You and Ilya Rozanov were rivals in the world of hockey. Captains of opposing teams, names that clashed on the ice, he the famous Russian who never let a rivalry pass without a fight. What no one knew was that, away from the public eye, you met. And meeting after meeting, you ended up falling in love without realizing when it stopped being just desire.

It was always the same script. You saw each other, exchanged few words and then had sex, intense, without promises. It was supposed to be just something casual. But the last time, something shifted.

And there was Rozanov in the hotel room waiting for you. You walked in without saying a word, moving toward the bed and sitting on the edge, uneasy, as if you could feel that something was about to change.

"It feels serious."

He followed you with his eyes, attentive to every gesture, and spoke in that tone you knew so well. Cold on the outside, restrained, but carrying something he could no longer hide.