Zoey's POV

Lawrence Ashcroft must love me.

The thought circled through my mind as I glided across the ice, remembering the text he'd sent at four o'clock when practice let out—he couldn't pick me up tonight. This was the seventh time.

I took a deep breath. I had to focus on training. Octavia Cranston's gaze lashed across the rink like a whip, and I immediately accelerated, pressed into my inside edge, and launched myself into the air.

A triple Salchow.

I was clearly underrotated on the landing. My right blade didn't bite into the ice properly, and my left foot instinctively touched down.

Not a catastrophic fall, but bad enough.

On the international circuit, this wasn't "close enough"—this was the kind of mistake the technical panel would catch. An underrotation, a two-foot landing, plus an edge change on touchdown—enough to tank the GOE on this jump. In the short program, an error like this could destroy the entire routine.

"Again."

Octavia's voice cut through the air, as sharp as the sound of her coaching stick striking the boards.

I immediately glided back to my starting position. My heartbeat had lost its rhythm, my rapid breathing turning to white fog in the cold air. I could feel every pair of eyes in the rink turn toward me—sidelong glances, smirking sneers, people watching someone else screw up and privately relieved it wasn't them.

I started again.

Another mistake.

I was nearly a quarter rotation short on the landing, my blade too flat, my knee failing to absorb the impact. Centrifugal force dragged me half a step off-center. An error no one else would notice—except Octavia.

The music cut off abruptly as she whirled around.

"Zoey." Exhaustion saturated her tone. "Are you new here?"

I stopped in the center of the ice, feet apart for balance, chin slightly raised, shoulders rigid. "No, Coach."

"Are you sick?"

"No, Coach."

"Then you're being lazy." She clicked her tongue. "Very disappointing."

Silence spread across the rink. I fought to steady my breathing, my ears ringing, the ice beneath my blades reflecting harsh light.

"I've coached you for eleven years." She paced slowly along the boards, her shadow stretching long across the ice. "Eleven years. The first time your mother brought you to me, your skates weren't even tied properly and you could barely manage a forward glide. Now you're seventeen, in your senior year of high school, your application materials are sitting in Celestial University's admissions system, and you're still making rookie mistakes on this ice."

She stopped, her sharp gaze drilling into me.

"Do you have any idea how rare this is? To still be in this training group, to have admissions officers looking at your national ranking and coach recommendation—do you understand what kind of opportunity that is?"

"I do, Coach."

"No, you don't." Her voice turned colder, sweeping over me like a winter storm combined with the rink's chill. "What you just showed me was extremely disappointing."

My throat tightened. My spine was pulled so taut it felt like it might snap. I wanted to speak, but Octavia cut me off again.

"This is your last chance today. If you want to show up at Nationals," she paused, "then show me you deserve to be there. There are countless skaters on this ice who might have half your talent but twice your discipline."

After a long silence, she turned to the sound technician.

"Everyone take five. Zoey, sit down."

I glided to the edge of the rink, pulled off my gloves, and sat on the bench, pressing my palms against the cold seat to hide my trembling hands.

Moments later, Ophelia Carrington skated over and bumped the boards with her knee guard, her voice soft. "What's going on?"

I didn't look at her, just stared straight ahead at my reflection in the mirror—pale face, tense expression, muscles twitching beneath my practice dress.

"You never mess up a triple Salchow." She said. "Never. Last year before Regionals, you landed it with a fever. What happened?"

I slowly exhaled, watching the white fog dissipate. "Lawrence didn't pick me up after his practice ended. I had to take two buses to get here, barely had time to change in the locker room. Almost late."

She paused. "Oh, is that news?"

I knew Lawrence's behavior was too much. Ophelia, as my best friend, had told me from the first time that I couldn't let him treat me this way.

The corner of Ophelia's mouth twisted. "I think you need to have a serious talk with Lawrence."

I bit my lip. I didn't know how to tell Ophelia the truth—I'd told Lawrence there couldn't be a second time, but this was the seventh. I was the one allowing him to treat me this way.

Octavia blew the whistle to regroup. I rubbed my bruised knee and immediately stood. "Don't worry, Ophelia. You know I'm only competing with myself."

She was quiet for a moment, then bumped my shoulder lightly with hers. "Of course. I know you're strong."

I huffed softly, a low laugh escaping.

But the tightness in my chest didn't ease at all.

Octavia returned to the boards, didn't even glance at me, just said flatly, "From the top."

I stood, pulled my gloves back on, and glided to center ice.

I saw everyone watching me, waiting for me to fail. The Celestial University spot was something every figure skater here wanted to fight for. If I screwed this up, Octavia wasn't bluffing.

She would follow through. I saw Ophelia clench her fist, mouthing 'you've got this.'

And Lawrence—whenever his gentle lips touched mine, I forgot everything. That was absolutely wrong. If I kept letting Lawrence cross that line, he'd never respect me. He'd take my devotion for granted, and I'd forever be sitting on the bench waiting for him to toss me a crumb.

Zoey, you've practiced figure skating for seventeen years. Do you really want to destroy everything you've worked for because of some guy who keeps breaking his word?

No. Absolutely not. I looked at myself in the mirror—sharp cheekbones, tight jaw, muscles coiled beneath my deep blue practice dress.

I began to move. My legs extended cleanly, my arms cutting graceful arcs through the air like flowing water. Spine straight, core tight, fingertips light and agile. The music's rhythm flowed through every inch of my skin.

Crossovers, spiral sequence, controlled breathing.

Triple Salchow, triple toe loop—perfect landing.

Combination spin, building speed, centered axis.

Flawless.

In the mirror, my reflection stood tall and clear, but I didn't look at it. I was immersed in the skating itself, not hoping the movements would be clean but 'knowing' they would be. Every beat, every flick of the wrist, precisely on point. My face calm, my heart blazing.

The final position—I slowly rose from a Biellmann spiral, finishing at center ice, posture tall, light as a feather.

I exhaled, watching the white fog dissolve before me.

Then... silence.

Octavia stood at the boards, her expression unreadable. But I knew her reactions well—I knew I'd passed.

I slowly glided to the edge, adrenaline still coursing through my limbs.

Ophelia grinned at me. "That was incredible."

"I'm not surprised." I took a long drink of water. "You know I always deliver."

"Looks like you know what you need to say to Lawrence." Ophelia said knowingly.

I nodded and headed toward the locker room.

I would tell Lawrence: if he didn't value our relationship, this would be our last conversation. This time, absolutely final.