My Boyfriend Cheated in Front of My Brother's Rival

"I am not dropping the claim."

I slid my unlocked phone across the polished mahogany table, pushing it straight toward Marcus Thorne.

The head of Seattle’s legal department stared at the screen. Evan’s call logs glared back at him in bright white pixels, alongside the raw export data from my shared workspace.

"He threatened to tell the league I am funneling Seattle assets to Vancouver," I said, keeping my hands flat on my lap. "I want full transparency on my end. Now."

Jenna Ortiz’s voice clipped through the speakerphone in the center of the table. "Evan knows you need Seattle’s historical footage to build the rivalry angle for Declan’s documentary. If he spins this to the press, they won't care about the context. They will just see a Comets employee handing confidential files to the enemy."

"Then we lock the process down," I told her.

"Every file you export requires a second team signature," Jenna ordered, her tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "No exceptions, Riley. It is an ugly look, but it protects the league."

I nodded at the plastic speaker. I didn't need blind trust right now. I needed an audit trail. A clean, undeniable link of evidence that anyone could verify.

Two hours later, Grant Keller stood by my desk in the media room. He did not lean into my space. He did not try to offer a comforting hand on my shoulder. He just stared at the tablet in his grip.

"File 402," Grant read aloud, his voice steady and clinical. "Usage: B-roll. Export time: two fourteen."

"Matches the drive," I confirmed, hitting the copy shortcut on my keyboard.

Grant signed his name with the digital stylus. He handed the tablet back.

"Thank you for doing this," I said, taking the device.

"I am just reading numbers," he replied, sliding his hands into his track jacket pockets. "But since we are clearing the air, my offer for coffee still stands."

I stopped typing and looked up at him.

"I liked you long before Mason got drafted," Grant stated, meeting my gaze head-on. "Last year, during the community drive. You fought the sponsors to keep the kids' faces off the main broadcast. You had a boyfriend then, so I kept my distance."

"I need to get through this crisis first," I told him.

"I can do later," Grant smiled faintly. "Just do not let the drama across the border convince you that stable means boring."

He didn't mention Declan by name. He didn't list his own stats or try to prove he was the better option. That restraint carried more weight than any loud sales pitch. I appreciated the respect, but I reminded myself quietly that his decency did not obligate my affection. Accepting someone's boundaries and choosing them were two very different things.

Mason blocked the doorway to the editing bay an hour before practice.

"I am glad Keller is signing your sheets," my brother said, leaning his heavy frame against the metal frame. "At least he won't drag you into the opponent's locker room mess."

I turned away from my monitors. "Grant is a coworker, Mason. He is not a safety monitor you assigned to watch me."

"I just want someone I trust around you," Mason argued, crossing his arms over his chest guard. "I would never accept Vale."

"Why does a relationship that doesn't even exist need your approval?"

"Because Vale spends every shift trying to take my head off!" Mason shouted, his voice echoing down the empty hall.

I grabbed my mouse and clicked open the team scheduling portal. "You can hate each other on the ice. Do not draw me onto your tactical board."

I highlighted Mason’s entire social media request queue. I dragged the folder out of my directory and dropped it straight into Chloe’s inbox.

"What are you doing?" Mason asked, dropping his arms.

"Transferring your personal video schedule to Chloe," I said, hitting the final send button. "You want to dictate my personal life? I am removing myself from yours."

Mason stared at the screen, his jaw tight. He finally realized I wasn't throwing a tantrum. I was rewriting our boundaries, and it was going to change exactly how we worked together.

At seven o'clock, the Vancouver arena felt like a concrete freezer.

Declan sat in the swivel chair next to my temporary editing station. He wore his dark home jersey, still sweating from the warm-up skate. He stared at the digital transfer log on my tablet, his eyes locking onto the bottom line.

"The league finally assigned you a Seattle-approved chaperone," Declan remarked.

He tossed the tablet onto the desk. The metal casing smacked sharply against my keyboard.

"Are you jealous?" I asked, pulling the device closer.

Declan let out a harsh laugh. "Of Keller? The stable, reliable, media-friendly alternate captain? I don't need a PR badge to prove my worth."

He bit out every compliment like a curse word. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrests of his chair.

"Safe is not an insult," I shot back, spinning my chair to face him fully. "What is actually dangerous is a guy who packages all his worst impulses and calls it honesty."

The mocking grin vanished from Declan’s face. He leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on his knees. The space between us shrank instantly, the air growing thick with unspoken challenges.

My phone buzzed on the desk. Jenna’s name lit up the screen.

"Read it," Declan commanded, his eyes never leaving mine.

I picked up the phone, swiping open the message. "Jenna says we have to stay in the empty arena after your game tonight. The long cut goes live tomorrow morning. We don't leave until it is rendered."

Declan stared at me, the harsh lines of his face cast in the blue glow of the monitors.

"Then tonight you better not use Keller as a comparison," Declan warned, his voice going rough and low. "I have no interest in losing the editing room to a guy who isn't even here."