"Three million dollars, Ethan," I said, pressing the phone tight against my ear to block out the noise of the city traffic. "Apex Athletics agreed to the multi-year deal. I also locked in the winter ice tour, full commercial rights, and a massive billboard campaign in Times Square."
"That's amazing, Ro," his voice came through the speaker, muffled by the harsh scrape of blades on ice. "You absolutely saved us."
"Are you coming home tonight? We need to review the fine print before the press conference tomorrow."
"I can't. Coach wants us running the short program again."
"Ethan, it's past midnight. You've been at the rink for fourteen hours."
"I'm just too busy with training right now. You know how it is."
"I haven't seen you in four days."
"Olympics, remember? I gotta go. See you at the signing."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen. Over the next few days, I barely slept. I lived on black coffee and stale bagels. I traded favors, called in old debts from my junior skating days, and hammered out every single clause in the Apex contract. I wanted his future absolutely secure.
The flashbulbs blinded me the moment I stepped into the Apex Athletics headquarters on Friday morning. Hundreds of reporters packed the room.
Ethan sat at the long glass table on the elevated stage, a silver pen twirling in his fingers. He flashed that perfect, practiced smile. Sophie sat right next to him, wearing a designer dress that perfectly matched his tie.
Noah Bennett leaned against the far wall. As the president of the sports agency, he commanded the room without saying a single word. His tailored dark suit emphasized his broad shoulders. He watched the spectacle with sharp, calculating eyes.
"Mr. Carter!" a reporter shouted from the second row, waving a microphone. "Before you sign the contract, care to comment on the video?"
Ethan's smile faltered. He glanced at Sophie. "What video?"
Every phone in the room buzzed in unison. A synchronized, terrifying mechanical hum.
A woman in the front row stood up and held her tablet high. "The footage posted anonymously ten minutes ago. It shows you and Miss Blake entering the Grand Hotel at two in the morning. Together."
The room exploded into chaos.
"Are you cheating on your fiancée, Ethan?"
"Sophie, is this a PR stunt or a real affair?"
"Did you spend the night together?"
Ethan dropped the pen. It clattered loudly against the glass table. He stared at the tablet screen, all the color draining from his face.
I saw the footage over the reporter's shoulder. Grainy security video. Ethan's arm wrapped tightly around Sophie's waist. They walked down a narrow hallway and disappeared through a door.
Room 412.
The exact room number from the anonymous text I received at the arena.
My chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.
"I... we were just discussing routines," Ethan stammered into his microphone. His voice shook.
"At two in the morning?" another journalist barked.
Noah pushed off the wall. He ignored the frantic journalists and walked straight toward me. He stopped mere inches away, his towering frame blocking my view of the stage.
"Are you really going to keep trusting a man like this?" Noah asked. His voice cut through the deafening noise, low and absolutely merciless.
I didn't look at Noah. I looked past him, fixing my eyes on Ethan. My fiancé was shrinking in his chair, totally paralyzed by the flashing lights and screaming questions. He looked like a terrified child.
I shoved past Noah.
"Excuse me," I snapped.
I marched up the short steps and planted myself directly in front of Ethan, shielding him from the swarm of lenses.
"No more questions," I shouted, projecting my voice over the crowd. "This press conference is over."
"Aurora, move!" a photographer yelled, trying to angle his camera around my shoulder.
"Security!" I barked, pointing at the guards stationed near the exit. "Get Ethan and Sophie to the underground garage. Now."
The guards snapped to attention. They flanked the table, hauling Ethan up by his arms.
"Ro," Ethan whispered.
"Go," I commanded, not breaking eye contact with the media.
I didn't turn around. I spread my arms, acting as a human shield against the crushing weight of the press. Microphones jabbed toward my face. Questions battered my ears in rapid succession.
"Are you calling off the engagement?"
"Did you know about the hotel?"
"Is the wedding canceled?"
I kept my jaw locked shut. I stared straight ahead until the heavy double doors clicked firmly behind the skaters. Once they were safe, I signaled the event staff to cut the main stage lights.
The room emptied out slowly. The reporters grumbled and packed up their gear, finally realizing I wasn't going to give them a single quote.
I stood alone in the dim conference hall. My hands trembled wildly.
Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. Noah Bennett stepped into the remaining pool of light. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his expression entirely unreadable.
"That was quite the performance," Noah said.
"I was doing my job."
"Your job was to review a commercial contract, not play bodyguard for a coward." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Is it really worth it, chasing a man who doesn't even love you?"
The question felt like a knife twisting between my ribs.
"You don't know anything about us," I replied, grabbing my purse from an empty chair.
"I know he left you to face the wolves." Noah stepped into my path, forcing me to stop. "I know he lied to your face. Everyone in this room saw it. Why do you protect him?"
I stared at the polished floorboards. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
"When I was twelve years old," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, "the local ice rink caught fire during a massive winter storm. The roof collapsed. Everyone ran for the exits."
Noah didn't interrupt. He just watched my face.
"I was trapped in the back locker room," I continued, forcing the words past the massive lump in my throat. "The smoke was blinding. The wooden beams were falling all around me. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to die in there."
I raised my head and met Noah's gaze.
"Ethan came back. He ran into a burning building, risking his own life, and pulled me out of the flames."
I reached up and touched the high collar of my turtleneck. The thick fabric hid the jagged, ruined skin underneath. The burns that ended my competitive career. The scars that ruined my reflection forever.
"I lost everything that night," I said softly. "My looks. My dreams. My entire career on the ice. But Ethan stayed by my hospital bed for months. He held my hand while I cried. He told me he would marry me when we grew up."
Noah's jaw tightened. "A childhood promise doesn't excuse adult betrayal."
"It's a debt," I fired back, my tone hardening. "I swore a vow to myself that day. No matter what happens, I will stand by his side. I owe him my life, Mr. Bennett."
"You're paying for a life with your dignity," Noah stated bluntly.
"That's my choice."
I walked past him, keeping my spine straight, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
I pushed through the exit doors and navigated the empty backstage corridors, heading for the parking garage. My phone chimed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. It wasn't a text from Ethan.
It was the same unknown number from the arena.
*You protected him again. But did you ever ask him who started the fire?*
I stopped dead in my tracks. The concrete walls seemed to spin rapidly around me.
