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162.

Author: Justina
last update Last Updated: 2026-02-02 19:48:38

Anthony’s POV

My jaw clenched. I looked away, staring at the stone beneath my feet. She did not need to tell me that. I lived it every day. The careful interviews. The filtered words. The constant awareness that one mistake could cost everything I had rebuilt.

I stayed silent, letting her finish.

“And the Grand Prix,” she continued. “This season matters. We have worked too hard. Early mornings. Injuries. Sacrifices. If people start saying we are dating, they will question every performance. Eve
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  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    162.

    Anthony’s POVMy jaw clenched. I looked away, staring at the stone beneath my feet. She did not need to tell me that. I lived it every day. The careful interviews. The filtered words. The constant awareness that one mistake could cost everything I had rebuilt.I stayed silent, letting her finish.“And the Grand Prix,” she continued. “This season matters. We have worked too hard. Early mornings. Injuries. Sacrifices. If people start saying we are dating, they will question every performance. Every score. They will say favoritism, bias, drama.”Her voice wavered on the last word.I felt the truth of it settle in my chest. Not because I agreed with the world. But because I knew how cruel it could be.I clenched my jaw but said nothing, the weight of her words pressing down between us.I looked at her, really looked at her, and something shifted in my chest. This was not rejection. This was not fear. This was calculation mixed with care. She was not trying to create distance between us.

  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    161.

    Anthony’s POVMorning came too quickly.Sunlight filtered through the tall restaurant windows of the hotel, soft and pale, reflecting off polished marble floors and white tablecloths. The place was already alive with quiet movement. Cutlery clinked. Coffee machines hissed. Conversations murmured in different languages, like everyone here understood this was a day that mattered.Performance day.I spotted Samantha immediately.She sat at a small table near the windows, a cup of tea cradled between her hands. Her hair was loose this morning, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a simple sweater and jeans, nothing dramatic, nothing that hinted at emerald gowns or red carpets or the way she had looked at me last night when I finally kissed her.She looked up, noticed me, and froze. Just for a second. Barely noticeable. But I saw it.Her cheeks flushed faintly as she looked back down at her cup.Yes. It was awkward.I grabbed a tray and joined her, setting my plate down acr

  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    160.

    Samantha’s POVI looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly so many things made sense. The tension. The sharp words. The way his eyes lingered when he thought I was not looking.“You were protecting yourself,” I whispered.“And you,” he said. “From me.”Silence settled between us again, thicker now, but not uncomfortable. Heavy with all the years we had not spoken like this.I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling suddenly exposed. “I spent years rebuilding myself after that night,” I said softly. “Thinking I was not enough. Thinking I had imagined what we had.”His expression tightened. “I am so sorry.”“I know,” I said. And I did.The fountain continued its steady rhythm, water rising and falling like a heartbeat.Anthony reached out slowly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his hand covered mine where it rested on the bench.I did not pull away.“I cannot change what happened,” he said. “But I can tell you this now. You were never weak. You were never a mistake.

  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    159.

    Samantha’s POVThe cold crept in slowly, the kind that did not announce itself right away but settled into your bones when you stopped moving. I hugged my arms around myself, staring at the fountain as water arced and fell in perfect rhythm, glowing under the lights like liquid glass.My mind was not quiet. It had not been quiet since Anthony spoke.Eight years.Eight years of carrying something sharp inside my chest, something I thought was truth, something that shaped every decision I made after that night. Every wall I built. Every distance I forced between us. Every time I told myself I was fine, that I was over it, that I was stronger now.And now he was telling me it had all been wrong.I let out a shaky breath.Before I could say anything, I felt warmth settle around my shoulders. I startled slightly, then realized Anthony had taken off his jacket and draped it over me. It still carried his heat, faintly scented with his cologne and something unmistakably him.“You are cold,”

  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    158

    Anthony’s POVI had not planned to say it out loud.The words slipped out because the silence after the kiss was too full, too honest to hide behind. My mouth moved before my fear could stop it.“I have been wanting to do that for eight years,” I said softly.Her reaction was immediate. Not anger. Not relief. Something messier.She scoffed, a shaky sound that did not match the way her fingers were still curled into my jacket. “You would not have been wanting to do this if you had not messed everything up back then.”The words landed hard in my chest.For a moment, I only looked at her. At the woman I had carried with me in every quiet hour, every flight, every hotel room where sleep would not come. The woman who had haunted me without knowing it.“Samantha,” I said carefully. “You misunderstood.”Her brows pulled together, defensive instinct rising like a wall. “I did not.”“You did.”She shook her head. “I heard you.”The certainty in her voice hurt more than anger would have. I took

  • SHATTERED ICE:One rink, bound by betrayal    157

    Anthony’s POV The words settled between us, fragile and honest. I heard her inhale sharply, a quiet sound she probably did not realize she made. It tightened something in my chest.I finally looked at her then.Her eyes were wide, reflecting the lights from the fountain, her lips parted just slightly as if she had been caught mid-thought. For a second, she looked exactly like she had eight years ago, surprised by something she had not expected to hear.“I do not understand,” she said quietly.And that was the truth, I realized. She really did not. Neither did I. That was the problem.I had spent eight years convincing myself that what I felt for Samantha was gone. Buried under competition, resentment, pride, and time. I told myself it had burned out the day she walked away without looking back. I told myself it was easier that way.But lately, I noticed her everywhere.The way my focus shifted when she entered a room. The way my chest tightened when she looked tired. The way my body

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