Chapter 1 : He wasn't supposed to notice her
Eighteen thousand fans roared as Malek Vance slammed an opposing forward into the boards, the collision echoing through Blackstone Arena. The referee's whistle shrilled, gloves flew into the air, and cameras swarmed hockey's most feared captain. Every headline called him something different—Captain. Monster. Legend. None of them captured the man beneath the jersey. Blood seeped through the split across his knuckles as he skated toward the bench, ignoring the cheers, the reporters, and the fans pounding against the glass. Then he saw her. Alone behind the plexiglass, she wore no team colors, carried no autograph book, and looked at him with neither admiration nor fear. She simply watched him with quiet curiosity, as though she had expected this moment all along.
Something unfamiliar tightened inside him. It was brief. Irritating. Impossible to ignore. Instead of joining his celebrating teammates, Malek changed direction and glided toward the glass until only inches separated them. She never stepped back. Never blinked. Never lowered her gaze. Then, without warning, she smiled—not warmly, not nervously, but with the confidence of someone who had already won a game he didn't know he was playing. For the first time in years, Malek Vance forgot the score.
The final horn blared through the arena, but victory meant nothing. His teammates celebrated while cameras flashed around them, yet Malek's attention remained fixed on the mysterious woman. She lingered, almost inviting him to follow. "Captain!" his coach barked, gripping his shoulder. "Media room. Five minutes." Malek didn't answer. Across the glass, the woman tilted her head ever so slightly, studying him like a scientist observing a dangerous predator behind reinforced steel. She wasn't impressed. She wasn't intimidated. She was interested. The realization unsettled him more than any opponent ever had. He blinked once. She was gone.
Twenty minutes later, the corridors beneath Blackstone Arena buzzed with reporters shouting questions about the fight and the upcoming draft. "Vance! One comment?" "Captain, did you start it?" He walked through them without slowing. Silence had built his reputation long before his fists had. Near the players' exit, a wall of security monitors caught his eye. Camera Three. There she was, walking alone through the underground parking garage with calm, measured steps. His heartbeat slowed—not from peace, but from instinct. "Need something, Captain?" a security guard asked. Malek pointed at the screen. "The woman." The guard frowned. "Never seen her before." Malek's expression never changed. "Find out who she is." "Tonight?" "Now."
Outside, rain hammered the concrete as Imani Cole crossed the deserted garage, her coat pulled tightly around her. She felt it immediately—not footsteps or movement, but attention. The unmistakable sensation of someone searching for her. A slow smile curved across her lips. Exactly as planned. Without looking back, she slipped a cream-colored envelope from her pocket. Four words were written neatly across the front: For Captain Malek Vance. She handed it to the puzzled security guard. "Make sure he gets this." Before he could ask a single question, she vanished into the curtain of rain.
Five minutes later, the envelope rested in Malek's hands. Inside was a single photograph. His expression hardened the instant he recognized it. It wasn't taken during a game or a press conference. It showed him standing outside his father's private estate three nights earlier—alone, just after midnight. Someone had been watching him. Someone close enough to capture every detail without being seen.
He turned the photograph over.
Only one sentence was written in elegant black ink.
You're already being hunted.
