POV: REID - A Stark Realization

REID

The ink is barely dry on the contract when Katya snatches the documents off the table, her eyes scanning our signatures with a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. She tucks them carefully away into her leather bag, zipping it shut with a definitive, satisfying click, and looks up at us, her grin wide and wicked.

"Congratulations, lovebirds," she says, her voice dripping with amusement. "You are officially dating."

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the warm air of the dining room. I look at Adeline, and she looks back at me. There is a charged, electric silence between us, the sudden reality of what we’ve just signed finally settling in. This isn't just a crazy plan we cooked up in her living room anymore. It’s a legal commitment. For the next twelve months, our lives are bound together in a carefully choreographed lie.

"Well," Katya says, standing up and smoothing down her sleek blazer. "Now that the business is out of the way, I suggest you two start practicing. Go on, get out of here. Build some chemistry."

I slide back my chair and stand up, my massive frame easily towering over the table. I offer a hand to Adeline, who looks at it for a brief second before sliding her small, warm hand into mine. The contact is brief, but it sends a sudden, unexpected spark straight up my arm. I pull her up gently, and she sheathes her hands in the pockets of her elegant, sleeveless dress, smoothing down the fabric.

As we make our way through the crowded, dimly lit restaurant, I can immediately feel the eyes of the other patrons on us. The dining room is a sea of flickering candlelight, low murmurs, and the polite clinking of expensive silverware, but the moment we walk past the tables, the whispers begin.

"Is that Reid?" a woman at a corner table whispers to her husband, her eyes wide as she stares at me.

"Yeah, that’s him," the man replies, leaning in. "Who's the girl? I thought he was still dealing with that Sienna Blair situation."

I keep my expression completely neutral, a practiced mask of indifference that I’ve perfected over the years. I’m used to the whispers, the pointing, the side-eyes. But as I glance down at Adeline, I can see her shoulders tightening, her steps becoming slightly stiffer. She’s not used to this. She’s spent her entire life in the comfortable, quiet safety of anonymity, and now she’s being thrust into the blinding spotlight of my chaotic reality.

We reach the front desk, where the hostess offers me a warm, overly familiar smile. "Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Sutter," she says, her eyes lingering on me for a fraction of a second too long before darting to Adeline with a look of polite curiosity.

"Thanks," I mutter, pushing open the heavy mahogany doors.

The moment we step outside, the warm, upscale atmosphere of the restaurant is instantly replaced by the sharp, biting winter air. It hits us like a physical blow, a sudden rush of wind sweeping down the concrete avenue and rustling the bare, skeletal branches of the trees lining the street. The city at night is a landscape of long, dark shadows and harsh neon reflections, the damp pavement gleaming under the amber glow of the towering streetlights.

Adeline is wearing high heels, and she has to adjust her footing slightly on the cold concrete sidewalk, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in an effort to maintain her balance. I can’t help but grin. Standing a full head taller than her, I have to tilt my head down quite a bit just to meet her gaze. Every time I do, she scowls, her brow furrowing in a way that never fails to amuse me.

"Aren't you supposed to be some kind of A-list celebrity?" Adeline asks, her voice slightly muffled by the rising wind. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from the sudden drop in temperature.

"Only in hockey circles," I reply, my voice dry and carrying a hint of amusement. I look around the dimly lit street, my eyes scanning the dark corners and the parked cars lining the curb. "But honestly? We're probably being watched right now. I’d bet my next paycheck there are paparazzi lurking in the shadows."

It isn't a joke, and I know it. Ever since the massive public relations disaster with Sienna Blair, my life has been under a continuous, suffocating microscope. Even after she finally went on the record to clarify that we were never actually dating—that the photos of us leaving a club together were entirely circumstantial—the damage had already been done. The media didn't care about the truth; they cared about the narrative. To the press, I was the "bad boy of hockey"—a reckless, arrogant athlete who couldn't stay out of trouble or keep his hands to himself.

My management team has been breathing down my neck daily, sending endless emails about "image rehabilitation" and "strategic public appearances." They want me to act like a monk, to smile for the cameras, and to pretend I’m a wholesome family man. And Coach? He’s ripped into me in his office more times than I can count, his face turning a dangerous shade of red as he lectured me about focus, discipline, and the team's reputation. He told me that if my off-ice behavior started affecting the locker room, I’d be spending a lot of time watching the games from the press box.

It’s exhausting. Beyond exhausting. All I ever wanted to do was play hockey. I wanted the cold ice beneath my skates, the heavy weight of the stick in my hands, and the pure, uncomplicated thrill of putting the puck in the net. I never cared about the fame, the flashing cameras, or the constant need to explain my personal life to strangers who didn't care about me anyway. I’ve never been a relationship guy, and I’ve never lied about that. I like my freedom, and I’ve always been upfront about it. But the media didn't want a guy who was honest about his casual lifestyle; they wanted a villain they could tear down for clicks.

Adeline clearly didn't anticipate this level of scrutiny. As the weight of my words settles in, she pales. The color drains from her warm brown skin, and a violent shiver runs through her entire body, making her shoulders shake beneath her thin, elegant dress.

"Oh," she whispers, her shoulders tightening.

Seeing her shiver makes something in my chest tighten, a protective instinct that flares up before I can even process it. Without a single second of hesitation, I shrug off my heavy designer jacket. I step closer, closing the distance between us, and drape the warm, lined fabric over her small shoulders.

Her eyebrows shoot upward, nearly disappearing into her hairline as she looks up at me in surprise.

I let out a soft chuckle, keeping my hands on the collar of the jacket for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "We're supposed to be deeply in love, remember? Can't have my beautiful girlfriend freezing to death on our first official night out. It would look terrible in the press."

"Oh," she says again, her voice much softer this time, almost breathless.

It is painfully obvious how nervous she is. She keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers fidgeting with the lapels of my jacket, her eyes darting everywhere except my face. It’s incredibly endearing. She doesn't have the practiced, polished ease of the women I usually find myself around. There’s no performance with her.

Actually, she’s more than endearing. She’s stunning.

I’d thought so even back in our college days, though I’d never have admitted it to anyone back then. Adeline has always possessed a quiet, effortless beauty that didn't require flashy clothes or heavy makeup to command attention. She has those big, luminous dark brown eyes, lips that naturally curve into a perfect Cupid’s bow, and a warmth to her skin that seems to glow even brighter under the harsh, artificial streetlights.

For years, she has occasionally crossed my mind, hovering in the periphery of my thoughts like a ghost I couldn't quite shake. That was why it had felt like a punch to the gut when she pulled that polite, formal "nice to meet you" routine earlier, as if we were total strangers. Did she really not remember me? Or was she just trying to pretend the past didn't exist to protect herself?

Maybe it was weird for me to have noticed so much about her back then. She was my teammate’s long-term girlfriend, after all. But I could never help myself. Even in college, I could never comprehend what she saw in Brooks.

Brooks was a proud, arrogant, pretentious jerk. He wasn't the kind of fun, harmless asshole like Grant; he was the exhausting, toxic kind of jerk who seemed to have perfected the art of making everyone around him feel small. And he certainly didn't treat Adeline the way she deserved to be treated.

I remember one specific night back in college, during our sophomore year, at a rowdy post-game party at the hockey house. The air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the damp, heavy heat of a packed living room. The floor was sticky under my sneakers, and some terrible rock anthem was blasting from a set of blown-out speakers in the corner. Brooks was standing in the center of the room, a plastic cup raised high, loudly bragging about a goal he’d scored—a goal that had actually been a lucky deflection off his skate, not that he’d ever admit it. He was surrounded by a group of freshman girls who were hanging onto his every word.

Adeline was standing just a few feet away. She was wearing a simple, oversized sweater that made her look tiny, her dark hair pulled back in a loose clip. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, her fingers nervously picking at the label of her drink. When the crowd finally dispersed a bit, she stepped closer to him, gently touching his arm. I saw her say something—asking if they could leave soon because she had a massive mid-term exam early the next morning.

Brooks didn't even look at her. He didn't even pause. He just shook her hand off his arm with a dismissive, annoyed sigh, muttered something about her being a buzzkill, and turned his back on her to talk to another teammate.

I had been leaning against the kitchen doorframe, watching the entire exchange. My grip on my beer bottle had tightened so hard I thought the glass might shatter. A hot, furious anger had flared in my chest, a primal urge to cross the room, grab Brooks by his collar, and slam him against the wall until he learned how to treat a woman with respect. But I couldn't. I had no right. She was his girlfriend, and I was just the quiet, brooding teammate who watched from the sidelines.

Even back then, I knew she deserved so much more than a guy who made her feel like a burden. I knew she deserved someone who would listen to her, someone who would look at her like she was the only person in the room, someone who would protect her. But instead, she stayed with him, giving him year after year of her life, pouring her love into a void that would never give anything back.

A small, familiar knot of guilt forms in my stomach, tight and heavy. Back then, during those long college semesters, I used to secretly hope they would split up. I used to watch them from a distance and wish she would finally realize her worth and leave him in the dust.

Now, they finally have. And as we stand here in the parking lot, I know I should probably feel like a terrible person for ever wishing for the demise of their relationship. I know a good guy wouldn't be standing here, plotting how to use this fake-dating arrangement to his advantage. But I’ve never claimed to be a good guy. I am fully prepared to utilize this entire situation to keep her close, to show her what it’s like to actually be valued, even if we have to pretend it's all for the cameras.

We are standing in the parking lot, waiting for Garry and Katya to wrap up whatever they’re doing inside. The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain and car exhaust, and Adeline stands in front of me, fidgeting like she’s trying to keep herself busy to stave off the chill.

She’s currently engaged in a losing battle with my jacket. Her small arms are struggling to find the openings of the oversized sleeves, and she mutters a string of quiet, frustrated curses under her breath. The dress she’s wearing is absolutely gorgeous—a sleek, elegant design that hugs her curves perfectly—but it’s entirely sleeveless, and the freezing temperature is clearly taking its toll.

I sigh, pushing myself off the hood of my car—a pristine, midnight-black Porsche that I’ve lovingly nicknamed Willow—and take a couple of steps toward her.

"Here," I say, my voice dropping to a low, gentle rumble.

I reach out, my fingers brushing against the bare skin of her collarbone as I grab the heavy collar of my jacket. The brief, electric touch sends a sharp, sudden spark straight down my spine. I carefully guide her arms into the wide sleeves, taking my time. "It’s a jacket, Ads. It's not a puzzle."

She huffs, her breath forming a tiny, white cloud in the freezing air. Her cheeks are flushed a lovely, deep shade of pink—though whether it’s from the biting cold or sheer embarrassment, I can’t quite tell.

"It was folded weird," she argues, her voice tight but playful.

"Sure it was," I drawl, fighting the urge to smirk as I gently adjust the fabric over her shoulders.

The jacket practically swallows her whole. The hem falls past her thighs, and the sleeves drape way past her fingertips, making her look incredibly small and delicate. For some reason, the sight of her wrapped in my clothes makes something tight and possessive clench in my chest, a feeling I have no business harboring but can't seem to shake.

She looks up at me then, her gaze locking onto mine. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she’s on the verge of saying something important. The space between us feels suddenly charged, heavy with an unspoken tension that makes the rest of the world fade into the background.

But before she can utter a single word, a sharp, loud whistle cuts through the quiet night air.

"Damn, man. You work fast."

Garry. Of course it’s Garry.

Adeline practically jumps a foot backward, immediately breaking the physical proximity between us. I shake my head, letting out a heavy sigh as I turn around to find Garry and Katya strolling toward us. Both of them have identical, highly amused expressions plastered on their faces.

Garry smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he stops a few feet away. "So, what exactly did we miss out here?"

Adeline quickly mutters, "Nothing," her voice rushed and slightly high-pitched, her face flushing even deeper.

At the exact same time, I look Garry dead in the eye and say, "Adeline and I were just making plans to go out."

Both Garry and Katya raise their eyebrows in perfect unison.

"We were?" Adeline asks, turning her head to stare at me with wide, confused eyes.

"You were?" Katya echoes, her arms crossed as she eyes me suspiciously.

I bite back a triumphant smile at Adeline's confusion and offer a brief nod toward Garry. "Take Katya home safe. I’ve got things handled here."

Katya’s brow furrows, and she steps closer, leveling me with a sharp, protective gaze. "It's barely seven o'clock, Reid. Where on earth are you taking her? Don't do anything stupid."

"You're not my mother, Kat," Adeline cuts in, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. "And I don't exactly have a curfew."

Garry lets out another low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. "Damn. Guess we'll just mind our own business, then. You two have fun."

Katya sighs, throwing her hands up in defeat, but she doesn't push the issue any further. Instead, she looks at me, her eyes drilling into mine with a message that clearly says: *Don't be an idiot, and don't ruin this.*

Message received.

Before Adeline and I head toward the doors of the Porsche, I lean closer to Katya, shooting her a dry, unamused look. "They could at least try to be subtle about it. Honestly, it feels like you personally tipped them off."

I nod subtly toward a silver sedan parked a few rows over. Behind the windshield, a man is holding up a heavy camera with a massive lens, the faint click of the shutter lost in the city noise as he takes a picture of Adeline getting into the passenger side of my car.

Katya shrugs, completely unbothered by the invasion of privacy. In fact, she looks highly pleased with the development. "Whatever. Just make sure you take her somewhere where they can get some really excellent pictures of you two together. We need this to look as convincing as possible."

I scoff, opening the driver's side door. "You are a truly terrible person, Katya."

She smirks, waving a hand dismissively. "Right back at you, loser. Have fun."

We exchange our final goodbyes, and I slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the heavy door shut. The cabin of the Porsche is quiet, immediately sealing out the cold wind and the distant hum of traffic. The smell of expensive leather and my own cologne fills the space, warm and familiar.

I start the engine, and Willow purrs to life with a deep, powerful rumble that vibrates through the steering wheel. I love this car. It’s a midnight-black Porsche 911, a masterpiece of German engineering that represents the only real luxury I allowed myself after signing my first major contract. The interior is a sanctuary of custom, black leather with dark red stitching, a state-of-the-art dashboard that glows with a soft, blue light, and a cabin that is completely soundproofed from the outside world. The moment the doors slam shut, the chaotic noise of the city is reduced to a distant, muffled hum.

I don't have a specific destination in mind yet, but I know I want to get us away from this parking lot and the prying eyes of the photographers. I shift into reverse, backing out of the tight spot with practiced ease, before shifting into drive and heading toward the exit.

Adeline makes herself comfortable in the passenger seat, pulling my oversized jacket tighter around her body. Without asking, she reaches out and begins adjusting the radio, her slender fingers tapping on the touchscreen with a familiarity that makes it feel like she’s sat in this passenger seat a thousand times before. She bypasses the pop stations, the sports talk shows, and the classical music, finally landing on a heavy, rhythmic beat.

Kendrick Lamar’s voice begins to flow through the high-end speakers, the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards and settling in my chest.

I glance over at her, my eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "You listen to Kendrick Lamar?"

She shoots me a playful, defiant side-eye, a tiny smirk dancing on her lips. "And you don't?"

"Touché," I chuckle, shifting the car into gear as we pull out onto the main road. "But still. I wouldn't have guessed. Katya, sure. I’ve heard her blasting all kinds of aggressive music in her office. But you? You just didn't seem like the rap type. I had you figured for more of an indie-folk or classical piano kind of girl."

She shrugs, leaning her head back against the leather headrest as she watches the road ahead, the city lights reflecting in her dark eyes. "You can't judge a book by its cover, Reid. There’s a lot more to me than meets the eye. I contain multitudes."

"I'm starting to realize that," I smirk, reaching over to turn up the volume slightly. "I like a girl with surprises. It keeps me on my toes."

"So, where are we actually going?" she asks, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at the corners of her lips.

The music seems to have eased her tension, and for the first time tonight, she actually looks excited. Her hands are clasped loosely in her lap, and when she looks at me with those gorgeous doe eyes, I almost forget to answer.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road as we exit the parking lot. "Somewhere we can actually talk. Somewhere we don't have to deal with Garry's complete lack of boundaries or Katya's constant... well, Katya-ness."

"I can definitely get behind that," she says, letting out a soft, amused laugh. "They are a lot to handle, aren't they? I love Katya to death, but sometimes she behaves like a general preparing for war."

"She is preparing for war," I grumbled. "Our image war. She’s taking this contract very seriously."

"Yeah," Adeline says, her laughter fading. She begins to fidget with the seatbelt again, her fingers tracing the nylon strap. The fleeting moment of lightheartedness seems to slip away, replaced by a shadow of sadness that dims the brightness in her eyes. "I wasn't even going to agree to this contract, you know? The whole thing just feels so incredibly stupid. Pathetic, even. I mean, look at me. I’m a grown woman, and I literally had to hire—or rather, fake-date—a professional athlete just so I don't have to face my ex-fiancé’s wedding alone. It’s embarrassing."

We pull onto the main avenue, the streetlights casting alternating bands of light and shadow across her face. I keep quiet, letting her speak. I can tell she needs to get this out.

"But do you want to know what the worst part is?" she continues, her voice trembling slightly. "I gave him ten years of my life, Reid. Ten years. I supported him, I stood by him, I built my entire world around him. And somehow, within less than a single year of us breaking up, he managed to find everything he ever wanted with someone else. He's marrying her. He’s committing to her in a way he never could with me."

Hearing her speak these words aloud makes a cold, hard anger bloom in my chest. I’ve always known Brooks was a fool, but hearing the raw, bleeding pain in her voice makes me want to find him and beat him to a pulp. It’s uncomfortable to hear her express this kind of vulnerability, not because I don't want to listen, but because it pains me to see her so broken over a guy who wasn't worth a single one of her tears.

"Do you still love him?" The question escapes my lips before I can stop it. The moment the words leave my mouth, I mentally curse myself. *Stupid, Reid. Real stupid.*

I expect her to get defensive, to shut down, or to tell me to mind my own business. But she doesn't. Instead, she looks genuinely thoughtful, her gaze drifting toward the window as she actually takes the time to contemplate her answer.

"Yes and no," she finally says, her voice incredibly honest. "Do I love the way he loved me? Absolutely not. I’ve seen the pictures of him and his new fiancée on social media. He looks... different. Happier. Lighter. When we were together, even when we were officially engaged, I felt like I had to constantly beg him to actually love me. I had to beg him to set a date, to plan a future, to just show up for me. It was exhausting."

She lets out a dry, bitter laugh that cuts right through me.

"God, this is so incredibly humiliating," she mutters, shaking her head as she presses her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window. "I don't even know why I’m telling you all of this. For some reason, it's just so much easier to confess all this pathetic, embarrassing shit to you than it is to talk to Kat about it."

"Probably because I have absolutely no right to judge you," I say, my voice soft but firm. "I’m the guy with the disastrous reputation, remember? I’m the 'bad boy' who can’t keep his life together. Beside my mess, your life looks incredibly put together. And besides, I was going to ask how you felt about the wedding anyway. We’re about to spend an entire month on a cruise ship with the guy. This conversation was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Yeah," she exhales, her breath fogging up the window. "I suppose you're right. It’s just... the thought of being trapped on a cruise ship with them for an entire month makes me feel sick. What if I can't handle it? What if I break down in front of him?"

"You won't," I say, my voice steady and filled with a fierce conviction. "Because you're not going to be alone. You're going to have me. And we are going to make sure he regrets every single choice he’s ever made."

She turns her head back to watch the city pass by. The excitement from earlier is completely gone, replaced by a heavy, suffocating melancholy. I hate seeing her like this. I hate that Brooks still has this kind of hold over her emotions, that his happiness can make her feel so small and insignificant. I want to shake her, to make her see how incredible she is, to make her realize that Brooks is the one who lost everything, not her.

Before I can think of the right words to say, the center console screen lights up, flashing a bright blue light in the dark cabin.

The ringtone cuts through the low murmur of Kendrick Lamar's track. I glance down at the caller ID.

The first two letters—*Si*—are all I need to see.

*Sienna.*

A wave of pure irritation washes over me. I don't even hesitate. With a swift, decisive swipe of my finger, I decline the call, sending her straight to voicemail. I have absolutely no interest in dealing with her, her publicist, or her endless drama. I’ve had enough of people trying to dictate my life, trying to paint me as someone I’m not.

But as the screen goes dark, a sudden, electric spark of inspiration ignites in my brain. It’s a wild, reckless thought, the kind of idea that my publicist would probably scream at me for even considering. But in this moment, looking at the sadness etched into Adeline's beautiful profile, I don't care about my publicist. I don't care about my reputation.

I just want to see her smile. I want to do something that will make her forget about Brooks, about the wedding, and about the ten years she lost. I want to prove to her that life can be spontaneous, fun, and completely unpredictable.

I glance over at her, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across my face.

"Wanna do something absolutely insane tonight?" I ask, my voice laced with a sudden surge of adrenaline.

She turns her head to look at me, her eyebrows rising in curiosity. I can see a tiny flicker of life returning to her eyes, a spark of interest that replaces the dull sadness. "What do you mean by 'insane'?"

"I'll take that as a definitive yes," I grin.

Without another word, I check my mirrors, grip the steering wheel tight, and execute a sharp, sweeping U-turn in the middle of the avenue. The tires of the Porsche grip the asphalt, sending us flying back in the exact opposite direction, leaving the heavy weight of her past behind us in the shadows.