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.

Morning sunlight poured across the city skyline, but inside my penthouse the world was gray.

I hadn’t slept. My knuckles were swollen from the fight, split raw where Anderson’s jaw had caught me.

The phone hadn’t stopped buzzing. It had started as a trickle the night before, but now it was a flood.

Missed calls stacked on the screen: Coach Meyer, Tyler, my agent, even my mother.

Texts from teammates. And Heiley—dozens, pleading, apologizing, explaining, begging.

I couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t answer.

The weight of it all sat heavy in my chest.

The television I’d left on low filled the room with voices. Sports anchors leaned across glossy desks, photos of me and Heiley plastered over their shoulders. One shot showed her smiling at my side at the Awards Gala just last week, my hand resting proudly on her waist.

The next shot cut to grainy images from last night—me storming out of the hotel, blood on my lip, rage written across my face. The anchor’s voice dripped with satisfaction:

“This morning, a shocking scandal rocks the NHL. Drake Hiltons, three-time MVP, was spotted leaving the Riverfront Hotel after a reported altercation with rival captain Anderson Cole. Sources confirm Hiltons’ longtime fiancée, Heiley Mason, was also present. What this means for Hiltons’ career—and his reputation—remains to be seen.”

The clip cut to fans outside an arena. Some shook their heads in disappointment. Others looked into the camera, furious.

He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves better. I can’t believe she’d cheat on him—especially with Anderson.

I shut it off, bile rising in my throat.

--

By noon, Tyler let himself into my penthouse with the spare key. He dropped a grocery bag on the counter and gave me a long look. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, sinking onto the couch.

He didn’t sugarcoat it.

“This thing’s everywhere, Drake. Trending on every platform. Sponsors are panicking. Coach is panicking. Hell, even my mom called me to ask if you’re okay.”

“Am I?”

I asked bitterly. “I’m not sure I even know.”

He sat across from me, serious for once.

“You have two options. You face this head-on, hold a press conference, spin it before the league does. Or…” He hesitated. “You get out of town. Fast. Let it blow over without you feeding the flames.”

“Running away.”

“Taking space,” he corrected.

“There’s a difference. Right now, you’re bleeding in shark-infested waters. They’re going to keep circling until you’re gone.”

--

That afternoon, my agent called. I didn’t want to answer, but Tyler shoved the phone into my hand.

“Drake” Martin’s clipped voice came through. “We have a crisis. Wilson Energy is threatening to pull your endorsement. They don’t want your name associated with—” he lowered his voice like the word was dirty—“domestic scandals.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless. “I’m the victim here, Martin. You know that, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Public perception is everything. You need to get in front of this. Right now.”

I hung up without answering.

---

By evening, a crowd had gathered outside the building. Reporters, cameras, microphones shoved into the air whenever a resident stepped out.

My phone lit up again—Tyler this time, sending a photo from Twitter.

It was me. Not even twenty-four hours old, the shot already had thousands of shares. I was standing in the hotel doorway, fury etched across my face, fists clenched, security holding me back.

The caption read: MVP or ticking time bomb?

The comments were worse.

Guess he’s not such a golden boy after all.

No wonder she cheated—look at his temper.

Protect Anderson. Suspend Hiltons.

I slammed the phone down so hard it cracked the coffee table glass. -

-- At midnight, Heiley showed up.

The doorman called to warn me, but she pushed past anyway, hair in a messy bun, eyes swollen from crying. She looked small in her hoodie and jeans, nothing like the polished woman who’d stood beside me at every gala, every postgame celebration.

“Drake, please—” she started. I didn’t let her finish.

“Get out.”

Tears welled.

“I made a mistake. A horrible mistake. But I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

I barked a laugh. “You loved me so much you ended up in bed with him?”

Her chin trembled. “It didn’t mean anything—”

“Don’t.” My voice cracked sharp as glass. “Don’t cheapen us more than you already have.”

She reached for me, but I stepped back. “Drake, please. Don’t throw us away. We can fix this. I swear—”

I met her eyes, and for a moment I almost faltered. Almost.

Because once, her eyes were home.

But now they were just mirrors reflecting back the wreckage she’d caused.

“Leave, Heiley,” I said quietly.

“Before I forget every good memory we ever had.”

She cried harder, but this time, she obeyed.

--

The next morning, I couldn’t breathe.

The air in the penthouse was heavy, suffocating.

The city outside my window felt hostile. Every honk, every camera flash below was a reminder: I was trapped in a cage built from betrayal and fame.

I grabbed my phone.

Pulled up flight schedules. My hands shook as I scrolled, but I didn’t stop until I found it: Manila, Philippines.

Tyler walked in just as I hit Book.

He froze.

“Where the hell is that?”

“Far enough.” My voice was calm, steady in a way it hadn’t been in days.

“You serious?” I looked at him, jaw tight.

“If I don’t leave, this will kill me. Hockey, Heiley, the press—everything. I need to get out before there’s nothing left of me.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“Then go. Hell, I’ll cover practice excuses for you. Just… promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t shut down completely. Find something out there worth waking up for.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t believe that was possible. Not yet.

--

That night, as I packed a single bag, the news anchor’s voice drifted from the TV again: “Sources confirm Drake Hiltons is under investigation by the league for violent conduct following last night’s altercation. Disciplinary action may be announced soon. Is this the fall of hockey’s golden boy?”

I zipped my bag closed and shut off the TV.

Let them speculate.

Let them feast.

By the time the headlines hit tomorrow,

I’d be gone.

I have booked my escape. I'm at the lowest point of my life—betrayed, vilified, losing sponsors, hounded by the press. The only option left is to run.