5.

Anthony’s POV

We moved into position, and the music started,sharp violins, layered percussion. It was the same track Celeste and I picked together months ago. Fast. Dramatic. Difficult. Perfect for us.

Now, skating it with someone else felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

Samantha did her best to keep up, I’ll give her that. She had decent instincts. But every time she matched my movement, I changed it. Every time she found the rhythm, I pushed faster. I couldn’t help it. Something in me rebelled at the idea of syncing with her.

Halfway through the sequence, I grabbed her for the first lift, spun hard, then lowered her faster than I should have. The landing was messy, I knew. Her foot scraped the ice. She winced. So did I.

I skated back, arms stiff. “You’re going to need to adjust your center of gravity. I can’t do all the work,” I muttered.

She skated forward and got in my face. “Maybe if you stopped changing the counts mid-routine, I wouldn’t be improvising every five seconds! What the fuck is wrong with you!” she snapped.

Who the fuck was she to get in my face. My voice turned cold. “Then don’t improvise. Learn faster.”

The next lift? Worse. My grip was off, the timing clunky. I set her down too roughly, and she stumbled.

Samantha’s eyes narrowed at me, but then something flickered across her face. Confusion? Suspicion?

I blinked at the overhead lights as it burned. It was too bright for me to see clearly. I squinted, trying to ignore the blurry halo smearing her outline. My jaw clenched. I needed to get through this.

“You’re impossible,” she snapped again.

I didn’t blink. “And you’re slow.”

She threw her arms up. “Why did you even agree to this if you were just going to treat me like garbage?”

I heard her. Loud and clear.

I skated closer, not caring how close. “Because I’d rather skate with someone I don’t like than miss a competition. Don’t flatter yourself.”

The look on her face… yeah, that one landed. And maybe I shouldn’t have said it. But I wasn’t about to explain myself. Not today. Not to her.

Before she could fire back, the door creaked open again. A photographer stepped in. Graham followed, nodding like this was totally normal.

“They want a few practice shots,” he said under his breath. “Just pretend we’re not here.”

I sighed and turned back to Samantha. I switched my face on. Professional. Polished. Painless. “From the lift?”

She gave me a look,equal parts fury and resignation,but placed her hand in mine anyway.

We skated the routine again, piece by piece for the cameras. We hit every beat like clockwork. If you looked at us, you’d think we’d been training together for years. But behind the poses and sharp glides, it was all teeth-gritting silence.

After twenty minutes, the press packed up and left.

As soon as the door shut, I let go of her hand and skated a few feet away.

“Be ready for tonight,” I said without turning.

“That’s it?” Her voice clipped, tight.

I stopped at the rink’s edge and faced her. “I don’t have time to coddle you, Meadows. We both know this isn’t permanent. Do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

I tilted my head. “I’m not reminding you. I’m protecting you. Don’t get comfortable.”

I left her there, standing at center ice, brimming with the kind of rage I didn’t have time for.

God, I missed Celeste. She wouldn’t have snapped at me mid-routine. She knew when to push, when to pull. She understood me. Our timing was a conversation,fluid, wordless, safe.

But now she was out for the season. And somehow blaming me. Over a fucking injury I didn’t cause. And because of her, I was stuck here, skating with someone who hated me just as much as I resented the sight of her.

If this was rehearsal; ten minutes of combat, twenty for press, and ten hoping we didn’t trip over each other, then we were screwed.

Why not skip Nationals and walk straight into public humiliation?

—

That night, the arena buzzed. Lights danced across the ceiling. Music echoed low from the speakers. Fans packed the stands. The energy was contagious, but all I could feel was pressure, boiling in my ribs.

I adjusted the collar of my costume. Graham handed Samantha a water bottle and murmured encouragement I didn’t bother to hear.

The crowd wasn’t here for her. Hell, they barely knew her. They were here for the headline. For me, Anthony Vale. For the comeback. For the scandal.

She stood beside me at the rink’s edge, tense, shoulders tight. I didn’t say a word.

We waited.

“Next up, Anthony Vale and Samantha Meadows!”

The crowd roared. I swallowed hard and stepped onto the ice.

The lights dimmed.

The music started.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Samantha glance at me, then pause.

“You’re wearing contacts?” she asked, her voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise.

I blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Yeah. Needed full clarity tonight.” Anthony said.

Her brow furrowed. “You hate those. They make the lights worse.”

I scoffed, trying to play it off. It was funny that she still remembered. “Focus, Sam,” I said, my voice flat. “We’ve got a routine to crush.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at me like she was trying to read through every layer I didn’t want her to see.

Control. That’s what I needed. Even if it meant pain behind my eyes.

I couldn’t fall. I wouldn’t.

From the first movement, we clicked. The routine surged through us,sharp, elegant, aggressive. Her grace filled in the gaps of my precision. Every step burned away our resentment. Every lift redefined our boundaries.

She flew.

And I caught her.

And in that moment, under those lights, I let go of everything, Celeste, the injury, the anger. Just for a breath. Just for a performance.

The final spin felt endless. She trusted me, and I didn’t let her down.

The music stopped.

The crowd erupted.

We landed, steady, breathless.

She turned to me, glowing. “That went…”

I cut her off before she could finish. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not staying.”

I left her behind again, like I always do.

But this time, I didn’t walk away with certainty. I walked away with something I hated even more.

Doubt.