I Found the Hockey King's Son, Now He Wants Me as His Mate

Chloe Sullivan POV:

I could feel the weight of their stares.

To Manhattan's high society, New York's most notorious, scandal-ridden socialite was finally getting tied down. The news of my engagement to the golden boy, Evan Parrish, had instantly set the city ablaze with gossip.

Tonight, the grand ballroom was packed with the elite, and I knew exactly what they were whispering behind their champagne flutes-they were waiting to see if the infamous Chloe Sullivan would actually get her happy ending.

My fiancé Evan's handsome profile blurred into a soft-focus dream. He was charming a reporter from Sports Illustrated, his laughter echoing the clinking glasses around us.

My gaze drifted across the crowded ballroom and landed on my stepsister, Ariane Mclaughlin.

She stood near Evan, a wine glass in her hand, her posture deceptively casual. But her eyes, sharp and venomous, were aimed directly at me.

A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I pushed it down.

Tonight was my night. I wouldn't let her ruin it.

With a practiced smile, I walked toward Evan, my arm linking naturally with his.

Then, the acrid smell of smoke hit me.

A flicker of orange erupted from the far end of the ballroom. The first scream tore through the music.

"Fire!" someone yelled.

Chaos exploded.

Guests shrieked, shoving their way toward the exits. The wave of panic was a physical force.

My face went pale, my hand clutching Evan's arm. "Evan, we have to go!"

But his eyes were fixed over my shoulder, locked on something in the distance. Ariane. She had stumbled over a fallen decoration, coughing weakly, her face a mask of terror as she looked toward us.

My heart plummeted into a cold, dark void.

I saw the flicker of conflict in Evan's eyes, but it lasted only a second. He ripped his arm from my grasp. The force of it sent me stumbling backward.

"Chloe, you get out first! Ariane, she..." He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't have to.

He turned, fighting against the tide of fleeing people, and ran toward her.

For a split second, the sheer betrayal rooted me to the spot, the sight of his retreating back severing three years of my life with one clean, brutal cut. But the blistering heat quickly snapped my survival instincts into overdrive. I wasn't going to just stand here and wait to die.

Coughing violently as thick, toxic smoke choked my lungs, I turned and fought my way toward the nearest emergency exit.

The heat was a physical presence, scorching my skin. The panicked crowd was a mindless, frantic beast. "Move!" I tried to shout, but a terrifying wall of bodies surged past.

A frantic guest slammed hard into my shoulder, sending me careening forward. Before I could regain my footing, another heavy blow struck my back.

I was knocked to the ground by the frantic mob, my cheek hitting the cold marble floor.

I scrambled desperately, gasping for oxygen and trying to crawl away from the encroaching inferno, but my limbs felt like lead. I looked up, my vision blurring, at the grand crystal chandelier swaying precariously above.

Am I going to die?

Here, at what was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, abandoned by the man I loved. The irony was a poison spreading through my veins.

As my consciousness began to fade, a pair of strong arms scooped me up from the floor. I was lifted against a hard chest, the scent of clean air, smoke, and something cold and sharp filling my senses.

I struggled to open my eyes, seeing only the blurred outline of a tall figure wearing a firefighter's mask. He was built like a mountain, a final, solid presence in a world that was falling apart.

Then, everything went black.

I woke to the blinding white of a hospital room and the sterile scent of antiseptic. An IV was taped to my arm, and my throat felt like sandpaper.

A nurse entered, her voice gentle. "You're awake, Ms. Sullivan. You have some smoke inhalation, but you'll be fine. We'd just like to keep you for observation overnight."

I opened my mouth, wanting to ask about Evan, about Ariane. But the words wouldn't come. His back, as he ran away from me, was the only answer I needed.

The nurse must have seen the desolation in my eyes. "Your family will be here soon," she said, trying to offer comfort.

Family?

A bitter smile touched my lips. Did I have one of those anymore?

I turned my head, gazing out the window at the New York City skyline. The neon lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of meaningless colors.

I closed my eyes, Evan's turn replaying in my mind on an endless loop. The ache in my chest was a thousand times more real than the burn in my throat.

My perfect future, a carefully constructed lie. And I was the last one to know.

The television in the corner of the room was on, playing the morning news. A breaking news banner crawled across the bottom of the screen, each word a fresh stab to my heart.

"Fire at Socialite's Engagement Party: Fiancé's Heroic Rescue of Bride's Sister..."

Heroic rescue.

I looked at the words, and a laugh, dry and sharp, escaped my lips. The agonizing ache in my chest instantly calcified into something cold and hard. What a hero. What a touching story.

I fumbled for the remote and shut it off, plunging the room into silence. I reached up, aggressively wiping away the single tear that had managed to escape.

He had left me to burn to death just to play the knight in shining armor for Ariane. They thought they could humiliate me and walk away unscathed?The naive Chloe might have died in that fire, but the one who survived was going to make them both pay.

Chloe Sullivan POV:

I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster. It was a pointless task, meant to numb the throbbing in my chest.

The door to my hospital room was shoved open with a violent bang.

I turned my head toward the door. My father, Richard Sullivan, my stepmother, Eleanor, and my half-sister, Ariane, filed into my hospital room.

"Chloe, I was terrified you wouldn't wake up," Ariane's voice wavered, her eyes already rimmed with theatrical red. "I begged Evan to save you first, I really did, but he just wouldn't let me go..."

The image of Evan Parrish desperately pulling Ariane out of harm's way flashed through my mind. I shifted my gaze to the blank wall, refusing to give any of them another second of my attention.

"Still as classless as ever!" Richard barked, his temper flaring at my silence. "Did you not hear your sister asking about you?"

When I still didn't respond, Eleanor chimed in, her tone dripping with mock anxiety. "Richard, please, let it go. Chloe's still just a kid. Besides, we have more pressing matters today."

Richard clearly didn't want to waste his breath on me anyway. He cut straight to the chase. "You should know by now that Evan is in love with Ariane.

Since the engagement party went up in flames anyway, you are going to issue a public statement calling off the engagement. You're going to step aside and give Evan and Ariane your blessing."

A laugh slipped past my lips. I was so furious it was actually funny.

"And why would I do that?" I asked him flatly.

"Because they actually love each other," Richard proclaimed, his chest puffing out with self-righteousness. "And because your little teenage pregnancy scandal dragged the Sullivan name through the mud in this city!

Did you honestly think the Parrish family would welcome a tainted woman into their inner circle? I am giving you an out, Chloe. I suggest you take it."

My nails dug into my palms. When I was eighteen, Ariane had tricked me into going to a club. She'd made sure my drink was spiked. I woke up the next morning next to a complete stranger, panicked, and ran before I even caught a glimpse of his face. I was just a naive teenager; the thought of morning-after pills never even crossed my mind.

By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was already well into my second trimester. I secretly went to a clinic for a procedure, but Ariane had tipped off TMZ and the local tabloids. Photos of me at the clinic were plastered everywhere. Almost overnight, I became the biggest joke among the city's elite.

Worse still, my doctor had informed me that due to my health, an abortion would be fatal. I had no choice but to carry the baby to term.

It took me months to finally accept the life growing inside me, only to deliver a stillborn. When I was at my absolute lowest, drowning in grief, Richard didn't offer a single word of comfort. Instead, he shipped me off to Europe. For seven years, he left me to rot, never bothering to make a single phone call.

And now? I had just survived a brush with death, and he hadn't asked if I was okay. Not once. He had only come to bully me into giving up my fiancé for his precious Ariane.

How utterly soulless did a father have to be to say such vicious things to his own flesh and blood? To rip open my deepest scars without a second thought?

"I suppose being a homewrecker is genetic," I sneered, meeting his glare head-on. "The Sullivan name? What reputation does this family even have left? My mother's body was barely cold before you moved your mistress in.

And isn't it hilarious that your mistress's daughter is only six months younger than me? If anyone in this city is 'tainted,' Richard, it's you."

"Chloe!" Richard roared, his face turning an ugly shade of purple.

Ariane and Eleanor both looked mortified, the truth stinging them into a humiliated silence.

I had zero patience left for these people who dared to call themselves my family. "If the Parrish family wants to break the engagement, Evan can come tell me to my face. It's not your place!

Now get the hell out of my room before I call hospital security. If this turns into a media circus, I'm not the one with a pristine reputation to lose, am I?"

I could see the hesitation flicker in Richard's eyes. He knew I was exactly like my mother-usually quiet and aloof, but when backed into a corner, I possessed a ruthless, unyielding streak that he couldn't control.

"Don't push me, Chloe, or I swear I'll put you on a one-way flight back out of this country!" he spat. With that final threat, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Eleanor and Ariane scrambled to follow him out the door.

I watched their retreating figures, a cold, hard smile touching my lips.

Did he really think I was still the same helpless girl from seven years ago? That I would just let him dictate my life?

From this moment on, I wasn't going to let anyone trample over me ever again.

"Mommy?"

A clear, childlike voice suddenly brought me back to my senses.

Chloe Sullivan POV:

My feet froze to the floor. The word was a key, jamming into the deepest, most painful lock in my heart.

I turned around slowly.

A little boy, no older than five or six, stood in the doorway of my room. He had a mop of soft, dark brown hair and impossibly large gray eyes that were fixed on me with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

He clutched the straps of a black backpack that looked too big for his small frame.

My heart skipped a beat. For a dizzying second, I thought of the baby the doctors had pronounced stillborn all those years ago. If he had lived, he might have been this age.

I shook the absurd thought away. I was exhausted, hallucinating.

I crouched down, forcing my voice to be gentle. "Hey, little guy. I think you have the wrong person. I'm not your mommy."

His lower lip trembled, and his big eyes instantly filled with tears. He shook his head, his voice stubborn. "You are. I know you are."

He took off, his little legs pumping, and threw himself at me. He wrapped his arms around my neck, burying his face in my shoulder. "Mommy," he sobbed, "I've been looking for you for so long..."

My entire body went rigid. He was so small, so warm, smelling faintly of milk and clean laundry.

I couldn't bring myself to push him away.

I let out a helpless sigh. "You're incredibly sweet, kiddo, but I'm really not your mommy."

"You are my mommy. I know a secret..."

A deep, magnetic, and icy male voice suddenly cut through the air from the doorway of the hospital room. "Mason."

The little boy flinched, his small body giving a visible shudder before he whipped his head around.

I followed his gaze toward the door.

Even having been in circles filled with attractive men, it seemed none of them could remotely compare to the man standing there.

He was wearing a crisp white button-down, the highest button left undone, exuding an unspeakable, untouchable ascetic appeal. His features were impeccably carved, like a masterpiece of marble, with a sharp, intelligent, and composed look in his eyes. His tall, broad-shouldered frame-undoubtedly built for the ice-carried the relaxed, aristocratic elegance of old money.

"Daddy!" the boy called out, immediately standing at attention.

I looked back at the boy, finally understanding exactly where he got his striking looks.

"Back to your room," the man ordered sternly.

Mason pouted, clearly reluctant, but nodded obediently. It was obvious the kid had been raised with excellent manners.

He turned back to me. "Mommy, I'm going back to my room now. It's right next door. Will you come visit me later?"

Meeting those eager, pleading puppy-dog eyes, I simply couldn't find it in me to refuse.

"Okay," I nodded, figuring I would go over later to properly explain to the poor kid that I really wasn't his mother.

"Oh, right, Mommy. My name is Mason, but my nickname is Mace. You can just call me Mace."

After finishing his little introduction, Mason reluctantly shuffled over to the tall man at the door.

The man was towering-easily over six-foot-two. With Mason standing next to him, the height difference between the elite athlete and his son was picturesque and undeniably adorable.

The man took Mason's hand and led him away, not having spared me a single glance the entire time. His demeanor was stiff and completely aloof. Yet, somehow, it didn't come off as entirely rude. I suppose that was just the privilege of being ridiculously good-looking.

Truthfully, I was never a fan of socializing anyway. A man like that, who treated strangers with such cold distance, actually made me feel perfectly at ease.

I pulled myself out of the hospital bed to head to the restroom. My right leg was still wrapped in a heavy cast, making movement incredibly difficult, but I stubbornly and proudly forced myself up onto my crutches. It was just instinct-the habit of being alone through almost everything. Even during those three years I spent with Evan Parrish, I had never once bothered him or relied on him for anything.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of gratitude for that stubborn part of myself. It was exactly why, even when the sky seemed to be falling, I could remain unbroken and unyielding...

It took a massive amount of effort, but I finally managed to hobble out of the restroom on my crutches. The moment I stepped out, I froze.

There was a man standing right in the middle of my hospital room.