Billionaire Captain: Claiming My Rival's Ex

Eleanora POV:

The chime of a push notification sliced through the murmur of the grand ballroom, followed instantly by a dozens-deep wave of synchronized gasps.

I looked down at the glowing screen of my phone. The headline from TMZ Sports was printed in bold, unforgiving letters: NHL ALL-STAR JARED LLOYD ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO SOCIALITE AND ARTIST CHRISTY HILL.

Beneath the banner sat an ultra-high-definition photograph taken mere seconds ago on the raised dais at the far end of the room. Jared was leaning down, securing a radiant five-carat diamond ring onto Christy's finger. His sculpted, athletic jawline was soft, his smile radiating an authentic warmth I had spent two whole years begging to see in private. Christy-the daughter my stepfather had dragged into the Hester household, my supposed stepsister, a delicate little porcelain doll-was weeping pretty, pristine tears, flashing the diamond directly toward a swarm of flashbulbs.

Just three hours ago, Jared had texted me: [Stay in the penthouse tonight, Nora. Big media night. Don't distract me.]

Two years. Two years of playing the phantom in his life. Whenever I asked why we couldn't go public, Jared would sigh, cup my face with his calloused hands, and murmur about the ruthless Chicago hockey media.

"The press will tear you apart, Nora. You know how toxic hockey fans can be to a player's girl. Let me hit forty goals this season. Let me win the Stanley Cup first. Then we'll show the world."

I had believed every poison-laced syllable. I had managed his private schedules, analyzed rival teams' defensive gaps for his game preparation, and stayed hidden in the shadows of his VIP suite, all to protect his precious focus.

Now, he was offering the world to my stepsister on a silver platter.

I locked the phone, smoothed the fabric of my tailored emerald gown, and walked toward the head table. Every step felt like treading on shattered glass, but my spine remained rigid. Hester blood didn't bow, even when it was bleeding out.

Before I could reach the dais, a manicured hand clamped down hard on my forearm, dragging me behind a marble pillar.

"What do you think you're doing, Eleanora?" my mother, Clarine Hester, hissed under her breath. Her diamond chandelier earrings swung violently against her powdered neck. "Did you come here to make a scene and embarrass our entire family?"

"You knew," I whispered, the realization setting in with a deadening chill. "You knew he was going to propose to Christy tonight."

Clarine scoffed, adjusting her vintage fur wrap. "Of course I knew. I helped arrange it. Jared Lloyd is the face of the Chicago Blackhawks. Christy's father brings a network of gallery funding and sports apparel connections. They are an asset to one another. What can you offer him? A dead man's empty name?"

The cruelty in her voice was effortless. Ever since my father, Jack Hester, collapsed on the ice rink ten years ago, Clarine had treated his memory like an inconvenient lien on her vanity.

"Father built the Hester Group," I said through teeth clamped so tight they ached. "He built the Lions. That legacy belongs to me."

"It did," Clarine smiled, a razor-thin crescent of venom. "Until you remember the clause in your father's trust. You must be lawfully married by your twenty-fifth birthday to take distribution of the controlling shares and the estate. Otherwise, full executive control transfers permanently to me and your brother."

She leaned in, her perfume choking the air between us. "Your twenty-fifth birthday is in six days, Eleanora. And you have no husband. Which is why I took the liberty of securing one for you. Senator Vance has agreed to take you as his fourth wife. His political sway will finally clear our licensing deals for the stadium."

Senator Vance was sixty-four, a notorious predator with two sealed domestic violence settlements.

"I'd rather burn the estate to the ground," I said, my voice dead and steady.

"You don't have a choice," Clarine snapped. "Sign the marriage contract with Vance on Monday, or leave this city with nothing but the clothes on your back."

She swept away, her silk train whispering across the marble floor.

Before I could breathe, a heavy shadow fell across my path. Jared stood there, holding two glasses of vintage champagne, his tuxedo tailored to athletic perfection. He had slipped away from the press line.

"Nora," he said, his voice dropping low, totally devoid of guilt. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what, Jared? Like you're a liar and a coward?"

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no cameras were aimed at our alcove. Even now, his instinct was to hide me. "Be practical for once in your life. Christy fits the brand. Her father has the media in his pocket, and the front office loves her. You're too intense, Nora. You're constantly brooding over your father's old business, constantly fighting with your mother. I needed peace."

He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "It doesn't have to change anything between us. Christy doesn't care what I do on away games. We can keep the penthouse. You can still be mine."

The sheer audacity of it left me breathless. He wasn't ashamed; he was offering me a demotion to permanent, off-the-books mistress.

I didn't flinch. I slapped his hand away with a crack that made a nearby waiter jump.

"Don't flatter yourself, Lloyd," I said, every word clipped and arctic. "You aren't a man. You're an overrated puck-chaser who wouldn't know loyalty if it checked him into the boards."

Jared's face darkened, his jaw hardening into the brutal expression he usually reserved for on-ice enforcers. "Watch your mouth, Eleanora. You walk away from me tonight, and your mother hands you to Vance. Without me, without your father's trust, you are nobody in Chicago. No one in this town will lift a finger to save you."

"I don't need saving," I said. "And I certainly don't need you."

Christy chose that exact moment to emerge from the crowd, clutching a bouquet of white calla lilies. "Jared, darling? The reporters are asking for a quote about our summer wedding date-oh. Nora."

She looked at me, instantly schooling her features into a pathetic, wide-eyed display of innocence. "Nora, please... don't be angry with Jared. If our love hurts you, I'll... I can give the ring back..."

"Keep the ring, Christy," I said, my voice carrying clearly to the gathered socialites eavesdropping nearby. "You've spent your entire life picking up my discarded trash. Why stop now?"

Christy gasped, retreating into Jared's side with a theatrical sob. Jared looked at me with open hatred. "Get out, Nora. Before I have security remove you."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the ballroom, head held high, ignoring the burning stares and low murmurs of Chicago's elite.

The autumn wind whipped violently down Michigan Avenue, rain pelting the pavement in frigid sheets. I climbed into the back of a yellow cab, trembling from adrenaline and sheer, unadulterated fury.

Six days.

I had six days to find a husband, secure my father's trust, and dismantle every single person who thought they could carve up my life.

I pulled out my phone and bypassed the gossip rags, going straight to the league forums. My thumb stopped on a buried, explosive headline on a local sports blog:

CHICAGO LIONS CRISIS ERUPTS: BOTH THE CAPTAIN AND A STAR TEAMMATE ARE PLAGUED BY GAY RUMORS, SPONSORS THREATEN $20M TERMINATION, FRONT OFFICE DEMANDS PROOF OF DOMESTIC STABILITY BEFORE HOME OPENER.

Beneath the article was a grainy photo of a towering, broad-shouldered captain ducking paparazzi, his face obscured by a dark cap. Another photo showed a younger, softer-looking player hiding behind him.

A player desperate to silence the press. A player with immense power who would never, ever want a real woman in his bed.

He was the perfect fit for a business transaction.

I tapped the screen, dialing the private number listed for the team's crisis management agent. "My name is Eleanora Hester," I said into the speaker. "And I have a proposition for your client-don't get me wrong, I'm not here for the high-profile, trouble-magnet captain. I want the other player caught up in the rumors."