3.

Logan’s POV

I’d stared at my agent, Rick’s text, for what felt like an hour.

“Make the move. This is it. Your chance.”

Simple. Cold. Strategic. Just like Rick always was.

And for once, I didn’t fight him, because I knew it was the truth.

Samantha deserved better than this though, better than being dropped a day before Nationals. But I wasn’t doing this for her. Not anymore.

I took a breath and pushed open the door to the private lounge Tasha Lin had booked for her press meet. She sat like a queen in silver colored leggings, sipping an iced espresso like it was liquid gold, sunglasses still on indoors. Of course.

“Logan Pierre,” she said, without looking up. “Took you long enough.”

I closed the door behind me. “I was tying loose ends.” I replied.

“Or untangling guilt?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Tasha finally looked at me, pulling off her sunglasses with a flourish. “Let me guess. Your conscience is screaming, your agent is dancing at this once in a lifetime opportunity, and somewhere in the middle, your dignity is sobbing quietly into a satin handkerchief.” She muttered in an amused tone.

I gave her a look and sighed. That was a perfect way to describe the state of my heart presently, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that. “Do you always talk like you’re auditioning for Broadway?”

Tasha shrugged. “Only when I’m winning,” she purred.

And she was. She’d gotten what she wanted… me.

We were both fast, clean skaters with heat. She didn’t need emotional chemistry to dominate a routine. And apparently, neither did I, considering how fast I was at dropping Samantha the moment Tasha reached out to me with the offer to be her partner.

“I signed the contract this morning,” I said, handing her the envelope like it was a peace offering.

Tasha’s red lips curled. “You just sold your soul to the devil, darling.” She mumbled.

“And here you are, grinning.”

“I always grin when I win.”

She reached over, took the envelope, and tucked it neatly into her designer bag. “So, how did she take it? Samantha.”

“Didn’t tell her.”

Tasha raised a perfectly arched brow. “You’d let her show up to Nationals thinking she still has a partner?” she asked like she cared.

Of course I wouldn’t do that. Samantha should be aware of my decision by now, he thought. “I couldn’t…” I swallowed. “She’s been my partner for five years. You don’t just…”

“Actually,” Tasha said, twirling her iced drink, “you do. That’s exactly what you do. If you want to win.”

I sank onto the armrest of the couch, rubbing my temples. “The coach will inform her. She’s going to hate me though.” He mumbled.

Someone knocked, then stepped in without waiting for an answer. A man in a sleek navy suit, Tasha’s agent, I assumed, leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said made her pause mid-eye-roll.

She glanced at me with a smirk slowly spreading across her lips. “Well, isn’t that interesting.” She muttered.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“She already does hate you afterall,” Tasha said with a shrug. “Or she will. Might as well make it worth it.”

A pause stretched between us, thick and sharp like the edge of a skate. I stared at her, waiting for the punchline that didn’t come.

“You know what’s funny?” she continued, standing and stretching like a cat. “For all your moping and ‘Oh no, what have I done,’ she’s already making moves.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She smiled slowly, like she enjoyed holding power just long enough to watch you squirm. “Word is, she’s talking with another partner. Someone big. Like, national-title-potential big.”

Samantha didn’t have that kind of connection. The most she could do was someone below my rank. I scoffed. “Bullshit.”

She tilted her head. “Oh, sweetie. The ink on your betrayal isn’t even dry and she’s already moving on. Cold, huh?”

“You’re saying Samantha…?”

“Is shopping for a new partner?” she finished. “That’s what I just heard. And honestly, good for her. You left her in the cold. What did you expect? Tears and devotion?”

My jaw tensed. “The ink’s still wet.”

Tasha let out a dry laugh and turned back to her mirror, fluffing her ponytail like this was all just gossip over coffee. “Exactly. She didn’t even wait to see if you’d come crawling back. Which, by the way, would’ve been pathetic.”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth was, I had thought about it, about turning back. About walking into that locker room and telling Samantha I made a mistake. But I never did. This was what was best for my career, skating with someone like Tasha Lin would push me to the top lines. I’d signed the contract. I’d made the choice.

And now she was moving on.

Quickly.

“She’s not wasting time,” I muttered. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Of course she didn’t wait. She didn’t even ask if I was sure… didn’t fight.”

“Why would she?” Tasha leaned in, her voice low and smug. “She saw the writing on the ice weeks ago. You’ve been skating with one foot out the door.”

That was a kind way to say it. As much as I liked Samantha as a partner, deep down, I had to agree that I had only been with her because I had not gotten anyone better. I stood abruptly, jaw tight. “You done?”

Tasha blinked innocently. “Not yet. But I can be, for now.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to hit something or collapse. I had told myself this was about ambition. That Samantha would understand. That maybe someday, we’d laugh about this over coffee, watching our medals clink.

But right now? I just felt like the villain in someone else’s story.

Tasha was already tapping her phone. “Schedule’s tight tomorrow. We’ll have our first run-through at 6 a.m. Don’t be late. I hate sweat, but I hate mediocrity more.”

As I turned to leave, she added, “And Logan?”

I stopped.

“Let her go. She’s not your anchor anymore. You’ve got me now.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Not with the sick twist in my stomach. It wasn’t regret, not fully, but it felt close enough to sting.

Because part of me still hoped Samantha would show up, furious and brilliant, and ask why I gave up on her so easily.

And part of me knew… she wouldn’t.