Sophia's Pov If there was one thing I wanted more than anything else, it wasn't love, money, or even success. It was freedom. At twenty-six, I had a stable job at one of the city's fastest-growing marketing agencies. I paid my own bills. I had my own apartment downtown. I was more than capable of taking care of myself. Yet somehow, my older brother still treated me like I was a fragile little girl who'd fall apart the moment he stopped watching over me. Sometimes I wondered if Mason even realized he was doing it. Other times I knew he did and simply couldn't help himself. My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while I poured my coffee. Mason. Of course. It wasn't even seven in the morning. I sighed before answering. "Good morning." "Did you eat breakfast?" I smiled despite myself. There was something almost comforting in how predictable he was. "No. Good morning to you too." "You have that presentation today, don't you?" "I do." "So eat something before you leave." "I was literally making coffee." "Sophia." "I know, I know. And don't worry, I have my umbrella too." "I'm serious." "I know you are." A brief silence. Then, "I'll pick you up in thirty minutes." I frowned. "What? I have a car." "Traffic's going to be terrible. It'll save time." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It takes me fifteen minutes to get to the office." "I'll still come." "Don't you have practice?" "Later." "I can drive myself." "I know." "So why are we having this conversation?" "Because I worry." I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar tug of frustration and love that always came tangled together where he was concerned. "There it is. That's always your answer." "It happens to be the truth." "I know you worry. But you don't have to solve every problem before it even exists." He went quiet. Finally, "I'll see you in thirty." The call ended before I could argue anymore. I stared at my phone for a long moment, shaking my head. "Unbelievable." That was Mason Blake. Captain of the city's professional hockey team. The man thousands of fans admired. The man sports reporters called fearless. The man who terrified opposing players every season. To the rest of the world, he was confident, charismatic, impossible to intimidate. To me, he was simply my overprotective older brother. Sometimes I wished everyone else could meet that version of him. Maybe then they'd understand why I occasionally wanted to scream, and why, underneath it, I never quite could. I carried my coffee into the living room, where a framed photograph sat on the bookshelf, colors faded with age. Mom stood in the middle with her arms around both of us. Dad smiled behind us. Mason, barely eighteen, looked awkward in a suit one size too big. I was only twelve. That had been the last family picture we ever took. A month later, everything changed. The accident took both our parents in a single night. One phone call turned my brother from a teenager into my guardian. He worked two jobs while finishing school, missing parties, vacations, nearly every normal experience people his age should have had, because he was too busy making sure I had food on the table and a roof over my head. I never forgot that. I never would. But gratitude didn't erase frustration. Loving someone didn't mean agreeing with everything they did. And sometimes the people who loved you the most were the ones who held on the tightest, even when their grip left bruises they never meant to leave. A loud knock interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes. "He actually came early." I opened the door to find Mason standing there, two paper bags balanced in one arm. "I brought breakfast." "You already called me." "So I brought food too." I laughed, some of my irritation melting despite myself. "You realize normal people text before showing up." "I'm not normal." "No argument there." He stepped inside like he owned the place, pulling containers of fresh fruit, yogurt, scrambled eggs, and toast from the bags. I stared at the spread. "There are enough calories here to feed a hockey team." He shrugged. "You need energy. You get nervous, and you forget to eat." "I had one meeting where I skipped lunch." "You've done it more than once. You remember everything, don't you?" "When it comes to you." I looked away, something tightening in my chest. That was the problem. He remembered everything. Every fever. Every bad dream. Every scraped knee. Every heartbreak. Every tiny disappointment. He carried all of it like it had happened yesterday, like setting any of it down might mean losing me the way he'd lost them. "Sit," he ordered. "I can serve myself. Then stop treating me like I'm twelve." His hands paused over the counter. The kitchen went very quiet. "I'm just trying to help." "I know. Helping and controlling aren't the same thing." His jaw tightened. "I don't control you." "You absolutely do. You invited yourself to drive me to work, then walked into my apartment without asking." "You gave me a key." "So you could use it in emergencies." "This counts." I stared at him, and for a second neither of us moved. "No, it doesn't." Silence stretched between us. Finally, Mason sighed, and something in his shoulders sagged, like the weight he carried had shifted just slightly. "You know why I'm like this. I promised Mom and Dad I'd always protect you. I failed them once." My heart sank. "You didn't fail anyone. That wasn't your fault." "I was supposed to keep this family together." "You were eighteen. You raised me." "I tried." "You didn't try, Mason." I stepped closer, until we stood only a foot apart. "You succeeded." His eyes dropped to the floor, and for a moment he looked less like the fearless captain the whole city knew, and more like the eighteen-year-old boy in that photograph. "You gave up everything for me." "I'd do it again. And that's why I worry." I smiled, sadness pulling at the edges of it. "But I'm not the little girl you carried home from school anymore." "I know." "I don't think you do. I don't need you checking on me every hour, or solving every problem before I even know it exists." I folded my arms. "You keep saying you know. Then why don't you stop?" He looked at me for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than I'd ever heard it. "Because if something happened to you..." His voice caught. "...I wouldn't survive it." Every ounce of irritation I'd been holding disappeared at once, replaced by something achingly tender. That was Mason. His protectiveness had never come from control. It came from fear. Real fear. Fear born from losing everyone he loved once already, and never quite trusting the world not to take the rest. I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back immediately, tightly, like he needed the reminder that I was still there. "I love you," I whispered. "I love you too." "But you have to let me live my own life." He rested his chin lightly against my hair. "I'm trying." I pulled back just enough to smile up at him. "Try harder." A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll think about it. For the record, I'm still driving you." I groaned dramatically. "You learned absolutely nothing from this conversation." "I learned you're stubborn." "I wonder where I got that from." He laughed, and the sound eased something in me, the same way it always had, since we were kids. "Finish breakfast." An hour later, I stood outside the office building after insisting on driving myself, despite Mason's continued protests. He'd eventually surrendered, though not before reminding me three separate times to call him after work. I waved as he finally pulled away from the curb, that small, familiar ache of love and exasperation settling in my chest as I watched him go.

Noah's Pov There were only two kinds of games against Mason Blake. The ones that ended with someone bleeding. And the ones that ended with the media pretending they were disappointed nobody had thrown a punch. Tonight had fallen somewhere in the middle. The final buzzer had sounded nearly twenty minutes ago, but the noise inside the arena hadn't faded. Fans were still chanting, reporters were crowding the tunnels, and every sports channel in the country was already replaying the moment Mason and I slammed each other into the boards during the third period. Neither of us had started the collision. Neither of us had backed down either. I pulled my helmet off as I walked into the locker room, tossing it onto the wooden bench before running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. The room smelled of ice, tape, and victory. We had won. Barely. Yet nobody would remember the score by tomorrow morning. They would only remember another chapter in the never-ending rivalry between Noah Steele and Mason Blake. "You look like you're about to punch somebody," my teammate Liam Carter said, dropping onto the bench across from me. "I already hit enough people tonight." He laughed, pulling off one of his skates. "Reporters are waiting outside. Dying to ask you about Blake." "They always are, and no, I'm not giving them another headline." Liam shook his head, amused. "I've never met two people who enjoy making each other miserable as much as you and Mason." "We don't enjoy it." "Could've fooled me." Before I could answer, Coach Reynolds walked in carrying a tablet. "Good game, gentlemen." His eyes settled on me. "Steele. My office." The locker room erupted with exaggerated groans. "Ooh," Liam teased. "Coach is finally trading you." A few minutes later, I knocked on Coach Reynolds' office door. "Come in." I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Coach leaned back, arms folded. "You know why I asked you here?" "I'm assuming this is about Blake." "When isn't it?" He sighed and slid a folder across the desk. I glanced down. Winter Hearts Charity Weekend. "The organization confirmed your attendance." "I already agreed." "Mason Blake's organization accepted the invitation too." He hesitated. "I'd like one weekend where I don't have to answer phone calls about two hockey captains embarrassing themselves." "I'll be professional." "I sincerely hope so." I stood to leave. Coach studied me for a moment. "Don't let the past ruin the future." My smile disappeared. He didn't need to explain what he meant. He was talking about Tyler. Almost nobody mentioned that name anymore. The league certainly didn't. The media had buried the story years ago. Fans barely remembered it. But I remembered. Every single day. "I'll see you Monday, Coach." He simply nodded. When I left his office, the familiar weight settled onto my shoulders again. Some memories refused to stay in the past. Outside the arena, dozens of reporters waited behind the barricades. The moment they spotted me, microphones appeared from every direction, questions flying faster than I could answer them. I stopped walking. "The game was competitive. It was hockey." "Do you think the rivalry has become personal?" I looked directly at the reporter. "It became personal years ago." The crowd erupted with more questions. I kept walking. My driver opened the SUV door before anyone else could stop me. The moment I climbed inside, silence replaced the chaos outside. My agent, Ethan Brooks, was already sitting in the passenger seat. "You gave them just enough." "I wasn't trying to." "You never are." He turned around with his tablet in hand. "You're trending. The clip of you and Mason has already hit five million views." I laughed without humor. "The internet works fast." "It loves conflict even more." I leaned my head against the window as the city lights blurred together. Conflict. That seemed to be the only thing people associated with my name anymore. Nobody asked about the charity work, or the foundation I'd started for underprivileged kids, or the scholarships we funded every year. They wanted rivalry. Anger. Drama. The truth was far less entertaining. Hatred became exhausting after enough years passed. Sometimes I couldn't even remember what it felt like not to hate Mason Blake. Then, without warning, another memory forced its way into my mind. The summer camp. The freezing air inside the old training arena. Tyler laughing after practice. Mason standing beside him. The three of us talking about the future like nothing bad could ever happen. For a while, we had been friends. Real friends. We had believed we'd all play professionally together one day. Instead, only two of us made it. The third never left that camp alive. I shut my eyes, not tonight. I wasn't doing this tonight. "You okay?" Ethan's voice pulled me back. "I'm fine." He clearly didn't believe me, but he let it go. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. A message from the charity organizers: due to worsening weather forecasts, all guests were encouraged to arrive a day early. Heavy snowfall was expected throughout the mountain region that weekend. I read it twice before replying that I would leave first thing in the morning. Ethan glanced over. "Everything alright?" "They're expecting a snowstorm." "You're still going?" "I gave them my word." The SUV stopped outside my building. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, someone called my name. "Noah." I turned. Standing near the entrance was a woman I recognized immediately. Sophia Blake. She was dressed in a navy coat, her dark hair moving gently in the cold evening breeze as she looked at me with obvious annoyance. For a second, I wondered what she was doing here. Then I noticed another vehicle parked nearby. Mason's. Of course. She folded her arms. "You really enjoy provoking my brother, don't you?" "Good evening to you too." "You nearly started another fight tonight." "I seem to remember your brother hitting me just as hard." "He wouldn't have if you hadn't been running your mouth." I chuckled. "You weren't on the ice." "I know my brother, and I've heard enough stories about you." "Only his version, I'm guessing." "It was enough." I studied her for a moment. She looked nothing like Mason. Where he carried himself with quiet intensity, Sophia wore every emotion openly across her face. Irritated. Protective. Completely convinced she already knew exactly who I was. "It's generally a bad idea to judge someone you've spoken to for less than a minute." "And it's generally a bad idea to slam people into hockey boards." "Occupational hazard." She sighed dramatically. "You're impossible." "I've been called worse." For the first time, I noticed the corner of her mouth twitch, as though she was trying very hard not to smile. Interesting. Before either of us could say another word, Mason appeared outside the building. "Sophia." She looked toward him. "I'm coming." Mason's eyes met mine. The air between us instantly turned cold. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to. Years of resentment filled the silence for us. Sophia looked from her brother to me before shaking her head. "You two really are exhausting." She walked away before either of us could respond. I watched her disappear into Mason's vehicle. Ethan stepped beside me. "You know who that was, right? Mason Blake's sister." "I noticed." He gave me a suspicious look. "Forget whatever you're thinking." "I'm not thinking anything." "You looked at her." He laughed. "Sure you did." I shook my head and headed toward my apartment building. There were millions of women in the world. Sophia Blake was the one woman I should never look at twice. Which was exactly why it bothered me that, long after I closed my apartment door behind me, I could still picture the determined look in her eyes. And somehow, I had the feeling that wouldn't be the last time our paths crossed.

Sophia's Pov Three days had passed since Mason and I argued in my apartment. Although we had spoken several times since then, neither of us had mentioned the conversation. That was how we usually handled disagreements. We would both pretend everything was fine until enough time had passed for the tension to disappear on its own. Unfortunately, pretending only worked for so long. I sat at my desk, staring at the colorful slides displayed across my computer screen while my coworkers celebrated the successful presentation I had delivered earlier that week. "You've been smiling at that email for the last five minutes." I looked up to find my best friend and coworker, Emma Lawson, leaning against the edge of my desk with two cups of coffee in her hands. "So are you going to tell me why our boss just announced that you're representing the company at the Winter Hearts Charity Gala this weekend?" I finally smiled. "I was hoping it would stay quiet for at least another hour." Emma gasped dramatically. "You were chosen over the senior account managers. Do you realize how huge this is?" "I think I'm starting to." The Winter Hearts Charity Gala was one of the biggest fundraising events in the state. Every year, major companies, celebrities, professional athletes, and wealthy donors gathered at a luxury mountain resort to raise money for children's hospitals and youth programs. For someone working in marketing, attending the event wasn't just exciting. It was an opportunity. The kind that could change a career. Our company had sponsored the event for years, but this would be the first time I represented the agency on my own instead of simply assisting someone else. "I still can't believe Mr. Reynolds picked me." "He also had plenty of people who don't work half as hard as you." I looked down at my coffee. "I've wanted this promotion for so long." "And this could be exactly what gets you there." For the first time in months, I felt like my life was finally moving forward. My phone vibrated across the desk. Mason. Emma noticed immediately, and I smiled before accepting the call. "Hi." "Where are you?" "At work." "I heard about the charity gala." News traveled fast. "I don't want you driving. The weather forecast changed, they're expecting one of the biggest snowstorms of the season." "The event organizers already sent travel guidelines. They said to leave earlier." "So leave next week." "Mason, I've been invited to represent the company." "I'm proud of you. But I could drive you." I laughed in disbelief. "It's a four-hour trip. You have a game Saturday." "I'll figure it out." "I am not making you miss practice just to babysit me." He sighed. "I don't like this. I have a bad feeling. I don't want anything happening to you." My irritation faded just enough for guilt to settle in. "I'll call you when I get there. I promise." "And every night. And when you leave." "You're negotiating now?" "I learned from the best." I smiled despite myself. "I'll talk to you later." "Drive carefully." The call finally ended. Emma looked at me knowingly. "Still thinks you're sixteen?" "On a good day." She squeezed my hand. "One day he'll realize you're an adult." "I hope it's before I'm forty." ******************** The next morning arrived colder than expected. Dark clouds covered the sky before the sun had fully risen, and the weather reports grew more concerning with every passing hour. Still, the roads remained open. That was all I needed to know. I loaded my suitcase into the trunk of my car before taking one final look at my apartment building. This weekend was supposed to be about my future. About proving I could stand on my own, not proving Mason right. My phone buzzed. Mason: Call me before you leave. I smiled, and instead of calling, sent him a picture of my packed car. I'm leaving now. Don't worry. Three dots appeared instantly. Call me. I laughed quietly and pressed the call button. "You couldn't just accept the picture?" "No." "I'll be fine. If the roads get bad, I'll stop. If visibility drops, I'll stop. If the weather gets worse, I'll stop." He was quiet for a second. "You memorized my speech." "I've been listening to it my whole life." He chuckled softly. "I love you. Please be careful." "I will." This time, I really meant it. I ended the call and climbed into my car. The first two hours of the drive were peaceful. The highway stretched endlessly ahead while soft music played through the speakers, and I actually found myself enjoying the quiet, no phone calls, meetings, responsibilities. Just me. Exactly what I had wanted. The snow began falling so lightly that I barely noticed it at first. Within twenty minutes, tiny flakes became thick curtains of white. The sky darkened. The temperature dropped. Cars around me slowed considerably. My hands tightened around the steering wheel. The radio interrupted the music with an emergency weather bulletin: a severe winter storm warning had been issued for all mountain regions, and travelers were advised to seek shelter immediately. Several roads could become inaccessible within hours. The resort was still nearly forty-five minutes away. I considered turning around, but traffic behind me had nearly disappeared. Moving forward seemed just as reasonable as going back. "I can do this." Another ten minutes passed. The snowfall doubled. Wind slammed against my car so hard that I instinctively slowed further. Visibility dropped to only a few yards. Headlights became blurred shapes moving through endless white. My confidence disappeared. "This was a terrible idea." I spotted a small roadside café ahead and pulled into the parking lot. Inside, nearly every table was occupied by stranded travelers watching weather updates on a television mounted above the counter. The waitress greeted me with an apologetic smile. "The highway's getting worse. They're saying the mountain road might close soon." My stomach dropped. "Is there another route?" "Not unless you want to drive three extra hours." Wonderful. I pulled out my phone, one bar of service, and called the charity coordinator. "Sophia, where are you?" "I stopped about forty minutes from the resort." "You need to keep moving if you can. If you leave now, you should still make it before they close everything." That was enough. I thanked her, finished my coffee in three quick sips, and hurried back outside. The storm had become even stronger. By the time I reached my car, snow had already begun collecting across the windshield. The drive that followed was the most difficult of my life. Every mile demanded complete concentration. Every gust of wind pushed against the car. Every passing minute made me question whether Mason had been right all along. Finally, after what felt like hours, a large wooden sign appeared through the snowfall. Pine Ridge Mountain Lodge Relief washed over me. I pulled into the parking lot alongside dozens of other vehicles before climbing out into the freezing wind. The moment I stepped inside, warmth surrounded me. A roaring fireplace filled the lobby while travelers crowded every available chair. The receptionist looked exhausted. "I'm sorry," she said before I could speak. "The roads have officially been closed. For at least tonight." My heart sank. "So nobody can leave?" "I'm afraid not." I took a slow breath. "So I guess I'm staying." "You and everyone else." She handed me a room key. As I picked up my suitcase and turned toward the staircase, the front doors suddenly swung open behind me. A blast of freezing wind swept through the lobby. Everyone looked up. A tall man stepped inside, brushing snow from his coat. Even before he removed his hat, I knew exactly who it was. Noah Steele. Our eyes met across the crowded room. His expression mirrored my own disbelief. "Oh," I muttered under my breath. "You have got to be kidding me."