The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife

Emilia Norman POV:

"Ma'am, stop right there. The VIP corridor is closed tonight."

A burly security guard stepped in front of me, blocking the heavy glass doors inside Montreal's Bell Centre. Freezing wind blew in from the street behind me, and I pulled my camel coat tighter around my body. Through the thick wool, my fingers pressed gently against my flat lower belly.

I reached into my purse, pulled out a laminated pass bearing the Boston Bruins family logo, and held it out.

"I'm here to see Bryant Norton," I said softly.

The guard glanced at the pass and hesitated.

"Captain Norton booked the entire VIP lounge for the night," he said, lowering his voice. "He gave strict orders that no one is to disturb him."

I froze for a second, then forced a small smile.

"Today is our seventh wedding anniversary," I explained. "I just flew in from Boston to surprise him and our son."

The guard looked at my pale face, sighed, and stepped aside.

"Last door at the end of the hall, Mrs. Norton."

I walked down the thick carpet, my heels making no sound. For seven years, I had lived in the shadows as the secret wife of the NHL's biggest superstar.

To protect his commercial image and take care of his physical health, I had given up my own career, working quietly as a low-paid nutritionist and PR assistant for his team.

My heart beat faster as I touched the warm ultrasound printout inside my coat pocket. Just this morning, I had found out we were having a second child. A baby girl.

Reaching the double oak doors at the end of the hall, I raised my hand to knock. The door wasn't latched all the way, leaving a narrow gap.

Familiar cheers echoed from inside-several starting players from the Bruins roster, followed by the loud pop of a champagne cork.

I stepped closer and looked through the gap. My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled back half a step, pressing my palm against the cold wall to steady myself.

Under the crystal chandelier hung a massive custom banner made of fresh roses: *Happy 1st Anniversary of Your Return, Candice!*

Bryant sat in the center of the leather sofa in a black tailored shirt, his top two buttons undone. The ruthless captain who wore the "C" on the ice was looking down at the woman beside him with a gentleness he hadn't shown me in years.

Candice Robles wore an off-the-shoulder red couture dress. The beauty mark under her right eye gleamed under the lights as she laughed and rested her hand casually on Bryant's forearm.

"Bryant, you really didn't have to book the whole lounge just to celebrate the anniversary of my return to the States," Candice said, her voice sweet and breathless as she raised her glass. "You guys just won a huge away game. You should be celebrating for the team, not me."

Bryant didn't pull his arm away. He clinked his glass against hers, his gaze dark and focused.

"The team can celebrate any night," Bryant said in his low, gravelly voice. "Tonight is about you."

One of the defensemen sitting nearby laughed and raised his beer. "Hey, Cap, wait a second. Isn't today also your wedding anniversary with Emilia? What if she flies in from Boston to check on you?"

My heart leaped into my throat as I waited for Bryant's answer.

Instead, the warmth vanished from Bryant's face. He took a slow sip of his champagne, his tone turning flat and dismissive.

"She knows her place," Bryant said coldly. "Besides, she's boring at parties. Having her here would just ruin the mood."

A sharp pain twisted in my chest. I clutched the ultrasound printout in my pocket so hard my knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, a small figure ran into my line of sight. It was my six-year-old son, Jaiden. Holding a huge plate of double-chocolate mousse cake, he threw himself straight into Candice's arms.

Candice gasped softly as Jaiden wiped his chocolate-covered hands right onto her expensive red dress.

"Oh, sweetie, slow down!" Candice said with a gentle laugh, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "You have a sensitive stomach. If your mom finds out I let you eat this much chocolate at night, she's going to lecture me again."

Hearing my name, Jaiden scowled, his little face twisting with annoyance.

"Who cares what she thinks!" Jaiden yelled loudly. "I hate Mom! All she ever does is nag me and force me to eat disgusting healthy meals! She never lets me have any fun!"

He wrapped his chubby arms tightly around Candice's neck and looked up at her with shining eyes.

"Candice is ten thousand times better than Mom! You're pretty and smart, and Mom is just a boring nanny who always smells like kitchen smoke. I wish Dad would hurry up and divorce her so you could be my real mommy!"

My blood ran cold. To fix Jaiden's severe childhood stomach issues, I had spent six years waking up at five every morning to make him customized medicinal meals. I had stayed up countless nights holding him whenever he had a fever.

I looked at Bryant through the gap in the door, waiting for him to scold our son for saying something so cruel.

Candice stroked Jaiden's hair, putting on a look of helpless pity. "Don't say that, Jaiden. Emilia tries her best. It's not her fault she doesn't know how to make a little hockey prince happy."

Watching them, Bryant didn't say a single word to defend me. Instead, he reached out, pinched Jaiden's cheek, and gave Candice an indulgent smile.

"The kid knows who treats him well," Bryant said warmly. "Let him eat whatever he wants tonight."

Those words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air straight out of my lungs. Seven years of silent devotion and sacrifice turned into a pathetic joke right before my eyes.

Standing outside the door, listening to the three of them laugh like a real family, my eyes burned. Yet not a single tear fell.

I slowly loosened my grip on the crumpled ultrasound paper, my heart sinking into a freezing numbness.

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. I turned around quickly, pulled up my coat collar to hide my face, and walked fast toward the exit.

The moment I pushed open the side doors of the Bell Centre, Montreal's blizzard slammed into me. Icy snowflakes hit my cheeks, waking me up completely from my seven-year dream.

I pulled out my phone with trembling, frozen fingers. The screen was completely empty. There wasn't even a three-word anniversary text from my husband.

Opening my chat window with Bryant, I stared at the pregnancy announcement I had typed out on the plane earlier, then hit the backspace key until every single word was gone.

Looking down at my flat stomach in the howling wind, I whispered softly, "It's just you and me now, baby. We don't need them anymore."

I raised my hand, hailed a passing taxi, and gave the driver the name of the airport.

Inside the warm cab, the local sports radio was playing, the host excitedly praising Bruins Captain Bryant Norton's dominant performance on the ice tonight.

Turning my head toward the blurry streetlights outside, I opened a hidden, encrypted email app on my phone-the internal server for Synapse Bio-Lab, the top international sports medicine laboratory I secretly founded and owned.

I typed in my password and looked at the mountain of research invitations piling up in my inbox, a bitter smile touching my lips.

I clicked on an urgent email from my mentor, Dr. Christena Whitney, lifetime chairwoman of the International Sports Medicine Committee, and typed out a short reply.

*I'm ready to come back.*

After hitting send, I put the phone on silent, locked the screen, and leaned back against the headrest with my eyes closed, keeping one hand resting protectively over my belly.

Just as the taxi merged onto the airport highway, the dark screen in my hand suddenly lit up, flashing violently with an emergency landline call from our Boston penthouse.