AUTHOR POV:

The steel of the hockey stick felt familiar in Elias’s grip, providing a cold yet comforting reassurance. The ice, a pristine expanse, offered a fleeting escape from the chaos that raged in his mind. Here, he was in control. Here, he was safe. But that sanctuary was crumbling. The name that had been uttered repeatedly over the past few days served as a grating discord in the otherwise ordered symphony of his life: Anya Petrova.

In the eyes of his coaches, Elias was a formidable force on the ice, known for his relentless drive and brutal precision. Yet, no one could see the tremor that rippled through him at the mere thought of any woman—especially one he was being forced to marry. He skated harder, the blades digging into the ice, a desperate attempt to outrun the phantom terrors that lurked just beneath the surface of his carefully crafted facade. Anya Petrova. Her picture—a striking blend of fire and untamed beauty—had been burned into his memory. She embodied everything he feared, everything he longed to avoid. And she was coming.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of practice. Ignoring it, Elias pushed himself even further, ice chips flying behind him like shrapnel. His lungs burned, a welcome distraction from the tightening knot in his gut. The Thorne family had never been known for their patience, nor for accepting “no” as an answer. Roman Petrova, the fool, had dug a hole so deep that only his sister could fill it. And the Thornes, despite their power, were not above collecting what was owed in flesh and blood.

Finally, he stopped, his skates carving deep grooves near the boards. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead as he ripped off his helmet, revealing a face etched with a permanent scowl—a testament to the battles fought both on and off the rink. His teammates scattered, but his older brother, Damien, leaned against the barrier, arms crossed, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Heard the new acquisition arrives tomorrow, Eli,” Damien drawled, his voice a low rumble. “Our little problem solver.”

Elias remained silent, shooting his brother a glare. Damien saw right through him, too observant for his own good. He could sense the cracks in Elias’s armor—the ones he worked so hard to conceal.

“Father’s throwing a dinner,” Damien continued, unfazed. “A proper introduction. Try not to scare her off before dessert, little brother.” There was a genuine warning hidden within the sarcasm; the Thorne reputation was to be maintained.

Elias shoved his stick into the rack with a violent clatter. Scare her off? The idea was almost laughable. He was the one who was terrified—terrified of her beauty, her presence, and the unknown ways she might chip away at the barricades he’d erected around himself. He wouldn’t scare her off; he would simply endure, as he always had. The only question was whether she would break him in the process.

ELIAS POV:

As dinner approached, I could feel the tension palpably tightening around us, like a noose. “Never seen you this nervous, little brother!” Damien teased, but I could barely register his words as our parents stood to answer the doorbell.

Anya entered the dining room in a sleek black dress, the slit revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth leg. The Thornes greeted her warmly, even though just a week prior, we had been threatening her family over a debt. “Come in, please!” my mother, Elena, beckoned as they walked inside.

"I watched, a cold knot tightening in my gut as Anya entered. My heart hammered against my ribs, a traitorous rhythm I couldn't control. Damien, of course, broke the silence first. 'Anya, right? I'm Damien, and this is the guy you’re going to marry!' he said with a smirk, a casual comment that felt like a punch to my gut. Anya shook his hand, but her eyes never left me. They were a steady, unnerving green, dissecting me with a gaze that wasn't flirtatious—it was an analysis, as if she were solving a puzzle she already knew the answer to."

Anya nodded and shook Damien's hand, but I could tell she was carefully assessing my expression, as if trying to decipher some hidden truth. “Sorry for my brother,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. My hand trembled slightly as I stretched it out to shake hers. However, before I could, she gracefully sat down.

“Anya, nice to meet you, Elias and Damien!” she replied, her voice soft and sweet, like cotton candy. It made my heart race again, and I felt Damien’s elbow jab into my bruised ribs. I hissed under my breath, glaring at him. “You lucky bastard. Anya’s sexy and has curves in all the right places!”

I rolled my eyes, refusing to engage with his comment. “Shut up before she hears you!” I whispered harshly. There was something different about Anya; she wasn’t staring at me like other women did. She regarded me with an unreadable expression that was unsettling in its intensity.

AUTHOR POV:

"The clinking of silverware on porcelain was the only sound for long stretches, a maddening rhythm that grated on Anya's nerves. The air in the opulent dining room was thick and suffocating. Her fingers, restless, drummed a silent beat against the tablecloth, a signal of her growing impatience. She had a project due, and this dinner felt like an endless, pointless delay. 'Dear, did your parents teach you not to talk much?' Elias’s mother asked, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. The question was a delicate barb, hinting at suspicion."

“No, I’m just not a talkative person, especially with strangers,” Anya replied, smiling politely with a neutral tone. In most situations, Anna Thorne would have bristled at such a response, but she admired Anya’s honesty and poise.

“I see!” Anna responded, studying Anya’s face as if solving a complex puzzle. She could sense that Anya had built walls around herself, similar to her own son, Elias. This knowledge made Anna appreciate Anya even more. However, her affection for Anya didn’t extend to Roman Petrova, who had displayed nothing but rudeness and arrogance. Roman's sarcastic remarks were always directed towards Elias, making Anna’s patience wear thin.

“Roman, shut your mouth before I do it for you!” Anya’s sudden, cold retort shocked everyone in the room, Elias included. Roman gulped, awkwardly silenced by his sister's fierceness. He knew well that Anya could be ruthless when pushed.

Mikhail's lips twitched upward as he watched the exchange. "Roman, it seems your sister has more backbone than you do," he said, his voice laced with amusement. He looked at Anya, his eyes gleaming with a newfound respect. "I like it, dear. A woman who isn't afraid to speak her mind."