Chapter 3

At 2:00 a.m., the fencing facility was dead silent.

I had been discarded.

By my team. By my dreams. By the boy who I thought was my entire world.

"If the hand gripping the weapon is shaking, you might as well toss it in the dumpster right now."

The voice came from the shadows.

My head snapped up.

A towering figure stood in the doorway. He was dressed in all-black athletic gear, his broad shoulders and long, powerful legs radiating a suffocating, almost predatory presence.

Victor Cross.

Even as out of the loop as I often was, it was impossible not to recognize that face.

The Olympic saber champion from three years ago, broadly hailed as a "once-in-a-century fencing prodigy."

He had shocked the sporting world by abruptly retiring at his absolute peak due to a career-ending knee injury, essentially vanishing off the face of the earth ever since.

What the hell was he doing here?

"So, you're the former ace who lost her starting spot and resorts to hiding in the dark to cry about it at midnight?" Victor closed the distance between us.

I bit the inside of my cheek, scrambling to my feet with forced defiance. "I wasn't crying. And it's none of your business anyway."

"No, it isn't." There wasn't an ounce of pity in his eyes. "I'm only here because the board of trustees begged me to clean up this mess. Starting tomorrow, I am your new head coach."

I froze, the breath catching in my throat.

Victor glanced down at the saber in my hand and let out a cold, dismissive scoff. "Weak footwork, flimsy wrist, and eyes full of nothing but pathetic self-pity. That idiot Julian has terrible taste, but he was right about one thing—as you are right now, you don't deserve to step onto the strip."

"What do you know?!" The emotions I'd been bottling up all night violently ruptured. "They don't understand anything! There's something genetically wrong with Serena's blade! Her speed and parry recoil completely defy logic! But I don't have proof... no one believes me. All they care about is the sponsor money and the media hype she brings!"

I stood there, chest heaving, fully expecting him to laugh in my face—to write me off as incredibly bitter and jealous, just like everyone else had.

But Victor didn't.

He just watched me in silence.

"I've seen people claw their way back from circumstances far worse than yours," he spoke. "Betrayed, trampled, completely stripped of everything. The question is, Chloe Vance: are you going to roll over and admit defeat, or are you going to take back what belongs to you?"

I stared back at him, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs. "Take it back how? I'm already off the starting roster."

"Then you completely destroy her on the strip during the intra-squad challenges, fair and square, in front of everyone. Under NCAA rules, if you can secure a victory with absolute dominance, the head coach has the authority to forcibly amend the starting lineup."

"I can teach you. I can forge you into the sharpest, most lethal weapon out there," he murmured, his voice dropping so low it bordered on a dark seduction. "But my training is going to be straight out of hell. Are you willing to hand your soul over to me?"

Locked onto his uncompromising gaze, the utter despair and cornered fury inside me finally ignited into a roaring inferno.

"I am," I spat out through gritted teeth.

 ......

One week later, I was halfway through my lunge drills when Serena suddenly marched onto the empty strip.

"Julian said he felt bad for you," she sneered. "He actually debated coming down here to comfort you. I told him I'd check on you instead. So, I figured a private match would effectively remind you of exactly where you belong before he does anything stupid."

Comfort me? If Julian cared so much, why hadn't he texted or spoken a single word to me in an entire week?

"I'm not doing this, Serena," I said coldly.

"Not until I prove exactly where you belong," she snapped, tossing a mask at my chest.

Reluctantly, I picked up my epee.

First to fifteen. Thanks to Coach Victor’s brutal training, I seamlessly parried Serena’s illegally enhanced, lightning-fast strikes.

Ten-all. Thirteen-all. Fourteen-all.

Deadlocked.

Serena ripped off her mask, breathing raggedly. Humiliation morphed into pure malice. As we crossed blades for sudden death, she completely abandoned protocol.

She violently whipped her heavy steel bell guard downward, smashing it directly into my wrist.

White-hot pain instantly forced my grip open, my epee clattering to the hardwood.

However, without missing a beat, Serena tapped my chest plate to register a touch, threw herself backward onto the floor, and began sobbing hysterically.

The doors burst open. Julian stormed in, forcefully shoving me aside to pull Serena into his arms. He glared at me with absolute revulsion.

"Are you insane?!" Julian roared.

"I didn't touch her!" I yelled, cradling my rapidly swelling, throbbing wrist. "She smashed my arm—"

"All I see is a sore loser who lost her mind," he spat. "You disgust me, Chloe."

With her arms around his neck, Serena shot me a vicious smirk over his shoulder, mouthing: "I told you. He's on my side."

Tears hot with utter disappointment finally spilled over my cheeks, but I forced myself to stand up, gripping my bleeding arm.

"Julian, do you even remember the promise we made?" I whispered, my voice trembling but clear. "You once told me... 'To me, you outshine any gold medal.'"

"Enough." He cut me off sharply. "I'm taking her to the infirmary."

Then, without sparing me a single backward glance, he carried Serena out into the hallway, leaving me completely alone.

A single tear hit the cold hardwood.

Ten years of loving him died right there on the strip, seamlessly replaced by an icy, unshakeable clarity. I was done being the victim.

It was time to close this chapter for good.