**Chapter 5** **CONNOR** "I should go." The words slip from my lips as I gather the threads of my thoughts, this moment shifting into something I never anticipated. I had envisioned a much tougher battle, one filled with chuckles of disbelief or scornful laughter from her. Instead, I stood here, poised and ready to offer half a million a month if it would seal the deal. But the truth is, being married to me—much to my astonishment—doesn't seem to churn her stomach as I feared. Now, the glimmering ring, once belonging to Meems, graces Mildred's finger effortlessly. It fits her perfectly, almost as if it has always belonged there, despite her humble origins. She’s transformed in my mind’s eye into my very own Cinderella, albeit one with a sinister cast of in-laws lurking in the shadows. Meems will undoubtedly be overjoyed, which is precisely the goal here. I need her to see that I am not destined to wander the corridors of solitude for eternity; that I am capable of being loved, by someone other than her. Mildred shifts, pushing back her chair, and stands with uncertainty flickering across her features. "What happens now?" I stifle a grimace. “I’ll take this letter to my lawyer and have him sort through it.” I pull the correspondence from her landlord from my pocket and tuck it away with the engagement contract. “But don’t worry, I’ll get it all straightened out.” Her enchanting, innocent eyes lock onto mine, searching for clarity. “No, I mean with us. Now that we’re engaged.” Ah. "Well, we’ll need to make an announcement, but trust me, I’ll handle that.” I aim to make this transition as smooth as possible for her—at least the parts I can control. "Once the announcement is made, we can talk about timelines." “What will you say to Meems?” she inquires, her brow knotting with worry. "That we’ve been seeing each other for months now." I respond with confidence, fully believing that convincing Meems will be a simple task. Her brow purses further. “And you think that’ll suffice?” Her fingers toy with the hair tie on her wrist before folding her hands behind her back, a portrait of anxiety. “Yes. She encouraged me to ask you out, and here we are.” I lean into my assurance, the confidence buoying my resolve. Anxiety washes over her face, and I sense the tide of panic rising. I need to ground her, to ensure there’s no chance of retreat—especially not when Meems’s happiness—and perhaps even Mildred's life—hangs in the balance. A heart full of promise stands a better chance of survival than a fractured one. “I’ll call you as soon as I have news,” I assure her, my voice softening slightly. It's time I vacate this space before she reconsiders their engagement. I leave her behind, still caught in the clutter of her tiny, weathered kitchen, and step back into the corridor. As if summoned by my very thoughts, the door to the right swings open, and Flip—the golden boy of the Terror—steps forward. In the eyes of the team and the media, he’s an untouchable figure, the embodiment of charisma. He makes everything appear effortless, as if the terrible weight of life’s burdens simply slide off him like water off a duck's back. With that easy smile of his fading from view, my grin widens. It’s a reflex, a conditioned response that brings me a sense of joy; his discomfort sparks something inside me. Flip possesses all that I desire: loving family, a squad of unwavering friends, teammates who elevate him, and the carefree bond of a best friend shimmering brightly in his life. And yet, in this brief moment, a fragment of that world—the one that’s forever eluded my grasp—belongs to me now, if only for a while. I should restrain my instinct to gloat, but self-control has never been my strength. Besides, it’s what everyone expects from me. “What are you doing with Dred?” he snaps, closing the space between us like a thundercloud rolling in. He seizes my collar, slamming me against the wall. “I told you to leave her alone.” My smile broadens. He’s aware that we both frequent Callie’s games. There’s no doubt he knows I occupy the seat next to her. Every time I exchange even a fleeting ‘hello’ with Mildred amongst her squad, Flip hounds me with his warnings. This dynamic has been our unfortunate dance since our Hockey Academy days. Flip, the phoenix risen from poverty and hardship, and I—the pampered child whose family bought him a pro hockey career. Ironically, my family never believed in my abilities; they anticipated my swift return to the comforts of home, tail tucked beneath. Even my teammates forecasted my failure. And yet, here I stand, a perpetual thorn in Flip’s side. He doesn’t realize he’s my own personal dagger, pressing into my side. He’s always had the loyalty of everyone, forever entrenched in their hearts, while I remain firmly on the periphery. Nothing has changed since I joined the Terror. I am still the outsider, the lingering problem on the fringes. “I asked you a fucking question.” Flip's voice is laced with rage now, pressing ominously close, our noses mere inches apart. “What are you doing with Dred?” “That’s none of your business,” I reply, challenging him, almost relishing the thought of a fight. I deserve a cracked lip and a shiner for my transgressions against his best friend. The door behind me opens. “For fuck’s sake.” Mildred’s voice cuts through the thick air, laced with exasperation as she attempts to wedge herself between us. Her blue eyes flash disappointment at me, and I can feel her rising tension. “Let Connor go, Flip.” I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Flip, let me go.” “You’re not helping,” Mildred snaps, her voice tinged with urgency. “I’m not trying to,” I retort, but the underlying truth is evident in her frustration. Her nails graze my skin as she pries Flip’s grip from my collar, a moment fraught with tension. “What is this asshole doing in your apartment, Dred?” Flip’s ire shifts into a dapple of confusion—betrayal or hurt shimmering in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I regret pushing him. Mildred’s allegiance already resides with me for the foreseeable future. Straining her vital relationships isn’t conducive to the happiness I need her to exude. I require her to be content and compliant—not furious and defensive. Flip grips her hand, astonished disbelief painted across his face. “What the fuck?” A rush of possessiveness surges through me; I crush the impulse to bask in the glory of his disarray. He’s crossed into my territory—my territory, touching the one I’m bound to now—and raised his voice, a line I simply won’t tolerate. I plant a hand gently on Mildred’s shoulder, a strange knot of solace swelling as I make contact. “Stop yelling at my fiancée,” I warn through clenched teeth. “Just throw gasoline on the fire, why don’t you?” Mildred rolls her eyes, frustration flaring. “What the fuck?” Flip’s expression threatens to detonate; he looks as if he might explode. At that moment, the elevator doors slide open, and a throng of my teammates and their significant others spill into the corridor. Their timing couldn’t be more impeccable. I pivot towards them, chest out, and announce boldly, “Mildred and I are engaged.”