Chapter 1 - The Worst Feeling Isn't Losing a Game

ASYA

The screech of steel on shaved ice echoed through my skull, loud enough to drown out the roar of three thousand fans screaming my name.

Five seconds on the clock.

In exactly five seconds, it would be a tie game. The championship title was riding entirely on the next breath.

"Asya! Left flank!"

I didn't look at my teammate, I never needed to. The puck slammed against the tape of my stick like a physical extension of my own hand. My lungs burned, the freezing air tearing down my throat as I dug my skates into the ice, weaving past the opposing defenseman. The goalie shifted, anticipating a heavy slap shot. I saw the microscopic opening beneath her left pad, a fraction of an inch of exposed netting.

With a flick of my wrists, I sent the puck flying. It didn't just slide; it danced across the red line, kissing the inside of the post before hitting the back of the net.

In the same second, the buzzer wailed and the red light flashed.

For a single second, the world stood completely still. Then, the stadium erupted.

"She did it! Anastasia Volkov secures the title!" the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, completely swallowed by the deafening thunder of the crowd.

Before I could even catch my breath, a heavy pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind, lifting my skates off the ice. I laughed, blinking away the sweat stinging my eyes as Julian spun me around. He looked every bit the golden-boy team captain that he was. He was wearing my number and that made me blush.

"I knew you’d pull it off, beautiful," Julian shouted over the noise, his blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that made my chest tighten. "You’re a literal goddess on this ice."

"Not only me, Julian," I panted, placing my gloved hands on his chest. "The whole team—"

He didn't let me finish. Julian leaned down, pressing his lips firmly against mine. The crowd went wilder, the cameras flashing at the edge of the glass, capturing the perfect picture of the university's hockey royalty celebrating a historic victory. His kiss was heavy, possessive, and filled with the adrenaline of the win.

When he pulled back, he tapped the tip of my nose with his thumb. "Go get changed. We’ve got a massive after party to get to, Captain."

Smiling, I unbuckled my helmet and headed toward the tunnel, the heavy thrum of victory vibrating through the soles of my skates. In the corridors, my teammates flooded around me, slamming their sticks against the concrete walls in a chaotic, joyful rhythm.

"Asya, that final drift was filthy!" Maya, our starting defenseman, yelled, throwing an arm around my neck. "You literally broke the goalie’s ankles!"

"I just took the opening," I replied, a genuine smile breaking through my exhausted exterior. "If you hadn't blocked that baseline pass two minutes ago, we wouldn't even have had the possession. That win belongs to the backline as much as it does to me."

"Always sharing the glory," Maya laughed, shaking her head. "Go get showered, Ice Queen. We’re waiting for you to open the first bottle of champagne!"

I hurried into the locker room, the heavy weight of my gear finally lifting as I unstrapped the pads. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven against my aching muscles, washing away the tension of a grueling season.

As I dried off and pulled on an oversized cream sweater and jeans, my mind drifted to Clarissa. My cousin and best friend. She had been sitting on the bench, cheering me on. And in the VIP box, sat her parents — the aunt and uncle who had raised me after my world fell apart years ago. I could already picture the pride in my aunt’s eyes, the way Clarissa would jump up and down, screaming about how we were going to celebrate for a whole week.

But when I stepped back out into the main facility, the lively chaos had already shifted. The locker rooms were mostly empty, the squad having already dispersed to the campus lounge to start the real party.

"Hey, Chloe," I called out to one of the equipment managers packing up the jersey bins. "Have you seen Clarissa? Or Julian?"

Chloe blinked, looking up from her clipboard. "Oh, Anastasia! Amazing game tonight. Uh, I think I saw your cousin heading toward the private staff restrooms and coaches' lounge area a few minutes ago. Julian went that way too, I think to grab some extra team merchandise."

"Thanks," I said, offering a quick wave before turning down the quieter, dimly lit hallway that led away from the main rink.

The silence here was a stark contrast to the roaring stadium I had just left. My sneakers squeaked softly against the polished linoleum. I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest. I couldn't wait to see them. I wanted to hand Clarissa my winning puck.

As I approached the door to the private restroom at the end of the hall, I noticed a narrow sliver of yellow light, seeping from an empty classroom spilled onto the dark floor. "Who could've left the light on?" I murmured as I walked towards the door that was slightly ajar.

Just then, a sound cut through the quiet. It was a breathless, muffled gasp.

I paused, my hand hovering inches from the handle as my brow furrowed. It almost sounded like... Clarissa?

"Oh baby," a female voice whispered from inside, thick with a desperate, familiar cadence that made my blood instantly run cold. "You have to finish before she comes out of the showers. You know how fast she changes."

"Relax, babe," a deeper, male voice grunted. I knew that voice. I had listened to that voice every single day for the past two years. I had just kissed the lips that belonged to that voice less than thirty minutes ago. "She’s busy playing the humble hero for the press. We have time."

My heart didn't just skip a beat; it felt like it completely stopped pumping. The air in my lungs turned to solid ice. My fingers trembled violently as I pushed the door open the rest of the way, the hinges giving an agonizingly slow, silent creak.

The scene inside scorched itself into the back of my eyelids, a brutal, violent assault on my reality.

The room was choked with the scent of expensive perfume and sweat. Clarissa was backed against the tiled countertop, completely naked, her hands locked tightly in Julian's blonde hair. Julian stood between her thighs, his shirt discarded on the floor, his back flexing as he moved against her in complete, uninhibited intimacy.

The world tilted on its axis. The championship, the fans, the golden-boy/team captain boyfriend, the fiercely loyal cousin — everything shattered into a million jagged pieces, piercing straight through my chest.

"Julian!" I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat, raw, feral, and dripping with an agony I didn't know I was capable of feeling. It was loud enough to echo off the porcelain walls, a desperate plea for the nightmare to stop, for the image to dissolve.

But they didn't scramble or jump apart in guilt. Instead, Julian slowly turned his head over his shoulder. His blue eyes that were usually so warm, were now completely vacant. He looked at me, his chest heaving, his grip didn't loosen on Clarissa’s waist. He didn't even pause his rhythmic, sickening movements.

Beneath him, Clarissa tilted her chin up. She looked past Julian’s shoulder, her eyes locking directly onto mine. There was no shock in her expression. no panic at all.

Slowly, a small, cruel, mocking smile crept onto her lips as she arched her back, deliberately tightening her hold on my boyfriend.