Chapter 3

Hans's description made me waver a bit.

Our honeymoon stretched out ahead of us, and sticking solely to skiing might eventually feel monotonous.

Money could buy most things, but they held no appeal for me anymore. This prize, however... its value wasn't in its price. It was more than a gift; it was an irreplaceable honeymoon memento.

"I'll think about it," I replied.

On the day of the competition, I chose a blue professional ski suit and arrived at the starting line alone. The race was about to begin.

Hazel stood there in a pure white ski outfit that accentuated her athletic figure. Rory, dressed in black, was adjusting her goggles. Against the snowy backdrop, they truly resembled a couple united in tackling an extreme challenge.

I positioned myself quietly at the back of the group, focusing on my warm-up exercises while paying close attention to the gate setups on the course.

The starting gun fired, and the competitors shot out like arrows. I was navigating the turn at the second gate when Rory accelerated from behind on my side.

"You're skiing really well, Mr. Barton," he commented, his voice distorted by the rushing wind. "You're like a persistent ghost that just won't fade away. You know, Hazel orchestrated that whole bridge-jumping suicide pact, making everyone think she couldn't live without me. She promised that after the race, we'd stay abroad forever and never return."

His grin widened as he continued, "You followed us all the way here, but so what? Hazel is still by my side, partnering with me."

Alarm bells rang in my mind. Rory's trauma and vulnerability were all a façade.

My concentration faltered, causing my movements to lag.

"Oh, by the way," he slid closer to me, whispering in a suggestive tone, "Hazel was incredibly passionate last night. Said she'd completely forgotten what being with you even felt like."

My brows knitted together. Everyone in the elite circle knew that Hazel only responded to me. No one else could elicit that from her.

But it wasn't a physical defect. When we first started dating, to ward off suitors, she had deliberately spread that rumor, telling me, "Clyde, in this lifetime, I'll only open my heart to you. I want the whole world to know that I, Hazel Mullins, am yours and yours alone."

Using her fabricated condition, she had built an impenetrable wall around her. She had claimed she depended solely on me with unwavering loyalty. Yet now, she had shattered that vow without hesitation.

I glared at Rory, my hands gripping the ski poles tightly.

Seeing that he had struck a nerve, he curved his lips in satisfaction. As he turned to accelerate and brushed past me, he let out a feigned yelp of surprise, deliberately angling his ski edge to hook mine viciously.