Tyler’s voice rattled through the phone, low and urgent, like he was afraid someone else might be listening.

“Drake, I wouldn’t be calling you after the biggest night of your career if this wasn’t serious,” he said.

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, glancing toward the bedroom where Heiley still slept, oblivious. “You’re scaring the hell out of me, Ty. Just say it.”

There was a pause. I could hear him exhale, heavy.

“It’s Heiley,” he said finally.

My grip on the counter tightened. “What about her?”

“She’s… look, I don’t know how to tell you this, man. I didn’t want to believe it myself. But it’s real. I saw her.”

The words slashed through me like blades. I wanted to laugh, dismiss it as some drunken joke, but Tyler’s voice was too steady, too grim.

“Saw her where?” I demanded.

“With Anderson.”

The name hit me harder than any body check ever had. Anderson. My rival. The man who’d been breathing down my neck on the ice for years, desperate to topple me. And now… with her?

“You’re wrong,” I said, voice sharp, almost pleading. “You must’ve seen wrong. Anyone could look like her—”

“I wish to God I was wrong, Drake …But I know what I saw. Last week. Downtown bar. They weren’t just talking. They were…” He hesitated. “They were together. And not in a way you can mistake.”

The world tilted. My chest went hollow.

“She—she was with me last week,” I said. “She was at dinner with my parents. She—”

“I don’t know what to say, man. I debated telling you. But if you’re planning to put a ring on her finger, you need to know.”

I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to hold the pieces of myself together. Tyler’s words burned through me, but still I resisted.

“She loves me,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

“I thought so too,” he said quietly. “But you need to ask her. Don’t walk into this blind.”

The line went dead.

--

I stood there, staring at nothing, the phone heavy in my hand. In the other, the velvet box dug into my palm.

Propose? Confront? Both paths stretched before me, both ending in fire.

The sound of bare feet on hardwood snapped me back. Heiley padded into the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, oversized shirt hanging off her shoulder. She smiled when she saw me, soft and effortless, like she had a thousand times before.

“Morning, champ,” she said, voice warm. She leaned up to kiss me, but I froze. For the first time in my life with her, I couldn’t move.

Her smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed, the taste of bile bitter on my tongue. Ask her, Tyler had said. But how? How do you ask the person you thought you knew better than anyone if they’ve been betraying you with the man who’s made a career of trying to destroy you?

Instead, I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Nothing. Just tired.”

She searched my face, suspicion flickering, then nodded. “You should eat. You’ve barely had anything since the game.”

I let her fuss, moving around the kitchen, humming under her breath. The ordinary rhythm of her movements, the casual intimacy of it, clashed violently with the storm tearing me apart inside.

I couldn’t accuse her. Not yet. Not without proof.

But I also couldn’t ignore Tyler’s voice in my head.

Don’t walk into this blind.

--

Later that afternoon, Heiley was on her phone in the living room, laughter spilling into the air. I watched her from the hallway, every tilt of her head, every secret smile, dissected under my gaze. Who was on the other end of that call? A friend? A brand agent? Or Anderson?

I clenched my fists, trying to steady the rage threatening to erupt. If I asked and she lied, I’d know. If she told the truth… I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.

When she hung up, I forced myself to step into the room.

“Heiley,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant.

She looked up, startled. “Yeah?”

I opened my mouth, the words right there on the edge of my tongue—Are you cheating on me? Are you with Anderson?—but they caught in my throat.

Instead, I heard myself say, “You said you had a surprise for me.”

Her eyes lit up, relief smoothing her features. “Oh! Right.” She grabbed her purse from the table and pulled out a small envelope. “I was going to wait until tonight, but…” She handed it to me, smiling.

I opened it with trembling hands. Inside were two plane tickets. Maldives. Luxury resort.

“For us,” she said, beaming. “After the season, just the two of us. No cameras, no media. Just you and me.”

I stared at the tickets, my heart a warzone. On the surface, it was perfect—exactly the kind of surprise she would give. But beneath, Tyler’s words festered, poisoning every smile, every gesture.

“Heiley…” I started, my voice hoarse.

But before I could finish, her phone buzzed again. She glanced at it, too quick, too practiced, before sliding it face-down on the table.

Something inside me cracked. ---

My suspicion builds as Heiley’s phone keeps lighting up with “private” messages she refuses to explain. My anger finally boils over, pushing meto follow her—

only to stumble upon the truth with my own eyes.

The next day Tyler’s words still echoing in my ears.

Don’t propose tonight. You need to know something first.

I sat at the kitchen counter, staring down at the phone in my hand as if it might burn me. The velvet box sat in my other palm, heavier than it had ever felt. Two weights—one promising a future I’d always dreamed of, the other dragging me into an abyss I didn’t want to face.

I snapped the box shut and slid it into my pocket.

She padded over, wrapping her arms around me from behind, resting her cheek between my shoulder blades. “You should be exhausted after lt. Three-time champion. You were incredible.”

I forced a smile she couldn’t see. “Thanks.”

She kissed the back of my neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, too quickly.

Her embrace lingered for a moment longer, then she pulled away, walking toward the fridge. “You want clubhouse? I can make us in a bit.” I watched her move around the kitchen with effortless familiarity, humming under her breath as if the world were perfectly in place.

For years, I had trusted that ease, taken comfort in it.

Now, Tyler’s words gnawed at me, turning every glance, every gesture, every smile into a question mark.

Was she mine?

Or had she already given herself to someone else?

And worse—

to him.

--

By late morning, the penthouse was bright with sunlight.

Heiley curled up on the couch, scrolling her phone.

I lingered in the hallway, unseen, my eyes fixed on her. She laughed softly at something on her screen, her lips curving, the kind of smile she used to give me when I said something dumb.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked, sharper than I meant.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, then softening. “Just Cara. You know, my college friend? She’s asking about last night’s game.”

“Right.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you sound suspicious?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t.”

“You do.” Her smile faded as she studied me. “What’s going on, Drake?”

I opened my mouth, the truth on the tip of my tongue—Tyler’s warning, my fear clawing at me—but the words died. If she denied it, if she looked me in the eye and swore she hadn’t betrayed me, I knew I would believe her. I always had.

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to.

But then her phone buzzed against the coffee table.

She glanced at it

—too quickly, too carefully

—before sliding it face down without answering.

Something inside me snapped.

---

That evening, the tension between us was thick, invisible threads pulling me apart.

She cooked dinner, chatting about wedding venues she’d seen on social media, friends who were already planning trips to Europe this summer. I nodded, smiled, gave half-answers. Inside, my thoughts churned like a storm.

When she leaned across the table to refill my glass, her phone buzzed again.

Same quick glance. Same face-down dismissal.

My jaw tightened. “Who keeps calling?”

She froze for a fraction of a second, then forced a casual laugh. “Nobody important.”

“Then why not answer?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, a flicker of irritation. “Because I’m with you. Isn’t that enough?”

The words stung. They should have soothed me, but instead they felt rehearsed, like lines from a script.

I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Drake—”

I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed my jacket and slammed the door behind me, heart pounding.

The city was loud, neon buzzing, cars honking, strangers moving in waves around me.

But I barely heard any of it. My mind replayed every moment of the day—Tyler’s warning,

Heiley’s quick glances at her phone, the too-perfect trip, the practiced excuses. I found myself wandering aimlessly until I stopped at the reflection of a jewelry store window.

The engagement ring displays glimmered under soft light, mocking me. I had already bought the perfect one, tucked into a velvet box back at the penthouse. The ring that was supposed to symbolize forever.

Now it felt like a joke.

My phone buzzed. A message from Tyler.

Did you ask her?

I typed back,

Not yet.

Seconds later, another message:

You need to know, Drake. Don’t let her play you.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket, chest tight with rage and despair.

When I returned home, Heiley was on the balcony, phone pressed to her ear. She turned quickly when she saw me, slipping it into her pocket.

“You’re back,” she said, voice too bright. “I was just talking to Cara again. She—”

“Stop,” I said, my voice low, dangerous even to my own ears.

Her smile faltered. “Stop what?”

“Lying.”

She froze, color draining from her face. I stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.

“Who keeps calling you? Who’s on the other end of that phone?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her gaze darted away, then back.

“Drake, you’re tired. You’re imagining—”

“Don’t.” My voice cracked. “Don’t you dare gaslight me. Tell me the truth.”

The silence between us stretched, heavy and suffocating.

For the first time, she looked like a stranger.

Finally, she whispered, “I can’t do this right now.”

And she turned, walking inside, shutting the balcony door behind her.

--

I stood there, chest heaving, rage and heartbreak boiling into something uncontrollable. If she wouldn’t tell me the truth, I’d find it myself.

When she went to shower later that night, leaving her phone on the nightstand, I stared at it like it was a bomb. Every nerve in my body screamed not to cross that line, not to become the man who snooped, who dug, who confirmed his worst fears.

But then it buzzed.

A new message lit the screen.

Anderson’s name.

I grabbed the phone. My eyes scanned the text, each word carving into me like blades.

Can’t stop thinking about last week. When can I see you again?

The room spun. My stomach heaved. The walls felt like they were collapsing.

I dropped the phone back onto the table, hands shaking, bile rising in my throat.

Everything Tyler said was true.

Everything I’d built with her—

-all the years, all the loyalty, all the love

—was a lie.

And she was still in the shower, humming, as if she hadn’t just destroyed me.

The text burned into my mind long after I dropped her phone back on the nightstand.

Can’t stop thinking about last week. When can I see you again?

Anderson. My rival.

The man who smiled for cameras while plotting to take me down every chance he got on the ice. And now he’d taken her, too.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

Water hissed from the shower. Steam curled from the bathroom door. She was in there, humming like she hadn’t just detonated my entire life.

Part of me wanted to storm in, confront her right then. But another part—a colder, more calculating part—held me still.

If I accused her, she’d deny it. She’d twist it, gaslight me, make me doubt what I’d seen. I needed proof I couldn’t ignore. Proof that would drown her excuses before she could even speak them.

The next day, I found it. She told me she was meeting Cara for lunch. She dressed carefully, hair curled, lips painted red. She kissed my cheek before leaving, soft and sweet.

“Don’t wait up. We might shop after.”

I nodded, biting down on the words in my throat. The second the elevator doors closed behind her, I grabbed my keys.

--

Following her felt dirty, like I’d already lost some part of myself. But the sick certainty in my gut told me I was right. I trailed her cab through the city, my grip on the wheel white-knuckled.

She didn’t go to the café where Cara always posted her latte art.

She didn’t go near the mall either.

Instead, her cab stopped in front of a sleek hotel near the river.

My pulse spiked. I parked down the block and watched from a distance.

Heiley stepped out, glancing around once before heading inside.

Minutes later, another cab pulled up. And out stepped Anderson. He wore sunglasses, hood pulled low, but I’d know his stride anywhere. The same confident arrogance he carried on the ice. He barely looked around before striding into the hotel like he owned it.

Something inside me snapped.

--

I was in the lobby before I even knew I’d moved. The desk clerk smiled at me, recognition flashing in her eyes.

“Mr. Hiltons—”

“Did a brunette woman just check in?” My voice was sharp, harsher than I meant.

The clerk faltered. “I—I can’t disclose—”

But I was already moving past her, toward the elevators.

My blood pounded in my ears. The ride up was a blur. When the doors opened, I stepped into a quiet hallway lined with identical doors.

I didn’t know which one was theirs, but then I heard it—her laugh. Soft, familiar, intimate. And his voice, low, answering. My body moved before my mind caught up. I strode down the hall, stopped at the door where the voices came from.

My fist hovered, trembling.

Then I heard the sound of a zipper. A gasp.

My vision tunneled. I slammed my hand against the door.

“Heiley!”

Silence.

Then scrambling, hurried whispers.

The lock clicked once, twice.

Then the door cracked open just enough for Heiley’s face to appear, eyes wide, hair tumbling around her flushed cheeks.

“Drake—what are you doing here?”

Behind her, Anderson’s voice: “Shit.”

My chest hollowed out. It was real. I hadn’t been paranoid.

I hadn’t imagined it. I shoved the door wide.

Anderson stood by the bed, shirt half undone, eyes flashing with annoyance instead of guilt.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Heiley blurted, stepping in front of me, hands on my chest.

“Don’t,” I growled. My voice was so raw it startled even me.

“Don’t insult me with that line.”

Anderson smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Guess the golden boy finally figured it out.”

Rage surged, hot and blinding. I lunged, fist connecting with his jaw before Heiley’s scream even registered.

Anderson staggered back, then swung at me. The two of us crashed into the nightstand, lamp shattering to the floor.

“Stop it!” Heiley shrieked, pulling at my arm.

“Drakel, stop!”

But I couldn’t. Years of rivalry, of biting back, of watching him gloat every time he scored—it all poured out now. Every punch was for the lies she’d told, the nights I thought she loved me, the future I thought we had.

Security burst in before I could finish what I started. They yanked us apart,

Anderson spitting blood, me breathing like a bull ready to charge again.

“You need to leave, sir,” one guard barked at me.

I wrenched free, pointing a shaking hand at Heiley.

“We’re done. Do you hear me? Done.”

Her face crumpled, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Drake, please—”

But I was already gone.

I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember climbing into the penthouse, the city lights blurring outside.

All I remember is standing in our bedroom, staring at the ring box on the dresser. I opened it one last time. The diamond gleamed, beautiful, mocking. I hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, forgotten.

The press got hold of it within hours.

Photos leaked of me storming out of the hotel, face bruised, shirt torn.

Headlines screamed betrayal, scandal, broken engagement.

Sports commentators debated how it would affect my career.

Some said it would fuel me.

Others said it would destroy me.

But none of them knew what it felt like.

None of them knew how it felt to love someone so blindly, only to watch her slip into the arms of the one man you hated most.

--- That night, I sat alone on the balcony, staring out at the skyline.

My phone buzzed nonstop—Tyler, teammates, my coach, even sponsors. I ignored them all.

Finally, one message from Tyler cut through:

You need to get out of here, Drake. Before this kills you.

For once, I agreed.

I didn’t know where I’d go yet, but I knew one thing: the ice wasn’t enough anymore.

The rink, the trophies, the cheers—they couldn’t patch this hole in my chest.

I needed distance.

Silence.

Somewhere nobody cared about hockey, or about Drake Hiltons, MVP.

Somewhere I could breathe again.

--

As dawn broke, I made the call.

Booked the flight. Somewhere far, warm, and quiet.

The Philippines.

I didn’t know what I was running toward. Only what I was running from.

And in that uncertainty, for the first time in years,

I felt the faintest spark of freedom.