and Cole look like a saint for putting up with your harassment."

I scoffed, shaking my head in pure disbelief. "Cole will never agree to this."

"He already did."

"You're lying."

"Watch the press conference in ten minutes," Marcus instructed, pointing toward the heavy oak door. "Then pack your desk."

I didn't wait for him to dismiss me. I stormed out of the conference room and marched straight toward the media center.

I stood in the shadows of the backstage wings. The harsh glare of the camera lights illuminated Cole at the podium. He wore a sharp navy suit. He looked calm. Untouchable.

"Cole!" a reporter shouted over the chaotic din of the press corps. "Did your assistant pursue you romantically? Is she the reason for the tension outside your hotel room last night?"

The room fell dead silent.

Cole gripped the edges of the podium. He turned his head slightly. His eyes found mine in the dark.

I held my gaze steady. *Tell them,* I silently demanded. *Just tell them I worked for you. Defend me.*

Seconds ticked by. Cole swallowed hard. He broke eye contact and looked back at the flashing cameras.

"I don’t want to discuss a former employee’s private feelings," Cole said into the microphone.

My stomach plummeted.

*Former employee.*

*Private feelings.*

He didn't just throw me under the bus. He backed it up and ran me over.

My phone vibrated violently in my pocket. Notifications flooded my screen. Twitter mentions. Instagram tags. Threats from rabid fans pouring in by the second.

A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. Dave, the team’s HR director, stepped into my line of sight.

"Hand over your badge, Emma," Dave ordered. "You're done here. Security will escort you out."

I unclipped the plastic ID from my lanyard and let it drop onto the concrete floor.

"I need to speak to him," I said, stepping around Dave.

"He doesn't want to speak to you."

"I don't care."

I bypassed the security detail and shoved open the double doors to the locker room.

Cole sat on the center bench, loosening his silk tie. He didn't look surprised to see me. He didn't even look guilty.

"You ruined my reputation," I yelled, my voice echoing off the metal lockers.

"Keep your voice down," Cole muttered, rubbing his temples. "It's just a media cycle. It will blow over in a week."

"A media cycle? They're calling me a stalker! I spent five years hiding in your shadow, and this is how you repay me?"

"I'm protecting my career," he shot back. "Sienna brings in a new demographic. The league wants us together. I couldn't let you ruin that."

"I brought you fever medicine," I reminded him, my voice shaking with rage. "I took care of you while you were planning how to destroy me."

Cole reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it out to me.

"What is this?" I asked, refusing to reach for it.

"It's a check. Six figures. More than enough to keep you comfortable until the heat dies down. I told you I'd take care of you."

I stared at the slip of paper. Five years of love, loyalty, and silence. Reduced to a hush-money payout.

"You think you can buy my silence?" I asked.

"I think you need the money," Cole countered. "Take it, Emma. Go on a vacation. Forget about hockey for a while."

I snatched the check from his fingers.

I ripped it in half. Then into quarters.

I threw the shredded pieces right into his face. The paper fluttered down onto his expensive leather shoes.

"I don't want your money, Cole."

His jaw tightened. The easygoing, charming athlete vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stranger.

"You're making a mistake, Emma."

"My only mistake was believing you ever cared about me."

Cole stood up, closing the distance between us. He towered over me, his expression hardening into pure disdain.

"Don't act like you're above this," he sneered. "You rode my coattails for half a decade. Without me, nobody in this league even knows your name."

His cruelty punched the air right out of my lungs.

"They'll know it soon," I promised.

I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving him standing in the empty locker room.

The moment I pushed through the arena's glass exit doors, absolute chaos erupted.

Dozens of reporters swarmed the sidewalk. Camera flashes blinded me. Microphones jammed into my personal space, hitting my chin.

"Emma! Are you in love with Cole?"

"Did you try to break into his room?"

"Are you getting a restraining order?"

I shoved past a cameraman, keeping my head down. "No comment. Leave me alone."

"Homewrecker!" a girl screamed from the crowd of fans behind the metal barricade.

A heavy paper cup sailed through the air. It slammed directly into my shoulder. Sticky, freezing iced coffee exploded across my white blouse and dripped down my neck.

I gasped, stumbling forward onto the pavement.

A sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb. The tinted back window rolled down halfway.

Cole sat in the luxurious leather seat. Sienna was curled against his chest, laughing at something on her phone.

He turned his head. His eyes locked onto mine.

He saw the coffee soaking my shirt. He saw the mob surrounding me, screaming insults.

He didn't say a word. He didn't tell the driver to stop.

He just pressed a button on the door panel.

The window rolled up, cutting me off completely. The SUV sped away, leaving me entirely alone in the flashing lights.

My phone vibrated in my wet pocket.

I pulled it out. A text message glowed on the screen from the same unknown number that called me last night.

*I saw the press conference. Are you ready to destroy him now?*

My television screen flashed red with breaking news alerts.

"NHL Championship in jeopardy. Cole Maddox tests positive for banned substances."

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Marcus’s name lit up the screen. I snatched it up.

"What is going on?" I demanded.

"We have a problem, Emma," Marcus replied, his voice clipped and cold. "The league found an irregularity in Cole’s finals drug panel. They traced the source."

"Traced it to what?"

"A batch of unregistered supplements. They entered the team’s medical room last month."

My stomach churned. "I don't handle his medical clearance. The trainers do."

"The purchase orders were authorized under your employee account."

"That's impossible." I gripped the edge of the marble counter. "I never bought anything off-book. Let me log into the system. I can pull the IP addresses and prove it wasn't me."

I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder, flipping open my laptop. I typed in my credentials.

*Error: User Not Found.*

"Your access was revoked yesterday," Marcus stated. "You’re locked out."

"You framed me."

"Sienna’s father is the primary sponsor for the franchise. He threatened to pull fifty million dollars in funding if the team takes the fall."

"So you need a scapegoat."

"We need someone expendable."

"I gave this team five years of my life. You know I would never risk Cole's health."

"Your loyalty is irrelevant," Marcus countered. "The league demands blood. You are no longer an employee. You have no union protection. It’s the cleanest way out."

"I'll go to the press. I'll tell them everything."

"You have no proof," Marcus said. "We have the purchase orders with your digital signature. Stand down, Emma."

The line went dead.

I stared at the blank laptop screen. They were going to ruin me. Not just my reputation, but my entire career in sports management.

Two days later, I sat in the sterile conference room of the NHL disciplinary committee.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The team lawyers flanked the long oak table. Cole sat directly across from me, wearing a sharp charcoal suit. He kept his eyes locked on the polished wood in front of him.

"Mr. Maddox," the lead investigator began, sliding a printed document across the table. "Can you confirm how these specific supplements entered your daily regimen?"

I stared at Cole. *Tell the truth. For once in your life, be a man.*

Cole picked up a silver pen. His knuckles turned white. He hesitated, the tip of the pen hovering above the signature line.

"Cole," I said, my voice cutting through the silent room. "Don't do this."

A team lawyer shot me a warning glare. "Miss Hayes, you will wait your turn to speak."

I ignored the suit. "You know exactly what happened, Cole. Tell them."

Cole finally lifted his head. His expression was completely blank. The charming, loving man I spent half a decade with was entirely gone.

"My assistant handled my supplements," Cole said, his tone flat. "I trusted her."

He signed the paper and pushed it back.

The room erupted into quiet murmurs. The investigator stamped the file.

"Emma Hayes, based on the sworn testimony of the player and the digital evidence provided by the franchise, your league credentials are suspended indefinitely."

I didn't blink. I didn't cry. The betrayal cut so deep it severed whatever remaining attachment I had to the man sitting across from me.

"You're making a mistake," I told the committee.

"The hearing is adjourned," the investigator announced.

The lawyers stood up, packing their briefcases. Cole stood quickly, adjusting his tie. He turned his back to me and headed for the side exit.

I pushed my chair back and marched out into the main corridor. I waited by the heavy glass doors leading to the player parking garage.

Five minutes later, Cole emerged. He walked fast, flanked by two security guards.

I stepped directly into his path.

"Move, Emma," he muttered.

"Look at me."

He stopped. The guards shifted, but Cole waved them off. He finally raised his head. Guilt flashed in his eyes, quick and cowardly.

"You know I didn’t do it," I said, keeping my voice dangerously low. "Why did you sign?"

"Sienna's dad gave the front office an ultimatum."

"I don't care about her dad. I asked why *you* signed it."

Cole shoved his hands into his pockets. He shifted his weight, refusing to hold my gaze for more than a second.

"If I go down, everything we built for seven years disappears."

The sheer audacity of his words hung in the air. Seven years. He counted the two years in the minors, the late nights studying film, the meals I prepped, the schedules I managed. He claimed the success as a joint venture, only to sacrifice me to protect his own skin.

"It's just a suspension, Emma," Cole offered, his tone softening into something pathetic. "You can work in PR. I'll fund a startup for you. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

"You think money fixes this?"

"I had to protect the championship."

"You protected yourself."

"I protected our legacy!" he argued, finally raising his voice.

"No, Cole," I replied, my tone entirely devoid of warmth.

He frowned, stepping closer. "Emma—"

"Everything I built for you disappears."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and walked toward the exit, my spine straight.

The lobby was swarming with press. The moment I pushed through the revolving doors, a barrage of microphones assaulted me.

"Emma! Did you dope him to secure the championship?"

"Were you trying to force him to marry you?"

"Do you have a comment on your suspension?"

I ignored them. I shoved my way through the throng of reporters, keeping my gaze fixed on the street. A camera lens smacked my shoulder. A microphone cord tangled around my wrist.

I ripped my arm free and hailed a cab. I climbed into the back seat and slammed the door shut.

"Just drive," I told the driver.

The cab merged into traffic, leaving the arena and the media circus behind.

My phone vibrated endlessly in my lap. Hate mail. Death threats from rabid fans. Articles calling me a desperate, cheating ex-employee who tried to buy a ring with illegal drugs.

I opened Twitter. My name was the number one trend globally.

*#EmmaHayesCheater*

*#SuspendHerForLife*

I prepared to turn the phone off. Then, a new notification popped up. It wasn't a threat. It was a tag from a verified account.

I tapped the screen.

Liam Carter.

The captain of the rival team. The league's biggest superstar. Cole’s absolute worst enemy on and off the ice.

Liam had just posted a single message to his five million followers.

*Emma Hayes didn’t dope Cole Maddox. And I can prove it.*

I stared at the glowing screen, my heart slamming against my ribs. The post already had fifty thousand likes. It was climbing by the second.

My phone buzzed again. An incoming call.

The caller ID displayed the same unknown number from the night at the hotel.

I pressed answer and brought the phone to my ear.

"Did you see my post?" Liam's voice rumbled through the speaker, deep and laced with amusement.

"What are you playing at, Carter?" I asked.

"I told you I could help you destroy him. Are you ready to meet?"

"Why do you care what happens to me?"

"I don't," Liam stated. "I care about tearing Cole Maddox off his fake pedestal. You hold the hammer, Emma. I just have the nails."

"Where are you?"

"Check your messages. I sent an address."

"I'm suspended. Radioactive. Nobody in this city will touch me right now."

"Good thing I don't play by their rules," Liam replied. "Ten minutes. Don't be late."

The line clicked off.

I lowered the phone. A fierce, burning resolve replaced the hollow ache in my chest. Cole thought he could erase me. He thought he could bury me under his lies and walk away clean.

He was wrong.

I leaned forward and tapped the plastic divider.

"Change of plans," I told the driver. "Take me to the west side."