My "Broke" Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God

BECKETT'S POV:

Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study, the violent storm outside matching the suffocating tension inside.

I stared at my father, Beckett Montgomery III. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk like a king on his throne, dictating the lives of his subjects.

"I'll say it one last time," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, though my jaw was tight enough to crack my teeth. "I am not marrying Victoria Carlisle."

He slammed a thick, leather-bound file onto the desk. "This isn't a request, Beckett. It's an order! The Carlisle merger secures our controlling stake in the new arena. This is about the family's future!"

A surge of pure, unadulterated frustration boiled in my veins. I was so sick of being treated like a pawn in his corporate chess games. "The family's future, or your business empire?" I shot back. "My marriage is not a bargaining chip for your board meetings."

"Everything you have, I gave you!" he roared, his face flushing purple as he pointed a trembling finger at me. "Your status, your contract, that damned 'C' on your jersey! Without my influence, you are nothing! You cross me on this, and I'll make sure you never step foot on the ice again. You can kiss your hockey career goodbye!"

That hit a nerve. The anger I’d been holding back finally snapped.

"I earned that 'C' with my own blood, sweat, and broken bones!" I yelled, stepping closer to the desk. "You didn't skate those grueling drills. You didn't take those hits against the boards. Hockey is mine. You don't own it, and you sure as hell don't own me."

I met his furious gaze without flinching. "So go ahead. Take it all away."

For a second, genuine shock flickered in his cold eyes, quickly replaced by a deeper, vindictive rage. "You think I won't?"

He snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed a number. "It's me. Freeze every credit card, bank account, and trust fund under the name Beckett Montgomery IV. Yes, all of them. Effective immediately."

He hung up and stared at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "As of now, you are disowned. Let's see how long you survive in the real world without the Montgomery name."

I expected to feel panic. Instead, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. I felt no fear. Only a fierce, burning relief. "Suits me just fine."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the study, the heavy oak doors shutting behind me with a final thud.

In the grand foyer, our longtime butler, Thomas, tried to stop me. He held out a set of keys, his eyes full of worry. "Mr. Beckett, please. It's pouring outside. At least take the car..."

I reached out instinctively, but then I stopped. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, right. He bought the car, too." I shook my head and tossed the keys back to Thomas. "Whatever. He can have it all back."

I shrugged off the suffocating, custom-tailored suit jacket I was wearing, letting it drop carelessly to the pristine marble floor. Dressed in just a thin white dress shirt and trousers, I pushed open the front doors and walked out into the raging storm.

The freezing rain soaked me instantly, plastering my shirt to my skin, but as I walked down the long, winding driveway of the estate, leaving the golden cage behind, I felt freer than I had in years.

I didn't know where I was going. I didn't care. I just needed to put as much distance between me and that house as possible.

I kept walking along the shoulder of the dark highway, the rain blurring my vision. Cars sped past, their tires splashing icy, muddy water onto my already freezing body.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Gino, my teammate. I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to walk.

But after two miles, the adrenaline began to wear off. I was soaked to the bone, shivering violently, and my stomach growled with a hollow ache. A sharp sliver of regret pricked at my frozen skin. 

Damn it. Maybe I should have kept the jacket. Or at least called an Uber before he cut off my phone plan. Pride was a warm concept, but it did absolutely nothing against a torrential downpour.

Just as I was cursing my own impulsiveness, blinding headlights washed over me from behind.

A piercing screech of tires on wet asphalt ripped through the night. The car fishtailed, sliding wildly before slamming to a halt mere inches from my legs. I could feel the aggressive heat radiating from its engine.

Before I could even process how close I had just come to getting run over, the driver's door flew open, and a woman stormed out into the pouring rain.

"Are you insane?" she screamed, her voice cutting through the thunder. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the harsh glare of the headlights. Through the heavy downpour, I saw a small, furious figure marching toward me.