Chapter 140 Shadows at the Rink

Chapter 140 Shadows at the Rink
The cool air inside the arena hits my face the moment I step off the elevator on the second floor. Preseason practice ended an hour ago, and the facility has settled into its usual quiet rhythm. I carry my camera bag over one shoulder, heading toward the media room to clear off my memory cards before picking Leo up from his youth skating class down on the secondary ice rink.

As I turn the corner near the media suite, I spot Julian standing near the doorway. He isn't at his desk, and he isn't editing photos. He is standing close to a side storage room, talking in a low, fast voice to a man in a dark trench coat holding a tablet.

I slow my steps on the soft rubber floor, keeping my distance near the row of equipment lockers.

"I told you, I can't just copy his private lighting templates off the team server," Julian says, his voice carrying a tense, hushed edge. "Vance and James are watching me like hawks after what happened last week. If I try to plug an external drive into Liam's primary desk computer, the security system will log it immediately."

"You were hired to give us an edge for the upcoming sports showcase publication, Julian," the man in the coat says sharply, tapping his tablet with a ringed finger. "The media group wants Liam's exact arena angle profiles. He has three years of custom color settings saved on that drive. Find a way to transfer those files, or your freelance contract with our agency is done before the first regular game."

My chest tightens, a sudden surge of heat washing through my veins. He isn't just trying to copy my style or take credit during practice drills anymore—he is actively trying to steal my entire digital library to sell to an outside agency.

"Give me until Friday," Julian mutters, looking nervously over his shoulder toward the main hallway. "When he goes down to the lower rink for Leo's practice, the media room is usually empty for thirty minutes."

"Friday," the man says coldly. "Don't mess this up."

The man turns around and walks fast toward the public exit doors. Julian takes a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his shirt before stepping back into the media room.

I stand frozen near the lockers for a long moment, my hands clenching tight around the strap of my camera bag. A year ago, a threat like this would have made my stomach twist into knots. I would have worried about my job, my place on the team, and whether I was strong enough to protect what I built.

But I am done letting people try to push me around in my own home.

I don't sneak into the room, and I don't pretend I didn't hear him. I walk straight through the double doors, letting the heavy frame shut behind me with a firm click.

Julian jump slightly in his chair, quickly minimizing a browser window on his laptop screen. He looks up at me, forced calm settling over his face.

"Hey, Liam," Julian says, offering a fake, tight smile. "Back from the main rink?"

I set my camera bag down on the center table with a solid thud. I don't sit down. I stand right across from his desk, looking straight into his eyes with an unwavering glare.

"I just heard you talking to your agency rep in the hallway, Julian," I say, my voice steady, clear, and quiet.

The color instantly drains from Julian's face. His mouth opens slightly, his confidence vanishing in a second. "Liam... wait. You misunderstood—"

"I didn't misunderstand anything," I interrupt softly, keeping my tone completely controlled. "You were talking about plugging a drive into my desk station to steal my profile templates while I'm down at the rink with my brother."

Julian stands up from his chair, his hands shaking slightly as he grips the edge of his desk. "Look, man, it's just industry business! The agency wanted the color layouts for the national preview issue. They offered me a huge bonus! I wasn't going to delete your stuff!"

"That work took me three years to build," I tell him, stepping closer until only the desk separates us. "When I started here, I worked twelve-hour shifts for little pay, spending my nights learning how the arena lights hit the ice so I could afford my brother's medical care. You don't get to walk in here and take what I bled for just to get a quick bonus."

"Liam, please," Julian whispers, panic creeping into his voice as he realizes the trouble he is in. "Don't go to Coach Vance. If you tell him, my name is ruined in this league. I won't get hired anywhere."

Before I can answer, the heavy media room door swings open.

Klaus steps inside, wearing his dark blue team tracksuit, his wet hair pushed back from his shower. He stops in his tracks, his sharp eyes immediately registering the tense air in the room, the pale look on Julian's face, and my strict posture.

"Everything okay in here?" Klaus asks, his deep voice instantly filling the space with a calm, heavy authority.

Klaus walks over to my side, his tall frame standing right beside me, his dark eyes locking onto Julian with an icy focus that makes the younger photographer step back against his chair.

"Julian was just explaining why he was planning to steal my private work files for an outside agency on Friday," I say, looking at Klaus.

Klaus's jaw sets tight, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous focus. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sudden cold shift in his presence makes the whole room feel smaller.

"Is that true?" Klaus asks Julian, his voice cut like glass.

"I—I was under a lot of pressure from the reps—" Julian stammers out, looking terrified as he shrinks back against the edge of his desk.

"You have five minutes to pack your equipment," Klaus says, cutting him off completely without letting him make another excuse. "If I see your gear on this floor when I walk back out, Marcus Vance won't just fire you. Our legal team will handle your agency directly."

Julian doesn't say another word. He grabs his camera bodies with trembling hands, stuffing them messily into his bag without even closing the zippers properly. He slinks past us toward the exit, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, and disappears down the hallway.

The media room drops into a quiet silence. I let out a long, slow breath, feeling the last bit of tension leave my shoulders.

Klaus turns to me, his expression instantly softening as he reaches out to place his wide, warm hand against the side of my face. His thumb gently brushes over my cheekbone.

"You held your ground," Klaus whispers, a look of pure pride shining in his dark eyes.

"I did," I smile softly, leaning my face into his hand. "I wasn't going to let him step over me."

"I'm proud of you, Liam," he says gently, leaning down to press a warm kiss against my forehead that fills my chest with comfort.