Behind His Mask : My Hockey Alpha

Chapter 5. A Forced Meeting

(Rhea's POV)

The rain hadn’t stopped when I stepped out of my apartment the next morning.

Gray clouds hung low, pressing down on the rooftops. The cold air slipped through the gaps in the scarf wrapped around my neck, seeping all the way to my bones. My black umbrella blocked most of the downpour, but every splash bouncing off the street still managed to soak the hem of my pants and my shoes.

My steps matched the rhythm of raindrops on the canvas—tap, tap, tap—but instead of calming me, the sound made my heartbeat race faster. Normally, I’d love a morning like this; the city quiet, the air fresh, the scent of wet earth mixing with the smell of coffee from cafes just opening. But today… something felt different.

Something that had been sitting in my chest since last night.

The phone in my pocket stayed silent.

No message from Kaelan.

Weird.

Last night, he’d replied to my texts so fast, like he was just sitting there waiting for me to respond. Now, it’s like he vanished. And the strange part was, instead of feeling relieved that this stranger had stopped contacting me… I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I didn’t know why his last message kept replaying in my head. The words felt heavier than they should—like a warning deliberately left hanging.

I took a deep breath and quickened my pace. A car engine roared somewhere, a horn blared faintly at the intersection, but here on the sidewalk, I was alone. Every so often, I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a shadow at the far end of the street. But every time I turned, there was only the wet pavement and rows of still-closed shops.

***

The Elaria Gallery stood quietly at the corner. The old gray-stone building looked even gloomier under the cloudy sky. The porch light glowed dimly, reflecting off puddles in the rain.

The key turned in the front door, the old hinges creaked softly as I pushed it open. The gallery’s familiar scent wrapped around me—aged wood, a faint trace of dust, and the lingering smell of oil paint in the air. Outside, the rain muffled the world, leaving a silence that felt… too thick.

I hung my jacket on the rack by the door, dropped my umbrella into the metal stand meant for visitors, then walked into the main hall. The wooden floor groaned quietly under my shoes. Ceiling track lights lit the artworks on the walls, casting soft shadows that shifted as I passed.

My eyes went straight to one spot.

The Moon Painting.

It was still there, behind its protective glass, surrounded by black velvet ropes. Even from here, I could feel the gaze inside the painting—like a predator waiting.

I moved closer, my pace slowing without me realizing. From a certain angle, the mist in the background looked alive. So soft, almost invisible, yet enough to trick my mind into thinking it moved. And within that mist… a pair of golden eyes peeked out from between the trees.

I swallowed hard.

A strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck—like someone was standing there, watching me. I could almost imagine warm breath brushing against my skin.

“So you’re still standing in front of that painting.”

I flinched.

The voice came from behind. Deep, low, and far too familiar.

I turned quickly.

Kaelan stood just a few steps away. No hockey uniform, no roaring crowd, no cameras chasing him. Just a tall man in a dark shirt, broad shoulders, hair slightly damp from the rain, and those eyes—just as piercing as they had been in the stadium hallway that night.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come in here,” I said quietly, trying to sound firm even though my heart was starting to race.

He didn’t answer right away. He walked slowly, his steps almost soundless on the wooden floor. The light above fell across his shoulders, making him look like he’d stepped out of a painting himself.

“I told you… we’re not done yet, Miss Hale.”

“We?” I repeated, my voice edged with sarcasm. “You mean you’re not done. I don’t even know what you want. And I definitely don’t remember having any business with you.”

He stopped right in front of me. Way too close.

“I want you safe,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “And you’re standing in the middle of something you don’t even understand.”

I lifted my chin slightly. “You talk like I’m some clueless kid.”

“Not like—” he cut in quickly. “You really don’t know anything.”

My eyes narrowed. “Then explain. What is it that I don’t know?”

He was silent. His jaw tightened, his gaze heavy. “Not here. Not now.”

“Why?” I challenged.

“Because there are people who want what’s in that painting, and they’ll come after you to get it. We need to talk somewhere else.”

“I’m not—”

“Please.”

Just that one word.

His tone shifted—not a command, not a threat, but a request that carried weight. And somehow, that was enough to make me hesitate.

I drew a slow breath. “Then just tell me… what do you know about this painting?”

Kaelan stared at me for a long time. Long enough that I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, he said, “Enough to know that if you stay alone, you won’t last long.”

Lightning flashed outside, its light glinting off the glass frame. Rain pounded harder against the roof.

And for the first time, I began to believe—maybe this man wasn’t just here to bother me.

Maybe he was trying to save me.

But… from what?

I stepped back, putting some space between us. “If you really want me safe, stop talking in riddles.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice almost a whisper. “That riddle… is the reason you’re still alive right now.”

I frowned, but before I could say anything, the front door creaked.

A man in a worn raincoat stood in the doorway. Half his face was hidden under his hat. He didn’t come in—just glanced briefly in our direction, or more precisely, at the Moon Painting. Then he closed the door slowly and disappeared into the rain.

A chill ran down my spine. “Who was that?”

Kaelan looked at the door, his jaw tightening again. “Someone who’s not supposed to know about this place.”