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 8
(POV Kaelan)
She stared at me for a long time, like she was weighing whether to run.
"Why did he-the man in the raincoat-come to the gallery?"
"Because he sensed something lit in the gallery ever since you started restoring it." I leaned back. "And because someone wanted this paper to touch your skin."
"For what?"
"To open something inside that painting." I shrugged. "To trigger a mechanism that's been shut off for years."
"And you don't want that to happen."
"I don't want that to happen with a gun pointed at us."
Her arms crossed, that beautiful defensive instinct. "You know too much for a hockey team captain. Things no one else even understands."
"Side talent." I glanced at the clock. Callum should've been on the perimeter by now. "Listen." I leaned in. "I'll say this once: whatever you've been feeling lately-exploding emotions, weird sensations, wounds healing faster-it's not because you're crazy. Your body's not broken. Your body remembers something that was put to sleep."
Her face drained. "You-"
"And I'm not gonna force you to remember it tonight." I cut her off quickly, locking her gaze. "If I force it, you'll hate me. Not because of the bitter truth, but because of the way it comes."
She drew in a sharp breath. "So what's your plan?"
"To keep everyone else away from this paper. To let you decide when and where you'll put your finger on the first symbol." I slid the old bundle back toward her. "And when you do, I'll be there. Not to command. To hold you when its weight hits."
"Sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise. A promise I've never made to anyone."
Silence. Outside, the water pipes rattled briefly-maybe the ice machine, maybe the rain changing the pressure. Rhea looked at the paper, then carefully tucked it back into her notebook and slipped it into her bag, her movements as careful as if she were putting a baby to sleep.
"Can you tell me one thing," she said softly, "that explains why you're like this? You-" she searched for the word, "you care too much about this. As if-"
"As if you're mine?" I gave a crooked smile. The grin felt wrong in my mouth, but honest. "You're not mine, Rhea. No one owns you. Not even me."
She stared, silent. But in her blue irises, a tremor I'd only seen when someone stood on the edge of a cliff and the wind begged them to jump.
"Then why?" she asked again, softer, almost like a breath.
Because that's how the world was made for us. Because there's a whistle only our kind hears when certain blood comes close. Because the scent of your skin wrote my name into my bones without my permission. Because I've run long enough to know: if I let you walk away tonight without a line drawn, tomorrow I'll no longer be able to stop myself from losing it-in front of the cameras, in front of the world. Because as long as that old seal in you keeps pressing down on the thread between us, I'm standing on the edge of madness.
"Because if something takes you," I finally said, "there's no space in my body to forgive myself."
She turned away. The tip of her tongue brushed her lower lip-a tiny habit I had no right to memorize, but I still did. "I still don't trust you, Kaelan."
"Good." I nodded. "Trust is a gift. Don't be cheap."
For the first time that night, a flash of softness flickered in her eyes-fast as lightning. She lowered her head, pulling her bag closer. "Do we... have to stay here longer?"
"No." I stood. "I'll grab some tea from the service dispenser. Warm tea. Tastes like cardboard, but..."
"I prefer cardboard coffee." She raised an eyebrow.
I left the room for two minutes, just enough to grab two paper cups and sugar packets that probably expired years ago. The hallway was empty, but I didn't like the way the silence shifted pitch-like the building was holding its breath too long. I came back, shut the door, locked the bolt.
"Drink a little," I said, handing her a cup.
She took it. "Thanks."
We drank the bad drinks together with the solemnity of people who had no other options. Every tiny sound was loud in the room; styrofoam scrape, breathing, the tick of a clock from who-knows-where. I recalculated escape routes, marking them in my head.
Then, my phone buzzed-almost at the same time as a faint crack in the ventilation pipe. I raised a hand, signaling silence, and opened Callum's message.
[Callum]
Three on the roof. One at the east door. One... missing. You didn't see him?
I lifted my head. Slowly, I tuned in with the other part of my hearing-our kind's hearing. Quiet. Too quiet for a place that usually hummed. Narrow rooms like this reflected movements, told you when someone passed. But now... even the rain sounded sucked away.
"Rhea." My voice was barely audible. "Move your chair behind me. Now."
Without asking why, she moved-fast and obedient for the first time. Her chair scraped. I stood in front of her, half covering her body. My nails-forced to stay human-twitched under the skin, begging to grow. The pressure in my gums-fangs pleading to push through. I held it back. Not yet. Not here. Not in front of Rhea, who knew nothing.
Something hissed in the vents, cold as iron plunged into water. From the air duct above the tool rack, a thread of smoke slipped down-thin wisps of mist that didn't belong in a damp corridor. I caught the scent instantly: wolfsbane. Mixed with something wrong-light ammonia, maybe to help it drift better. They wanted to knock out whatever was in this room. They knew the spectrum to hit.
"Down!" I shoved Rhea under the table, kicked the chair away, grabbed a wet cloth from the tool rack-an old rag.
The smoke thickened. I tore the rag, poured leftover water from the dispenser over it, slapped it against the vent, sealing off the poison for now. At the same time, the doorknob rattled-once, twice, with mocking gentleness.
I looked at Rhea under the table. "Phone." She handed it over without hesitation. My hands moved on their own, shutting it off. "Signal could be bait."
A dull thud on the door. This time not shy-steel kissing steel. The bolt screws rattled. I scanned the room; the closest things to weapons were a size-24 wrench and a steel bar for tuning the ice machine. I took both-one in each hand.
"Kaelan?" Rhea whispered, her voice tiny.
"It's fine." A lie. "If it goes bad, there's an exit behind the tool rack. I already cut the hinges halfway. If you have to run, you run. To the right, up the emergency stairs two floors, heavy door labeled TECH OBSERVATION. Callum will be there."
"I won't-"
"If I say run, you run."
She shut her mouth. Her eyes were too wide under the table. Terrified. I could hear her heartbeat-its rhythm not mine, but somehow commanding mine too.
The door stopped rattling.
Then a small voice-almost friendly-slipped through the gap.
"Kaelan Viero?"
I shifted half a step, turning to brace myself. "You're lost," I replied flatly.
"Of course." The voice was young, calm, the innocent version of poison. "We're fans. We want your autograph."
"Bring a jersey," I said. "Not wolfsbane."
A soft laugh. "Interesting. You smelled it."
"Because you stink."
Silence, filled with a smile I could picture. People like this always had polite lips when calling murder a job.
"Can we talk?" he asked, polite as a bank receptionist. "We just want the little thing. The paper. You don't need it, right?"
"I need everything she has." The words dragged themselves out before I could polish them.
"Yes," he said, still calm. "That's the problem."
Metal clicked on the other side. They were setting something against the lock-a stethoscope tool or a pressure opener. Time melted. I shifted, nudging the table with my boot-making space for Rhea to crawl toward the rack if I told her. Then I tilted my chin at the vent-the smoke had lessened; the wet rag was holding, breaking the effect.
I fired off a single-line text to Callum on the lock screen: Now. Then I killed the phone and shoved it into my pocket.
"Rhea." I crouched halfway, lowering myself so our eyes met. Hers locked on mine. "You saw the paper? The little symbols-waves, circles, slanting lines?"
She nodded fast.
"If I tell you, where do you press?"
"You don't want me touching-"
"If I tell you." My gaze sharpened, forcing her focus. "The tiny circle in the very center. The one that looks the most... blurry. Two seconds. No longer. Got it?"
She bit her lip. "That will-what?"
"Change our position."
"To hell?"
"Hopefully not."
***
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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."