Chapter 3

Grace's POV

"Bella!"

The scream had barely ended when Derek burst into the training facility, followed closely by Marcus and my parents.

Bella lay on the mat, right hand clutching her left ankle.

"Baby, what happened?" Mom rushed over first, kneeling beside her.

"I... I was practicing when the rings suddenly became unstable," Bella choked out. "There might be something wrong with the cables..."

Derek crouched down to examine her ankle, his expression grave: "It's swollen. We need to get you to the hospital immediately."

I floated overhead, watching them swarm around Bella.

Marcus walked to the rings, frowning as he inspected the equipment: "These cables are definitely loose. How did this happen?"

"Must be equipment deterioration," Derek said. "Who's usually responsible for checking these?"

The atmosphere instantly became tense. As the club's biggest student, equipment maintenance had always been my extra duty - my parents called it my "family obligation."

Bella bit her lip: "It's... Grace who handles equipment maintenance. But I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose. Maybe she was just careless..."

Dad's face immediately darkened: "Grace was responsible? What the hell has she been doing lately?"

"Don't blame Grace," Bella quickly shook her head. "Maybe she's been upset recently and wasn't thorough enough during inspections..."

"Being upset is NO excuse for risking someone's safety!" Mom raged.

"I told you Grace wasn't cut out for this," Marcus shook his head. "She's been distracted."

Watching them blame everything on me, I was filled with bitterness. No one noticed the bracelet on Bella's wrist, and no one questioned why she was wearing that non-regulation training outfit.

"I'll go to the storage room for the first aid kit and backup cables," Marcus stood up. "And check the other equipment while I'm at it."

My heart sank. The storage room was right next to the abandoned equipment room!

Bella's eyes flickered, immediately grabbing Marcus's arm: "Don't go, Marcus... it's really dusty over there, and I'm worried about your allergies. Besides, I just want to treat my injury quickly."

"But if the other equipment has problems too..."

"I'll do a full inspection tomorrow," Derek interjected. "Right now we need to get Bella to the hospital."

Bella looked at Derek gratefully: "Thank you, Derek. I feel safe with you here."

Once again, she'd successfully redirected attention.

Derek carefully helped Bella up: "Come on, I'll carry you out."

I watched this scene, bitter inside.

Derek and I had been college sweethearts. He was my only friend, the only person who cared about me. Growing up neglected at home, I'd been so grateful to finally find someone who put me first.

But the moment he became the club's coach and met Bella, everything changed.

He started spending more time training her, showing her a gentleness and patience he'd never given me.

"Why does Bella always get special treatment?" I'd once confronted him.

"Because she has talent. She's worth the investment," Derek replied coldly. "Grace, you need to accept reality."

"I'm trying too!" I protested.

"Trying doesn't equal results. People need to know their limitations."

Those words cut deep. Now, watching Derek tenderly care for Bella, I realized I'd never receive that kind of gentleness.

In the car, Derek thoughtfully adjusted the seat angle.

"Is this more comfortable?" he asked Bella.

"Yes, you're so considerate." Bella smiled.

Derek turned on the music system, soft pop music filling the air.

"It's your favorite artist," Derek said. "Taylor Swift's new album."

"You remembered!" Bella said with delight. "I never thought you'd notice these little details."

It felt like a knife to my heart. Derek and I had dated for three years, and he never remembered my preferences. He always said I was "too demanding" and "too dramatic."

Mom sat in the back seat, gently stroking Bella's hair: "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll be at the hospital soon."

"It doesn't really hurt that much," Bella said maturely. "I'm just worried it might affect tomorrow's training."

"Health comes first," Derek said warmly. "Training can wait."

He'd never been this patient with me.

I remembered when I first started gymnastics at five, Dad created a brutal training schedule for me. Up at 5 AM every day, training until 9 PM, with breaks only for meals and school.

"Grace, you don't have natural talent, so you have to work harder," Dad said coldly. "If others practice once, you practice ten times."

I was exhausted every day, my hands and feet covered in calluses and cuts. But when Bella began showing gymnastics talent, my parents' attitude shifted completely.

"Bella's too tired. Let her rest," Mom said protectively. "Genius needs to be nurtured, not overtrained."

Meanwhile, I still had to struggle through harsh training, never meeting their expectations.