Behind His Mask: My Hockey Alpha
Rhea Hale, a young art restorer at the old Elaria gallery, lives a life of near-perfect calm-canvases, colors, and classical symphonies that fill her every day. But when she touches a mysterious painting titled The Moon Painting, something inside her begins to shift. Strange visions, eyes watching from the fog, and wild emotions she can't explain slowly start to unravel her peaceful world.
Across the city, Kaelan Viero-the national hockey team's captain-carries the charm and composure of a champion. But beneath the arena lights and public spotlight, there's a side of him he never shows... until his eyes lock with a stranger's in the stands.
That brief moment sparks something long buried.
And from then on, neither of their lives remains the same.
"One glance started it all. And after that... there was no turning back."
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Chapter 3
(Rhea's POV)
I knew today was going to be a long one, but I didn't expect every second of it to feel this strange.
I tried to shake off my thoughts and quickly went to check the paintings on display before the guests started arriving.
Out of all the pieces exhibited tonight, the Moon Painting always pulled at me the most. But for some reason, when I looked at it tonight, something felt... different.
I only glanced at the canvas as I crossed the hall-but in that brief moment, I saw something. A pair of eyes in the painting shimmered, like they were reflecting actual moonlight.
I froze. My steps halted.
Was I hallucinating?
My eyes scanned the room, hoping someone else had seen it too. The guests were still admiring the painting, but their faces looked normal. They were just smiling, nodding, or chatting about colors and techniques. No one looked surprised. No one seemed to notice what I just saw.
My heart thudded unevenly in my chest.
I forced myself to stay calm as I explained the Moon Painting to the next group. My smile stayed, my voice steady, my steps measured. But underneath all of that, I just wanted to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, that would've looked weird.
I glanced elsewhere among the arriving guests, and there he was... that national hockey player-Kaelan Viero. He was standing there. Still. Blending into the crowd. But the way he looked at me felt piercing. Not because his stare was sharp. But because-somehow-I felt like he was way too close.
More guests arrived and started forming small discussion circles. I guided them toward other parts of the gallery and answered a few technical questions about the restoration methods used on the displayed artworks. But I couldn't shake the Moon Painting out of my head-or the man who had stood near it just minutes ago.
Once I finished with the last group, I returned to the Moon Painting with another set of guests.
One middle-aged man from the group stepped closer and asked, "Did the painter have a spiritual background?"
I gave him a polite smile. "I can't say for sure, Sir. What I do know is that this piece came from the collection of an old noble family. I only restored it. But judging by the brush technique and the materials used, yes... there is a certain energy that feels different about this painting."
"Exactly. I felt like... there's something hidden behind it," his wife whispered.
I didn't respond to that directly. Because deep down... I felt the same.
I continued explaining the other paintings to them. After they walked off, I returned to the Moon Painting. I needed to take a closer look-just to make sure what I saw earlier wasn't just a shadow.
This time, I inspected it more carefully. My fingers traced the back corners of the canvas, pretending I was checking for last-minute touch-ups, when really, I was just staring at the image on it. But when I touched the bottom edge of the frame, I felt something thin slip between the wooden layers.
An old piece of paper.
I frowned slightly, then pulled it out slowly. It was yellowed, the edges brittle like it had been left in a damp place for too long. There was no visible writing-at least, not at first. But when I held it under the display light, faint patterns appeared-circles and strange lines in the center. Not writing. More like... engravings resembling symbols or specific images.
My index finger touched the surface. Instantly, a cold sensation shot through my arm. Not just any cold. A chill that pierced right into the bone. It felt... like a jolt of electricity.
I held my breath. "Is this part of the original piece?" I whispered, though I didn't expect an answer.
But before I could examine it further, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Instinctively, I slipped the paper into my notebook and closed it quickly.
I looked back at the painting.
And right then-again.
The faint pair of eyes etched into the fog of the painting shimmered for a second. Like dew reflecting the dim light of the hall. Just a blink. But it was clear.
My jaw dropped slightly. I looked around again. And once again... no one reacted. No one noticed anything.
Was this some kind of restoration effect? Or...
I turned toward where Kaelan had been standing. And he was still looking at me.
His gaze wasn't calm anymore. This time, there was confusion. A hint of worry. But also... something like recognition?
My heart sank.
Could it be that... he saw it too? Did he know something about this painting?
I looked away, trying to refocus on my duties. But the questions wouldn't stop spinning in my head.
***
It was almost 9 p.m. now. The number of guests was thinning. Classical piano music still played softly in the background, mixed with the occasional clink of glasses and quiet conversations.
I thanked the last group of guests, then walked to the drinks table. My hand trembled a little as I poured water. Maybe from exhaustion. Or... maybe something else.
"Rhea, are you okay?" asked Kira, one of the young curators who'd been helping me tonight.
I nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just a bit sore," I said, gently massaging my shoulder.
"That last group was a little intense, huh? Asking about the painter's inspiration and all that-even though you clearly said you only restored it."
I chuckled softly. "Happens all the time. You know how it is-people who love art always want to dig into its backstory before they buy anything."
"You're right."
I went quiet again, just playing with the glass in my hand.
Kira must've noticed, because she gently touched my arm. "You look really uneasy, Rhea. Did something happen? Did one of the guests make you uncomfortable?"
I turned to her. I almost told her that I'd seen something strange. That the famous guy standing in front of the painting made my heart race in a way I didn't understand. That afterward, my thoughts went completely haywire. But of course, I couldn't say any of that to Kira. I just gave her a small smile instead.
"No, Kira. I'm fine. I just need some fresh air. You know I'm not used to being in crowded places. That's why I'm drained."
She nodded understandingly. "Take a break and recharge. I'll keep an eye on things here."
I nodded and quickly left the main hall, walking down a narrow hallway toward the storage room. It was quieter there. No music, no eyes on me. Just the sound of my own breathing.
I sat down and leaned against the wall, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart. I closed my eyes, but the moment darkness settled in, I found myself thinking about Kaelan's gaze-and... that scent. The scent that, for some reason, felt so warm yet also gave me goosebumps.
Then, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned instinctively, like I was expecting someone.
And damn it, I was hoping it was Kaelan.
I let out a deep sigh. It was just a gallery staff member passing by with a box of catalogs. And when I realized that, I suddenly felt... disappointed.
Why would I feel disappointed? Kaelan and I don't even know each other.
"What's happening to me...?" I whispered, shaking my head a little.
I've never believed in anything metaphysical. I believe in art. In time. In restoration through clear, measurable techniques. Those things are real to me.
But tonight... it felt like I was being pulled into something I couldn't explain.
That painting. That man. That feeling. And... that scent.
***
After I calmed down a bit, I returned to the main hall. Most of the guests had already left. Just a few people lingered near the buffet or took photos to capture the moment.
I looked at the Moon Painting once more. I stood close enough to see the details of the mist spreading across the canvas edges. That scent... came back... faint, but still there.
"Looks like the guests are starting to leave," I said to Kira and Lina.
The two women, who had been standing near an abstract painting by a famous Spanish artist, came over to me. "Yeah," Kira replied.
Lina nodded too. "I think Kaelan's already gone."
"That hockey player?"
Lina nodded again. "Yep."
Kira turned to me, as if remembering something. "Oh... right, I almost forgot. He actually came up to me earlier."
"Did he want to buy a painting?" Lina asked.
Kira shook her head. "Nope. The painting stuff was already handled by his manager. He came to me for something else."
"What kind of something?" Lina asked, confused.
Kira looked back at me-her gaze more intense now. "He asked for your phone number, Rhea."
"Mine? Why?" I asked, equally confused.
"He said there was something important he wanted to talk to you about-something to do with the painting's restoration. So... I gave it to him."
Right after Kira said that, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
[No Name]
No Name: We're not done yet, Miss Hale.
-K
I stared at the screen for a long time before even thinking about replying or closing it. My heart had already started pounding again.
I didn't know who he really was. Or what that message meant.
But for the first time... I wanted to find out.
And that was the scariest part of all.
***
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7.4
I was the bankrupt socialite everyone pitied, standing in the mud at my mother's grave with nothing left but a pair of old Louboutins and a single white rose. My bank account was overdrawn by three hundred dollars, but I still believed Julian, my fiancé, was the one person who hadn't abandoned the toxic Compton name.
Then I saw his Maybach shaking in the cemetery parking lot. Through a crack in the window, I heard the man I loved whispering to my stepsister, Tiffany.
"Don't worry about the broke princess. Once I secure her voting proxy for the trust, I'm dumping her."
Tiffany laughed, clutching the scarlet coat she'd charged to my own maxed-out credit card.
"She's so pathetic, Julian. She actually thinks you love her."
I didn't scream; I recorded them. But when I tried to use that leverage, my family turned into vipers. To protect Julian's status, they framed me for causing Tiffany to miscarry a fake pregnancy and planted stolen documents in my bag. My own father stood by as they locked me in a room, planning to sell me to a predatory creditor named Hightower to settle his gambling debts. I ended up in a freezing police cell, my ankle shattered and my reputation destroyed.
I sat on that metal bench, shivering as I realized my own blood had traded my life for a check. I called the only man powerful enough to burn them all-Julian's uncle, the "Butcher of Wall Street," Alden Stark. The phone just kept ringing. He wasn't coming. To the world, I was just a walking bankruptcy filing, a girl who had finally run out of luck.
I didn't wait for a savior. I escaped custody and ran barefoot through the rain, leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor of Stark Tower. When I collapsed at Alden's feet, he didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me like a rare, damaged artifact he finally owned.
"Inform the board that this is my fiancée," he announced, lifting me into his arms.
I signed the marriage contract that night, trading my freedom for the power to ensure my family's liabilities exceeded their assets for the rest of their natural lives.
8.4
Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out.
To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment.
But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second.
He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment.
"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone.
When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number.
Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job.
She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage.
Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior.
She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.
9.8
Adeline's stepmother had secretly drugged her for years, turning a child genius into a drooling, mentally disabled laughingstock just so her stepsister could steal her life.
But when her greedy father sold her off to Griffin Herring—a violent, untouchable billionaire psychopath—to save his company, things took a deadly turn.
Before the wedding, Griffin attacked her in a dark alley, nearly snapping her neck before stealing her grandfather's silver necklace.
That necklace held a micro-drive with her family's deepest secrets, and without it, she had nothing.
Back at the estate, her situation only worsened. Her stepsister Damaris paraded around in the Herring family's diamond engagement gifts, trying to force-feed Adeline wet dog food on an Instagram live stream.
When Adeline's calculated "clumsiness" ruined the video, her furious father locked her in a damp, rusted basement.
"Give her to the psycho," her stepmother hissed through the door. "Let him lock her away forever."
Listening from the shadows, Adeline's fists clenched until her palms bled.
Her supposed mental fog wasn't a tragedy—it was a calculated assassination of her mind. They had destroyed her childhood and were now throwing her to a monster just to keep the billions.
The dull, empty look in Adeline's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a razor-sharp, chilling clarity.
She pulled a thin surgical needle from her messy bun and picked the heavy iron padlock in ten seconds. It was time to break into the billionaire's penthouse, take back her necklace, and tear them all apart.
7.7
Olivia Pearson is just a pawn – a wife bought to rescue her father's ailing business. Her husband, Sebastian, maintains his icy grip over her life and escape feels like a pipe dream. But when Olivia uncovers the secrets of his empire filled with lies and illicit dealings, she decides to take control. The more she tries to figure things out, the more she realizes that the only person who can assist her might be Ethan Blackwood, Sebastian's brother, and the man who has captured her heart.
Now Olivia is sandwiched between two brothers. The choice to make is simple but painfully difficult; the husband who owns her or the difficult, yet enticing lover who comes with freedom.
It remains to be seen what is more perilous: that decision, or the consequences that follow.
THIS IS A SIZZLING NEW ROMANCE – NO HANDS!
8.6
Since returning to her family, Evelyn had never truly been accepted or treated as their own daughter.
On her wedding day, her parents chose her adopted sister over her, and the man she was supposed to marry abandoned her on the highway for his true love without even looking back once.
Heartbroken but resolute, she tore off her veil and stood before his rival. "I dare you to steal the bride."
Shane met her gaze. "Why wouldn't I?"
Their impulsive marriage shocked everyone. Her ex later begged, "Give me another chance."
Shane pulled her close, his voice cold. "Too late. She's my wife now."
7.4
My fiancé Javen sent me to a yacht in the middle of a New York storm to finalize a high-stakes merger with Alfonse Wolfe, a billionaire rumored to have ice water in his veins. I did it for "us," shivering in a soaked evening gown and cutting my hand on broken glass just to get the signature that would save Javen’s company.
But when I rushed back to the Doyle estate, the manor was blazing with lights for an unannounced engagement party. Javen wasn't waiting for me with open arms; he was standing on the dance floor with Blossom Vega, the daughter of his biggest competitor, announcing their union to the elite of New York.
When I stepped forward, dripping blood and water onto the marble floor, Javen didn't try to protect me. He looked at me with pure disgust and told the gathered press that I was a "charity case" suffering from mental delusions. His mother laughed while calling me a cockroach, and his father claimed my family’s lost fortune was a hallucination. To ensure my silence, Javen leaned in and whispered that he would pull the plug on my disabled brother’s life-saving medical care if I didn't disappear.
I was hauled away by security and locked in a dark storage room like a stain on his perfect evening. I lay there in the dust, unable to process how twelve years of love could be a calculated lie. How could the man I was supposed to marry use my brother’s breath as a bargaining chip after I had just sacrificed everything to save him?
I escaped through a second-story window and went straight to the only predator powerful enough to tear the Doyles apart: Alfonse Wolfe. I didn't just ask for sanctuary; I demanded a marriage license to unlock my mother’s secret trust and protect my brother. Standing in a high-security vault as the new Mrs. Wolfe, I discovered a truth that changed the game. I didn’t just have the money to ruin Javen; the deed in my hand proved I now owned the very land beneath Alfonse’s mansion.
"I’m not the prey anymore," I whispered, watching the Doyle stock plummet on my phone. "I'm the hunter."