The Enforcer's Girl
READING AGE 18+
In the high-stakes world of the NHL, where every hit is a contract and every bruise is a badge of honor, Silas Vance is the league’s most lethal weapon. Known as "The Shield," Silas is the Metropolitan Kings’ designated enforcer; a man paid ten million dollars a year to bleed, to break, and to protect the team’s star scorers at any cost. With a heart encased in ice and a past he’s trying to punch his way out of, Silas lives for the violence of the rink, convinced that he is nothing more than a blunt instrument of the game.But in the shadows of the arena, away from the screaming fans and the blinding floodlights, a ghost is watching.Ivy Sterling is the "Princess of the NHL," the polished, porcelain daughter of the Kings’ ruthless owner, Arthur Sterling. To the world, she is a trophy of elegance and high-society perfection. But behind her father’s back, Ivy is living a dangerous double life. Driven by a desperate need to feel real in a world of silk and lies, she sneaks into the arena at midnight, donning a mask and a hoodie to scrub the blood off the floors and mend the jerseys of the men her father treats like disposable assets.When a brutal game leaves Silas battered and alone in the dark, it is Ivy who finds him. She doesn't see the monster the world fears; she sees a man in pain. Her gentle touch sparks a fire that threatens to melt the walls Silas has spent a decade building.Their secret meetings in the midnight silence of the locker room become a sanctuary, until a grainy photograph and a ten-million-dollar debt bring their world crashing down. Caught between a father who uses people like pawns and a league that thrives on scandal, the Enforcer and the Princess must decide what they are willing to sacrifice.In a game where the rules are written in blood and the price of love is total destruction, can the Shield protect the only girl who has ever truly seen him? Or will the secret of The Enforcer's Girl burn the entire league to the ground?
Unfold
The basement office was a lung-choking box. Down here, the heat from the industrial kitchens above didn't just linger—it sat on you, heavy and wet with the stench of rendered lard and scorched onions. Every few seconds, the ceiling joists groaned under the weight of the Syndicate soldiers pacing in the lobby.
"The ink is going to smear," I……
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