1.

Samantha’s POV

“Son of a bitch!” I cursed, my voice cutting through the stillness of the hallway like a whip.

I stood just outside the locker rooms, gripping the edge of the bench like it was the only thing keeping me from collapsing. Actually, it was.

The words in the voicemail still rang in my head, Logan’s withdrawn from the competition. He’s signed with Tasha Lin. Just like that, my season was over. No warning. No apology. Just betrayal, cold and clean.

My skates were still laced tightly on my feet, but the ice felt like a distant memory.

After everything. After the rehearsals, the brutal early mornings, the bloodied ankles, the trust I’d built, gone in a single message.

My chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths. This wasn’t just a bad day. This was career-ending. Without a partner, I couldn’t compete. And without competition, I couldn’t rank. And without a ranking… well, I was done.

Finished.

Erased.

“He’s leaving you for Tasha Lin.”

The words echoed again in my ears. Spoken so casually. So heartlessly. As if it were just another change in the schedule.

I stared at the text on my phone from Coach Linette, the one I hadn’t wanted to believe. The one I thought had to be a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t.

Logan had really done it.

I had known something felt off with him these past few weeks. He’d been distant, arriving late to practice, brushing off my attempts at learning or choreographing new lifts.

But I never imagined he’d leave me, the night before Nationals, no less, to skate with someone else. And not just anyone. Tasha. Fast, flashy, media-trained Tasha.

My fingers trembled as I locked my phone. “This is the end,” I whispered to myself. “My season is over.”

Everything we’d rehearsed. Every drop of sweat and time spent building synchronicity. Tossed aside. Just like that.

My jaw clenched as heat rose to my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not where anyone could see.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. No one walked like Graham, my manager of five years, always two steps ahead of my emotions, even when I wished he wasn’t.

“I figured I’d find you here,” he said, stopping beside me. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer. He already knew the answer. How could I be okay when my career just ended. I wanted to laugh at my situation, but I feared that Graham would think I was mad and admit me into a psychiatric hospital instead.

Graham let out a soft sigh. “I heard what happened. I know it’s bad timing. But I might have… something.” He muttered, staring at me.

I turned to him, eyes sharp. “Something?” I murmured.

He hesitated, before taking the seat next to me. “There’s a skater… big name… who just lost his partner. Injury. His agency’s looking for a temporary replacement. I know someone who knows someone, and if I push the right buttons, I can get you a meeting.” Graham told me.

I blinked, staring at him like he’d just suggested I jump into a volcano. “A replacement?” I echoed, the word bitter on my tongue.

If there was ever a cue for laughter, it was now, because the idea that I, Samantha Meadows, would sign up to be someone’s backup act was almost laughable.

After everything I’d worked for, after being abandoned by my own partner, the thought of stepping in as a convenient stand-in for another skater’s real partner felt like swallowing glass.

Graham sighed. “It’s not ideal, Samantha. But it’s a door. And let’s be honest, you need one.” He said.

My spine stiffened. Just because I needed a partner didn’t mean I had to scramble for breadcrumbs.

The word replacement tasted like insult, like desperation dressed up as opportunity.

I hadn’t poured years of sweat, bruises, and breathless sacrifices into this sport just to be someone’s second choice, someone’s temporary fix until the real thing came back.

Graham continued in a low voice before I could tell him my opinion about what he was suggesting. “You know how it is. You miss this season, and sponsors start pulling out. You miss the next, and you’re ‘that girl who couldn’t recover.’ I’ve seen it happen. You’re twenty-three. The window’s already tight.”

Reality dawned on me with cruel clarity that I was desperate, and I hated that Graham was right.

Twenty-three wasn’t exactly my prime in the unforgiving world of competitive figure skating. My body could give out at any moment; the constant strain, the silent injuries I ignored, the sharp sting in my knee that lingered longer after every routine, it was all catching up.

And if I let this opportunity slip, there might not be another. No sponsors, no spotlight, no second chances. Just fading into obscurity while the world moved on without me.

My silence gave him room to press.

“I can get us a meeting with the agency. But I need to know you’re fully in. That you won’t walk out of the room because you don’t like the guy or the terms. If we go, you’re committing. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it stings.” Graham said, eyeing me closely.

I stared at the wall in front of me, a small crack running through the paint. Like me. Just one more pressure away from breaking.

I’d given everything to this sport. Skating wasn’t just a dream, it was my identity. My beginning and end. And if I let this moment pass, there might not be another.

“I’m in,” I said hoarsely. “Set it up.”

Graham gave a single nod, something unspoken passing between us, then stepped away to make the call.

I sank back onto the bench, pressing my palms against my thighs to stop them from shaking.

The echo of my own agreement still rang in my ears, I’m in. It didn’t feel triumphant. It felt like surrender. Temporary or not, I was stepping into unknown territory, tying my name to someone else’s rhythm, someone else’s shadow.

I closed my eyes briefly, forcing down the lump in my throat. This was the only shot I had left, and even if it tasted bitter, I’d take it.

Because sitting on the sidelines, forgotten and fading, wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not without a fight.

Graham returned a few minutes later, his phone still in hand. “We’re on,” he said. “Meeting’s in two hours. Westview arena.”

My stomach dipped. Of course it’s Westview.

I stood, nodding stiffly. “Let’s go.”