Hockey Star by Day, Oil Mogul by night

SCARLETT

“A woman's love can change the coldest heart.”

Whoever coined that bullshit statement was definitely high on expired crack.

Roger's Arena is buzzing with cheers and roars from excited fans — all nineteen thousand of them — as the Calgary Icefangs score the goal that brings home the Stanley Cup.

It’s our town’s first Stanley cup in over a decade, and my boyfriend just scored the winning goal.

I shoot to my feet, shivering with pride and adrenaline as I pump my fists in the air and scream at the top of my lungs;

“MY BOYFRIEND DID THAT! THAT’S MY MAN!!”

Everyone is too busy with their own excitement to hear me, of course.

“Gosh, Drake Bittencourt is sooo handsome! I wish he was mine.” A girl gushes behind me.

Possessiveness zings through my bloodstream, but I clamp my lips together and force myself to focus on the angelic sight of Drake celebrating with his teammates.

He skates to the centre, helmet off, dark hair damp with sweat and grinning the grin that made me fall in love with him five years ago.

Ten minutes later, the crowd settles into an anticipatory hush as my boyfriend gets ahold of the microphone and walks to the centre of the rink.

“Ladies and gentlemen, from the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you for coming out to celebrate with us tonight. Can I hear some noise for the Vancouver Icefangs!”

Another round of cheers erupts in the arena. Finally, Drake raises a hand and they go quiet again. So obedient. So adoring.

“Tonight, I want to do something I have never done before...”

From my seat, I notice the way his eyes soften, taking on a dreamy sheen;

“There is someone in this arena who has been my number one fan right from the start. She believed in me even before I went international, comforting me through every rejection and always pushing me to do better.”

“Oh. My. God!” My best friend, Chiara, shrieks, grabbing my arm, “it’s finally happening, Scarlett. He’s going to propose!”

My heart races like a runaway train, tears blurring my vision as I struggle to my feet.

“This is someone who sacrificed her own dreams to make sure I appeared on the global map…”

Warmth blooms in my chest.

Finally, after years of dating in secret, Drake is ready to tell the world about our relationship. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

With tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks, I make my way through the bleachers and start descending the steps.

Around me, heads are turning and people are already starting to stare. Thankfully, I’m wearing the gorgeous blue wrap dress I’d bought specially for tonight. I also spent forty minutes on my makeup in the hotel bathroom this morning, just to make sure I looked my best for my man.

“Please welcome to the rink, my beautiful girlfriend and the love of my life…”

Finally…

“Sylvia Whitmore!”

For a moment, the ground seems to tremble beneath my feet.

That can’t be right.

My name is Scarlett. Not Sylvia.

Just then, the tunnel doors at the far end of the ring slides open and my twin sister steps out, confident and majestic.

Shock slams into my spine with a brutal blow that has me wobbling on my too-high heels.

Sylvia is supposed to be in London, attending some fundraising event.

When did she return to Vancouver?

What in the bloody hell is going on?!

***

The world does not stop when your heart is shattering. That’s the thing nobody tells you.

The confetti keeps falling.

The music keeps playing softly behind the PA system.

The crowd keeps staring as I make the walk of shame back to my seat.

“Shut up! Drake and Sylvia are dating?!” An excited voice creeps past the fog in my brain.

“They literally look so good together! Sylvia is drop dead gorgeous.”

I wish they were lying. But my twin sister is indeed a mirror of perfection as she skates into Drake’s arms.

She’s wearing a borrowed jersey draped over her little red dress, Drake’s number boldly printed across the back.

And she’s laughing, her blonde curls loose around her face, her cheeks flushed with cold and the particular radiance of a woman who knows she’s being watched and loves it.

I watch with mounting horror as Drake retrieves a shiny black box from his pocket and goes down on one knee.

“Sylvia Whitmore, the love of my life, will you marry me?”

An invisible fist squeezes around my chest. Sylvia is my sister. She won’t betray me. I know she won’t…

All around me, the crowd is screaming;

“Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!!”

Then Sylvia starts nodding, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks as she holds out her slender left hand and accepts Drake’s ring.

He slides the ring onto her finger with a bright smile, stands up and kisses her in the middle of nineteen thousand witnesses.

The roar that goes up is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. And it slices through my heart like a blade.

I collapse and the chair catches me, my legs finally too weak to hold me up.

I don’t cry.

I’m too shocked, too frozen to cry.

I want to scream. I’m itching to cause a scene. But in the end, I remain in my seat, cold and staring into space.

Five years.

Five years of driving him to 5 AM practices.

Five years of skipping my shifts and watering down my dreams for him.

Five years of being his dark, dirty secret because he wasn’t “ready.”

And this is how he fucking repays me?