Chapter 145: I don’t appreciate anyone touching me

​My heart throbbed violently against my ribs, each beat a heavy, deafening thud that echoed in my ears.

​For years, I had kept my true identity buried under a mountain of lies, sacrifice, and the grueling physical toll of highly illegal, custom-engineered blockers.

I had skated through the most volatile, high-pressure games of my career, taken brutal hits from towering Alphas, and dealt with locker room chaos without ever letting a single spec of my pheromones slip from my body. My control had been absolute. An airtight fortress.

​But then Reid happened.

​After everything that had gone down between us—the frantic heat, the raw, unscripted entanglement that forced me off those elusive blockers and onto standard contraceptives—my carefully constructed walls had begun to fracture.

And right at that split second on the ice, when I thought Reid was going to throw everything away just to tear Edward apart on my behalf, the sheer, overriding panic had shattered my grip. My control had slipped.

​I clenched my fists so hard inside my jacket pockets that my nails bit painfully into my palms. That was how he found out. That was the only reason why my scent had leaked. And now, Edward Stein knew the truth.

​A cold, calculating reality washed over me. I couldn’t even deny it to his face. I couldn’t scoff and tell him he was imagining the whole thing, because if I pushed the matter and turned it into an argument, Edward could easily flag it.

If the league got involved, they would demand a formal, comprehensive hormonal sweep to settle the dispute. And if they ran a full sweep? Everything would be stripped bare. I wouldn’t be able to hide it any longer.

​I wasn’t stupid, but I wasn’t gullible either.

​Forcing the panic down, I let my face harden into a sharp, icy mask. I tilted my chin up, my eyes narrowing as I glared directly into Edward’s calm face, leaning heavily into my default captain’s authority.

​"So," I spat out, my voice dripping with defensive venom, "does finding out my identity suddenly make you feel better? Or does it make you feel shitty that you couldn’t win against a fragile little Omega?"

​I braced myself for the shift. I waited for the typical Alpha reaction—the sudden flash of disgust, the patronizing smirk, or the toxic amusement of exposing a fraud.

​Instead, Edward’s eyes lit up.

​A strange, genuine sense of delight danced across his face, entirely devoid of malice or superiority. It was as if a piece of a puzzle had finally clicked into place for him, and he was genuinely happy about it.

I stared at him, my brow furrowing tightly as a knot formed in my stomach. Am I reading this wrong? I thought, completely bewildered. Why the hell is he smiling like that?

​"You didn’t deny it," Edward murmured, his voice incredibly soft, almost reverent, as he flicked the ash from his cigar.

​I tilted my head, my glare cutting right through the thin veil of smoke between us. "And would you have let me go if I had simply denied it?"

"No," Edward murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took another step forward, completely erasing the remaining distance between us. "I wouldn’t have."

​Before I could process his answer, his long fingers reached out toward my collar, gliding deliberately toward the exposed skin of my neck where my scent gland lay hidden beneath the medical patch.

​Smack!

​A sharp, echoing crack rang out in the narrow alley as I violently slapped his hand away. My eyes flashed with a dangerous, untamed ferocity.

​"I’m sorry," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, venomous register, "but I don’t appreciate anyone touching me when I’m not on the rink."

​Edward looked down at his backhanded fingers, a trace of surprise flickering across his face before he slowly curled his hand into a loose fist.

A light, unbothered smile returned to his lips as he tucked his hands into his overcoat pockets. "I thought we were cool, Evans. I mean, we did plan to get dinner and drinks after the game."

​"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t get dinner and drinks with someone who knows my secret and could potentially be a threat to me," I shot back, my jaw locking as the cold brick wall pressed against my back.

I stared him down, refusing to show a single tremor of fear. "Edward Stein, what do you want now that you know my secret? If you’re going to report me, then hurry up and get on with it."

​Edward tilted his head, his intelligent eyes gleaming through the faint haze of cigar smoke. "And would you let me report you?"

​"I will bury your body," I hissed. The words weren’t a hollow threat; my eyes were dead, cold, and entirely lethal.

​Edward immediately raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, taking a half-step back, though his smile never fully vanished. "You’re scaring me, Evans. Has it come to that?"

​"If you cross me, I just might commit murder."

​"Hm," Edward hummed softly, evaluating my rigid posture, the absolute desperation bleeding through my aggression. "You love the sport that much, huh?"

​"I wouldn’t be playing it with all I have if I didn’t."

​Following that sharp, back-and-forth jabber, a heavy, suffocating silence fell between us.

​My lungs burned as I exhaled a shaky breath into the crisp night air. I was talking big, and in reality, I probably couldn’t back all of it up—murdering a rival league captain wasn’t exactly a clean exit strategy.

But I sure as hell wouldn’t let him ruin what I had spent my entire life building.

​My mind briefly flashed back to Reid. When Reid had discovered my identity, he had laid down his own intense conditions—though that had been a special, chaotic situation born out of my heat cycle. It just got more toxic as we went until things settled down.

But Edward? Edward was a rival.

He was a ruthless competitor who had just suffered a stinging defeat on center ice. It only made sense that he would use a weapon this massive to get me off his back and crush the Serpents’ momentum. I braced myself for the leverage he was about to demand.

​"Go out with me," Edward suddenly said and time literally froze.

​The distant honking of city traffic, the muffled thumping of the music from inside the steakhouse, the cold wind rustling the trash in the alley—everything completely ceased to exist.