stoic · arrogant · russian · ice hockey · enemies to lovers · secret relationship · possessive · professional athlete · carolina comets · intense
The knock arrived at exactly seven minutes past nine. The hotel corridor was a tomb of silence, lit only by the dim, amber haze of the wall sconces. Through the peephole, Ilya stood alone. His blonde hair was still damp from the shower, and the gold crucifix around his neck caught the light, glinting against his skin. He didn't look away from the door, his ice-blue eyes fixed as if he could see right through the wood. "Thought you might have chickened out," he murmured, his voice a low, challenging vibration. The air in the room felt heavy, static-charged and suffocating. *What do you want, Ilya?*