6.

Celeste POV

The cheers hadn’t stopped.

I could still hear them, bleeding through the walls, thundering in my ears like a cruel reminder that I didn’t belong out there anymore. The cheers from the arena still echoed faintly, like they were laughing at me from a distance. I knew that applause wasn’t for me. Not anymore.

They were cheering for her.

Samantha.

I sat on the edge of the locker room bench, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched so hard it ached. My skating bag sat by my feet, untouched. I’d come in earlier, hoping to wish him luck, his lucky charm, remember?, but instead I sat here, invisible, forgotten.

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Anthony stepped in, flushed from the performance, chest rising and falling beneath his costume. There was sweat on his brow and fire in his eyes, eyes that didn’t even see me at first. Not really.

Not until I stood.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. And for a moment, I hated him for it.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, You didn’t wait for me after warm-up.” He said, peeling off his gloves. “You watched?”

“Of course I watched,” I snapped. “What kind of partner do you take me for?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the tone. “Celeste…”

“No, really.” I stood slowly, arms crossed over my chest. “I saw your performance,” I said flatly. “Beautiful.”

“You were incredible. You and Samantha. Such chemistry. So electric. Even the blind could see it, you two are meant to skate together.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting my eyes. “It was just a performance, Cel.” He said, offering a sheepish smile.

I didn’t smile back. “With her,” I cut in.

He froze.

I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “God, Anthony. You didn’t even try to hide it. The way you looked at her out there? Like she was your whole world.”

“It was just the program…”

“No, don’t give me that,” I snapped.

“You didn’t look at me that way. Not even when we won regionals last year. You didn’t touch me like I was something fragile and precious. You don’t even realize it, do you? How you follow her with your eyes. How you tilt your head when she speaks. How you move like you’ve been waiting for someone like her.”

He shifted, uncomfortable, but said nothing.

“That should have been me out there, I worked my ass off to get us here,” I whispered. “That program was written for us. I broke my back getting us to Nationals. And the second I’m not perfect, I’m sidelined and she slips into my skates like I never mattered.”

“That’s not what happened. You’re not sidelined,” Anthony said quietly. “You got hurt…”

“You didn’t even hesitate, Anthony!” I slammed my hand against the locker. “You switched partners before my cast was off. Before I could even heal. And now you two are skating like you’ve been destined from the start.”

His eyes darted to the floor.

I took a shaky breath, trying to hold in the betrayal that was cracking open inside me.

“She’s not me,” I said coldly. “She doesn’t have the experience, the mental stamina, the discipline. I know you. I know your rhythm, your tells, your blind spots.”

His jaw tightened, just for a second.

“Celeste,” he said quietly, “it’s not about replacing you. You got injured. The team had to move forward.”

“Don’t feed me that team crap,” I hissed. “We were the team. And now you’re parading her around like she’s your great comeback story.”

I should have walked away then. But I couldn’t.

Anthony’s expression hardened. “This isn’t fair.” He muttered.

“You know what’s not fair?” I stepped right up to him, nearly nose to nose. “Watching you skate with her like you belong together. Hearing the crowd scream for you and her when it should have been you and me. Do you know what it feels like to become invisible in the sport you gave your body to?”

He didn’t answer. Because he couldn’t.

“You don’t get to hurt me and still play the good guy,” I whispered. “I was your partner in every sense, and you discarded me the second she showed up.”

“I’m warning you, Anthony,” I said, quieter now but colder. “Don’t get comfortable. She’s not permanent. She’s a filler. A substitute. One wrong step and the same people cheering today will rip her apart tomorrow.”

I grabbed my jacket and slung it over my shoulder.

Anthony’s expression faltered, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

So I gave him mine.

“Enjoy your little fairytale. I hope the crowd’s cheers keep you warm, Anthony,” I said, voice shaking. “Because the way you looked at her today? It wasn’t just acting. And one day, she’ll realize it too.”

I didn’t wait for him to reply.

I turned before he could see the tears burning in my eyes, and left him standing there, still painted in gold, while I walked away with nothing but bruises no medal could cover.