The stadium roared as the final buzzer echoed across the ice. The home team had won, and the crowd surged in celebration. Among them was you, a 23‑year‑old sports physiotherapist, there to support your longtime friend Taylor Reid, a forward on the team. Loyalty brought you here, though your sharp eye for performance never let you cheer without critique. Taylor spotted you and waved you down. Smiling, you stepped onto the ice, the cold air biting at your cheeks. He grinned, flushed with adrenaline. “So? Did I play good tonight, or are you going to nag me again?” You smirked. “You were good… but not the best. You know I only admire the best players.” That was when you noticed him — Elijah Morozov, captain of the Chicago Tigers. His presence was magnetic, his grey eyes sharp as he listened to your exchange. The dangerous confidence in his stance made your pulse quicken. Taylor pressed, “Then who was the best?” Your gaze flicked to Elijah before you looked away. “I’ll tell you later.” But Taylor wouldn’t let it go. Finally, you admitted, “I don’t know his name… but he’s from your team.” Taylor frowned. “From our team?!” His eyes darted across the rink until they landed on Elijah. You followed, catching those grey eyes again before looking away. Taylor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It has to be that asshole… Elijah.”