Chapter 60: The Birthday Gala: The Calders 1
Kayden
My body shook terribly as I stared at her while she walked down the grand stairs.
So all along, she was living well while she had left a boy all alone with an abusive father? Worse, she had a son who was a year or just a few months younger than I was.
I couldn’t believe that after everything, this was how I would reunite with my estranged mother.
Rhys must have felt the tremors running through me as he leaned in, his shoulder brushing mine. "Stay calm, Kayden. Whatever you do, don’t show fear in front of my father and grandfather. That’s exactly what they want," he whispered.
He had no idea that I wasn’t terrified of the men in front of me but of the woman in red. The one now stepping onto the marble floor and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear was the source of every nightmare I’d ever had.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that the "fear" he was sensing was actually betrayal and rage.
The mother I was told had disappeared from the country had been there all along, living happily as Rhys’s stepmother.
Ironic, isn’t it? Who would have thought the woman Rhys hated was my own selfish mother?
As they reached the base of the stairs, her gaze finally drifted toward us.
My breath hitched, and my heart stopped for a second in my chest as her eyes locked onto mine for a split second. I thought she was looking at me, and so I waited for a flicker of recognition—but nothing happened. She wasn’t looking at me, but at Rhys who stood beside me.
There wasn’t even a spark of familiarity. It was as if I were a complete stranger, just another face in a room full of people.
Maybe she really didn’t recognize me after all these years, or maybe she was just that good at pretending I had never existed.
She had left me right after my birth, and looking at her now, it was clear she hadn’t spent a single day looking back. It was probably why she didn’t recognize me and I wouldn’t have recognized her if I hadn’t seen her pictures.
I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms, the stinging pain the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Guests flooded toward them, offering rehearsed greetings and shallow smiles before filtering back to their tables.
In the sudden clearing of the crowd, I felt it—a piercing blue gaze on me. It was Rhys’s father, eyeing me with a cold, predatory intensity that made me wish the ground would swallow me whole.
His stare didn’t just look at me; it seemed to calculate my worth and find me lacking. His eyes finally left mine and met Rhys’s. There were unspoken words passing between them and it seemed Rhys understood. He left my side as he went to meet his family.
I stood there, feeling exposed and small, as I watched him speak to his grandfather and father. They leaned in, their voices lost to the low hum of the hall, but the atmosphere around them was suffocating and I could feel it from where I stood.
Then, Rhys turned toward me. He held my gaze for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before he beckoned for me to join them.
I pointed to myself, my heart leaping into my throat, just to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood.
Rhys gave a sharp, single nod in response.
Slowly, I began to walk toward them with calculated steps. My heart was racing so fast I could feel it in my fingertips. I knew that I wasn’t just meeting the most powerful hockey family in the country; I was walking straight toward the mother who didn’t even remember me.
"Hello sirs," I greeted. "Happy birthday Sir Calder."
"You don’t look like an Alpha!"
Those were the first words Rhys’s father spoke to me as soon as I reached them. There was no hello, no formal greeting. It was a direct attack, exactly the kind of cold aggression Rhys had warned me about.
It was not the kind of attitude I expected from a hockey legend.
I felt a wrenching sensation in my gut, a spike of pure adrenaline hitting me. For a terrifying second, I wondered if he could see through my facade.
But there was no way—I was still on heavy suppressants, and my natural orchid scent was buried deep. The only thing anyone should be able to perceive from me was the artificial, woodsy scent of sandalwood I used as a cover.
"Oh, don’t scare the boy, Richard," Rami Calder, Rhys’s grandfather, said. He let out a hearty, booming laugh that didn’t reach his cold eyes. "He is a guest, and also someone who rivals Rhys on the ice."
Rivals? Rhys and I were teammates, not rivals. I wanted to tell them that I could never see myself in a competition with him, but I forced my jaw shut. I had to heed Rhys’s warning: don’t say anything that would give them a reason to lock their sights on me.
"Tell me, who is your father, Kayden?" the old man asked, leaning on his cane. "Is he a hockey player too? Because you are exceptional on the ice."
"My father isn’t a hockey player, sir," I replied wondering why he didn’t respond to the birthday greetings.
Rami nodded slowly, his expression shifting into something patronizing. "I thought as much. I haven’t heard the name ’Vale’ in this country’s circuit, and I know every famous player worth knowing. Not a single Vale among them."
His tone was dripping with condescension, dismissively marking me as a nobody with no lineage, but I didn’t care.
I shifted my gaze, my eyes landing on my mother. She was smiling at me—a polite, empty smile she might give to a fan or a stranger. It confirmed my greatest fear. She didn’t recognize me. Not even a little bit.
But then again, why would she? I had changed my name years ago when I became a hockey trainee, scrubbing away any trace of the boy my father had abused.
It was the only thing she could have identified me with.
"This is my second grandson, Raymond. I’m sure you’ve heard of the rookie sensation," the grandfather said, gesturing toward the boy with a flourish of his cane.
Raymond was standing right beside the woman in red. As our eyes met, the breath caught in my throat once again.
The similarities were undeniable—he had the same soft curve of her jaw and those deep, expressive eyes. They looked so much alike it made my chest ache with a fresh wave of jealousy. He was the living proof of the life she had chosen over me.
"It’s a pleasure," Raymond said, though his tone was anything but pleasant. He looked me up and down with an arrogant smirk. "I’ve seen your tapes, Kayden. You’ve got some speed, but let’s see if you can handle the pressure when you’re not playing in Rhys’s shadow."
Before I could even think of a response, the woman stepped forward, her hand resting affectionately on Raymond’s shoulder. Then, she turned that same practiced, beautiful smile toward Rhys.
"And of course, there’s my other dear son," she said, her voice like honey. She reached out as if to touch Rhys’s arm. "Rhys, darling, you’ve been away far too long. The house feels so empty without both of my boys under one roof."
Rhys stepped backwards before her hand could touch him and turned to face her with a glare. "I’m not your son, Linda," Rhys snapped. "Don’t use that word with me. You’re Raymond’s mother. To me, you’re just the woman my father married to keep his bed warm."
My eyes widened at the insults, then I heard Richard Calder hiss under his breath. "That’s enough. Not here. Don’t disgrace us with your stupid attitude, son."
"Then keep your dog on a leash, Father," Rhys responded, his voice flat and devoid of any respect.
Raymond scoffed at him. "Why are you so upset, big brother? It’s not my mother’s fault you are failing on the ice! Maybe if you spent less time acting like a martyr and more time practicing, you wouldn’t be so bitter."
"Failing?" Rhys let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I have more championship rings than you have brain cells, Raymond. You’re a rookie sensation because the media likes a pretty face and a famous name. But on the ice? You’re soft. You play like someone who’s afraid to get his designer suit dirty. You should be thankful for the family’s name."
"I’m the future of this family’s legacy, and everyone knows it," Raymond shot back, his eyes flashing with ego. "You’re just the ’Ice Prince’ whose throne is starting to melt. Even your little friend here," he gestured dismissively toward me, "looks like he’s wondering if he picked the wrong Calder to follow."
Rhys took a half-step forward, his frame looming over his younger brother. "Careful, Ray. You might be the favorite in this house, but out there? I’ll bury you."
"Enough!"
The sharp crack of the Grandfather’s cane against the marble floor echoed through the hall like a gunshot. It drew attention from the guests who looked towards them. The bickering stopped instantly.
Rami Calder looked between the two brothers, his expression unreadable behind his silver-white beard, and then he heaved a deep sigh.
"Today is my birthday," the old man said, his voice low and vibrating with a power that demanded silence. "The elite of this country are watching us. If you cannot love each other, you will at least learn to pretend that you are a family. Save the bloodletting for the rink. Tonight, you will smile, you will drink, and you will act like Calders."
He looked at me then and smiled. "Now, let us move to the table. I believe we have much to discuss."