Not Mine Anymore

~GARRETT~

My world shook.

The heavy chords of the organ music hummed through the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, but the grand sound was drowned out by the roaring blood rushing in my ears. One second I was standing at the back of the packed church, half-listening to the cultured murmurs of the elite crowd surrounding us. The next second, I stood paralyzed.

I was staring at Hadley.

She was walking down the carpeted aisle toward Beckett fucking Calloway.

My Hadley.

Except she was no longer mine. She was walking toward a man I hated more than anyone else on this earth. She was draped in a custom bridal gown that looked like it cost more than my rookie contract, the delicate fabric trailing behind her like spun glass. A blinding string of diamonds glittered at her throat, catching the warm light of the chandeliers. Her hair was swept up in an elegant style, framing that shy smile she used to save only for me.

My lungs forgot how to function.

Beside me, Whitney’s manicured fingers dug into my forearm. The grip was so fierce I felt the bite of her nails pierce straight through the thick sleeve of my tailored suit jacket.

"Garrett. That can't be her. Tell me that's not Hadley. She was never a billionaire. I looked her up last night after you got that weird invitation. There was nothing online. No photos. No social media. Just a name on some old family registry. This has to be a joke. Or a scam."

I stared straight ahead at the altar. My throat felt like it was packed tight with dry sand.

"I checked too. Harrison Davenport has three daughters, but no public pictures have ever been published. The family keeps everything locked down tight. No social media trails. No easy way to confirm which face belonged to which name. I told myself the matching last name was just a mere coincidence."

My own voice sounded bizarre to my ears—flat, hollow, and distant. Last night, I had convinced myself it was a stunt. A desperate girl using a famous last name to get my attention.

But right now, she was standing at the altar in front of half the professional league, radiating quiet power. The suffocating doubt was getting much harder to ignore.

The ceremony continued forward like a twisted nightmare. Beckett stood at the altar looking every bit the smug bastard he was—tall, sharp, wrapped in aggressive confidence. The vows blurred into a muffled drone. The priest spoke in a measured cadence, but the only thing registering in my brain was the sight of Beckett taking her hand.

He held her fingers with a terrifying confidence. Like he owned her. Like he had every right to touch her. Like he had not just stolen the only woman who had ever truly known the real me.

The officiant reached the end of the traditional vows.

"You may kiss the bride."

Hadley did not hesitate. She did not flinch, freeze, or pull away from the man I had spent the last three seasons trying to destroy on the ice.

Instead, she rose onto her toes. She leaned into him and kissed him.

Acidic jealousy twisted in my gut.

It was a devastating hit to my chest. Seeing her kiss another man was bad enough, but seeing her kiss Beckett made the blood in my veins run boiling hot. She kissed him like she meant it. She kissed him like she wanted it. She kissed him like she was hungry for the taste of him.

I had known Hadley for nine long years. I had held her for six of those years. I was the one who kissed her in dark parking lots after late-night practices. I was the one she waited for in the freezing cold. We spent endless late nights in the quiet library when neither of us could sleep. I still remembered the feeling of her laughing into my mouth, the soft warmth of her skin against mine.

But I had kept her a secret.

For six years, I hid her away in private. I made her wear oversized hoodies and heavy sunglasses in public just to protect my marketable status as a rising star. I convinced her it was for us, for our future. No one knew she was my girlfriend except a guarded inner circle.

Then I made captain.

The memories soured like spoiled milk on my tongue. The second I moved up the roster, the cheating started. Whitney, the head coach's beautiful daughter, had started showing up in the stands more often. Waiting for me after games. Smiling at me with the kind of entitlement that said she already owned me. I allowed myself to be seduced by the shiny allure of influence. I told myself I owed her father. I told myself the only reason the letter on my jersey existed was because of her family's heavy push behind the scenes.

When Whitney finally demanded my attention, I did not know how to say no without risking everything I had worked my entire life for. I remembered the exact night I made the final decision. We were sitting in my beat-up car outside Hadley's apartment building. She had brought me a cheap coffee in a paper cup, wearing a baggy gray hoodie to hide her face from any lingering fans. I had looked at her soft smile and decided she was not enough for the life I wanted to build.

I convinced myself that trading quiet, background Hadley for the coach's flashy daughter was the practical way to secure my future. Hadley had always been soft. Easy to keep hidden. Whitney understood the brutal politics of professional hockey. Her father controlled the roster. She looked the part. She played the part perfectly. Marrying Whitney was supposed to be the ultimate business decision. I treated Hadley like a stepping stone, a girl meant to be discarded the second a better offer came along.

Watching Hadley willingly part her lips for Beckett Calloway made that supposed bright future taste like ash in my mouth.

Whitney leaned closer, her voice dropping into a vicious whisper so the surrounding guests would not overhear.

"Look at her. Acting like she belongs up there. It's embarrassing. There is no way she is the real Hadley Davenport. Look at her. Really look. She is average. Ordinary. Harrison Davenport's actual daughter would have been raised in private schools. She would know how to carry herself in a room like this. That girl up there is just the same boring Hadley who used to wait for you after practice with cheap coffee in some stupid disguise. She must have switched places with the real one. Or paid someone. Or lied her way into this. There is no universe where that is a billionaire's daughter."

I tore my eyes away from the altar for a fraction of a second, looking down at the woman I had married.

"You think she faked an entire wedding?"

"I think she is desperate enough to try. She lost you. She couldn't handle the rejection. So she attached herself to the one name that would hurt you the most and somehow dragged Beckett into her sick game. Maybe his family owes her something and she exploited it. I don't know. But that is not a billionaire standing up there. I refuse to believe it."

A deafening crash suddenly shattered the quiet elegance of the cathedral hall.

I jolted, my eyes snapping instantly back toward the front of the room.

Daphne Winslow stood beside the shattered remains of a massive ice sculpture. Her face was bone-pale, contorted with a lethal fury. The heavy top half of the frozen masterpiece had been shoved off its pedestal. Thousands of jagged ice shards exploded across the pristine marble floor.

Beckett and Hadley tore apart from their heated kiss. Even from the back row, I could see their chests heaving as they dragged in oxygen. Beckett's hand lingered near her waist for a heavy second before he finally dropped it. Hadley looked momentarily dazed, her lips swollen, before she turned her head toward the source of the explosive noise.

Whitney sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh no. That's Daphne. She looks like she is about to lose her mind. Poor her. This must be so incredibly hard for her to watch."

I nodded slowly, the muscles in my neck stiffening.

"Yeah."

Whitney let out an arrogant sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If Beckett is really going through with this sham, Daphne has every right to be angry. She is the one having a hard time. Not us. You are the captain of the team. You are married to the coach's daughter. Hadley is the one who trapped herself in some arranged mess with a man who clearly doesn't want her."

I heard her words, but they felt hollow. They offered zero comfort to the gaping wound tearing open in my chest.

Because earlier, before the vows began, before the kiss and the shattering ice, Hadley had looked out across the crowded room. Just for a brief second, her eyes had found mine.

I had braced myself for the pain in her gaze. I had expected the tears. The lingering heartbreak. The silent, desperate plea of a woman who still loved the man who broke her heart.

Instead, I found nothing.

There had been no pleading in her eyes. No leftover softness. Just a cold detachment. She had looked right through me like I was a complete stranger. Like I was less than nothing. That single, fleeting glance had stripped me bare, making me feel like I was the one who had been left behind. It made me feel abandoned.

Whitney leaned closer, her eyes locked on the altar with unchecked malice.

"I am telling you, Garrett. That girl is a total fraud. The real Hadley Davenport is probably sitting somewhere on a yacht laughing while this pathetic one plays dress-up in her place. Or maybe the family is using her as a cheap stand-in for appearances. Rich people do crazy things like that all the time. Either way, she is not what she is pretending to be."

I stared intensely at Hadley as the frantic event staff hurried out from the wings with towels, scrambling to clean up the broken, melting ice disaster. The flustered officiant gripped his microphone, trying desperately to regain control of the derailed ceremony.

Nine years.

I had known her for nine years. Six of them she belonged to me.

And somehow, by some massive twist of fate, I was the one standing at the very back of her luxurious wedding, watching another man kiss her so openly, so fiercely, without a single care in the world.

The suffocating jealousy sat heavy and dark in the center of my chest.

And bubbling right underneath that jealousy, for the very first time, was a cold spike of fear.

Because if Whitney was wrong.

If this was not an elaborate scam.

If that woman standing up there really was Harrison Davenport's daughter.

Then I had not just betrayed the girl who loved me.

I had destroyed an unimaginable opportunity. I had thrown away a billionaire heiress for a fraction of the power I could have held. The realization hit my wounded masculine ego like a freight train, crushing the breath right out of my lungs.

Whitney hissed sharply, yanking hard on my sleeve again. "You are staring. Garrett, stop looking at her like that."

"I'm not." I forced the lie through gritted teeth.

Whitney's voice dropped even lower, dripping with venom. "You are. You are looking at her the exact same way you used to when she still thought you were a decent guy. She is not your anything anymore. She is Beckett Calloway's wife. And if she is actually faking being a Davenport, then she is also a liar and a gold digger. Which, honestly, tracks. She always was a little too quiet. A little too careful. She was probably planning this exact con the whole time."

I did not answer her.

Because a dark part of me, some ugly, desperate, pathetic part of my soul, wanted to believe her venom. I wanted the beautiful woman standing at that altar to not be a billionaire. I wanted the passionate kiss, the heavy diamond ring, and the sacred vows to belong to someone else entirely. Because if she was a fake, then the agonizing ache tearing through my chest would make sense as something other than pure, sickening regret.

But I kept on looking. I kept on staring at the graceful slope of her neck and the steady set of her shoulders.

That was Hadley.

My Hadley.

Married to the one man I had spent the last three seasons trying to destroy on the frozen ice.

The chaotic ceremony finally reached its end. The flustered priest officially pronounced them husband and wife. The elite crowd erupted into a wave of polite applause, but the sound washed over me like I was submerged underwater.

Whitney's sharp nails dug into my arm even harder, breaking my skin.

"Unbelievable. She is really going through with it. Either she is the best actress I have ever seen in my life, or she actually managed to pull off the con of the century. Either way, it makes me sick. It is disgusting."

"Stop." I found my voice, thick with suppressed rage.

Whitney blinked up at me in shock. "What did you say?"

"Stop talking about her like that."

Her perfectly contoured expression flickered rapidly. It flashed with pure surprise, and then hardened into deep irritation. The marital discord between us flared instantly.

"Are you seriously defending her right now? The girl who just married your biggest rival in front of everyone?"

The muscles in my jaw physically ached from how hard I was clenching my teeth. My wounded pride bled out into the cold air between us.

"I am not defending anyone." I stepped back, pulling my arm out of her painful grip. The suffocating weight of my own choices pressed down on my chest, threatening to crush me. "I just need a second. I need a fucking drink. That is what I need."