The Los Angeles hotel ballroom glittered with fairy lights and champagne towers, a perfect backdrop for what should have been my engagement party. Instead, I stood in a blue dress—Nadia's favorite color, as Maddox had reminded me—holding the train of her white gown as she posed for photos with my fiancé.
"Ready for the cake cutting?" The photographer adjusted his lens, gesturing to the elaborate five-tier masterpiece that dominated the center of the room.
I nodded mechanically, my fingers clutching the delicate fabric of Nadia's dress. The weight of her train felt like chains in my hands.
"Smile, Myla," Maddox whispered, his hand briefly touching my elbow. "This is a celebration."
A celebration of what? I wondered. The end of everything I'd worked for?
As we approached the cake table, Nadia leaned close, her breath warm against my ear. "Your grandmother was such a charity case," she whispered, her voice sweet as poison. "Did Maddox tell you he only helped her because he felt sorry for you?"
I stiffened, my grip tightening on her train. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Her eyes glittered with malice. "Why else would he keep you around? You're convenient, Myla. Disposable."
Before I could respond, her ankle twisted against mine—a deliberate movement so subtle no one else would notice. I felt myself falling forward, my hands reaching out instinctively to break my fall.
The cake exploded in a burst of white frosting and strawberry filling. The crowd gasped as I landed face-first in the destruction of what should have been my wedding cake.
"Oh my God!" Nadia's voice rose in perfect distress. "She pushed me! Did you see that? She pushed me into the cake!"
"I didn't—" I started, struggling to rise from the mess.
"Myla!" Maddox's voice cut through the chaos like a whip. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
His face was thunderous as he helped Nadia away from the disaster zone, cradling her as if I'd physically assaulted her. "Are you hurt, baby?"
"I'm shaking," she sobbed into his chest, her body trembling with what looked like genuine fear. "She's always been jealous of us."
Maddox's eyes found mine, cold with disappointment. "Clean yourself up," he ordered. "And apologize to everyone for ruining the party."
The room spun around me, faces blurring into a sea of pity and judgment. I stumbled toward the bathroom, frosting dripping from my hair and dress.
In the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom, I stared at my reflection—a stranger covered in pink cake and humiliation. With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone.
Strike 25, I typed into my journal app.
---
Back in Seattle three days later, I rummaged through my locker at the team headquarters, searching for my grandmother's vintage silver locket. It was my most treasured possession—the only thing I had left of her besides memories.
"It's not here," I muttered, emptying the contents onto the bench. "It has to be somewhere."
A teammate passing by paused. "Looking for something?"
"My grandmother's locket," I said, not looking up. "A small silver one with filigree edges. Have you seen it?"
He shook his head. "Try the lost and found."
But it wasn't there either. For two days, I searched everywhere—my apartment, the training rooms, even the gym locker area. Nothing.
On the third day, I got a notification from my banking app. A charge from a local jeweler I'd never visited before.
Something cold settled in my stomach as I walked into the shop, the bell above the door tinkling softly.
"Can I help you find something?" The jeweler smiled politely.
"I'm looking for a silver locket," I said. "With filigree edges. It might have been brought in recently."
His eyes widened slightly. "Oh yes, the vintage piece. It was beautiful work—antique silver with intricate detailing."
"Where is it?" My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"I'm afraid it's been melted down," he said apologetically. "The gentleman who brought it in commissioned a custom setting for a diamond ring."
The door opened behind me, and I turned to see Maddox standing there, a small velvet box in his hand.
"Myla," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"
"My locket," I whispered. "Where is it?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I took it."
"Took it?" The words felt foreign on my tongue.
"The silver was perfect for what I needed," he explained, opening the velvet box to reveal a stunning diamond ring nestled in an intricate silver setting. "Nadia wanted something with history, with meaning."
I stared at the ring—at the melted remains of my grandmother's locket now holding a diamond for another woman.
"You weren't using it anyway," Maddox added, as if that justified everything.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply walked past him and out into the street.
Strike 67, I typed into my phone as the door closed behind me.
