Bound By The Ice God's Contract

Chloe POV:

I woke up feeling like my entire body had fallen apart, completely drained of strength.

Every muscle ached with exhaustion, and even the slightest movement sent a wave of soreness through me. The soft silk sheets beneath me felt strangely rough against my skin, reminding me of everything I wanted to forget.

The ornate, luxurious ceiling above me gave me an unreal feeling, so unfamiliar that I wondered if I was still dreaming.

But the room that should have been flawless was now a complete mess.

An overturned champagne bucket sat beside the sofa, melted ice leaving a dark stain on the cream carpet. A pillow had been ripped open, feathers scattered across the room, and a shattered lamp lay broken on the marble floor. A Stallions jersey lay crumpled near the door, its silver crest catching the weak gray light—a reminder of exactly whose world I had spent the night in.

The room was silent.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen. A painful gasp escaped my lips as I fell back against the mattress, waiting for the pain to fade.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I reached for it, and even that simple movement sent another wave of soreness through my body.

The screen lit up with a bank notification. A six-figure amount had just been deposited into my account.

My payment.

I stared at the number on the screen, but there was no happiness or relief.

The money felt like a brand burned into my skin, a cold reminder that everything from last night had been reduced to a transaction.

Before I could look away, another message appeared.

There was no name saved, but I knew exactly who it was from.

Beckett Sterling. The legendary hockey star everyone knew, and the man who was now my employer.

"Plan B. Take the pill."

The message was short and emotionless. It sounded like a simple instruction, the same way he would assign a task at work.

I stared at those words, and fragments of the previous night slowly returned to my mind. The blurred images, the loss of control, and the humiliation I couldn't erase no matter how hard I tried.

My chest tightened, and I felt as if an invisible hand was slowly squeezing my heart.

I forced myself out of bed and wrapped the sheet tightly around my body.

Then my eyes caught the dark red stain at the corner of the white fabric. My first time. It ended like this.

I stepped onto the cold marble floor and walked into the bathroom.

The woman reflected in the mirror looked like a stranger. Her lips were pale, her eyes were exhausted, and dark circles surrounded them. Purple bruises covered her neck and collarbone, leaving behind traces of a night I wished I could erase.

I turned on the shower. The water was painfully hot, pouring over my skin, but I felt nothing.

I only wanted to wash away his presence, the memories, and everything that happened between us.

When I walked out of the bathroom, a neatly folded set of clothes was waiting on the vanity.

My black skirt and blouse. My internship uniform. He had prepared everything in advance.

A silent reminder that after last night, I was still only his intern in his world. Someone who followed orders and knew her place.

I covered the marks on my neck with concealer until they disappeared beneath my makeup. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and forced my lips into a professional smile.

I picked up the tablet containing Beckett's schedule, the one I had prepared for him yesterday—morning skate, film review, and a press conference before tonight's home game. After taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and walked out of the bedroom.

Beckett stood with his back toward me, looking out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows at the Chicago skyline.

He was already dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that did nothing to hide the body beneath it—the broad shoulders and long, powerful frame of a man who had spent his entire life on the ice. Every detail was flawless, making him look like a man who ruled everything around him—cold, powerful, and impossible to approach.

I walked toward him and placed the tablet on the table beside him. "My. Sterling, your schedule for today."

I deliberately used his last name.

He didn't turn around. A low sound came from his throat. "Mm."

The silence between us stretched for a long moment.

I thought he might mention last night, the money, or the message he had just sent. But he said nothing.

After a while, he finally turned around. His ice-blue eyes moved over me slowly, calm and unreadable—the same measuring stare he gave opponents on the ice—until they stopped briefly at my neck.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. My hands were cold, and my legs trembled slightly, but I refused to let him notice.

A faint flicker of surprise appeared in his eyes. He had expected something else.

But I was standing in front of him with the same calm professionalism as always.

"Get out." His voice was flat and emotionless.

Relief washed over me. I turned around and walked away without saying another word. Each step was steady, even though I could feel his gaze following me until the heavy suite door closed between us.

Only then did I lean against the cold hallway wall and finally allow myself to breathe.

I left the hotel as quickly as possible and returned to my tiny, rundown apartment on the other side of the city.

The sunlight coming through the dirty window was painfully bright, a sharp contrast to the luxury and coldness of Beckett's presidential suite.

This was my world.

I collapsed onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow. The tears I had forced back all morning finally fell.

I didn't know how long I cried.

The sound of my phone ringing suddenly cut through the silence. I grabbed it, my heart tightening instantly.

For a moment, I found myself hoping it was him.