Chase’s POV
The new youth rink sat on the eastern edge of the estate—freshly poured concrete, gleaming boards, overhead lights bright enough to turn night into day. We’d broken ground the week after the council hearing; Markus’s doubled inheritance had funded it faster than anyone expected. Tonight the ice was empty, the Zamboni parked, the stands half-filled with pack, local families, reporters, and a handful of former teammates who’d driven in just to stand behind me.
Cameras waited—more than I’d seen since the Cup run. Microphones clustered like hungry birds. I felt the old reflex rise: square the shoulders, flash the practiced smile, give them the soundbite they wanted.
But I wasn’t here to sell anything.
I was here to tell the truth.
Amelia stood beside me—hand in mine, steady as
