Chapter 3
Liam’s POV
Five-thirty AM. The numbers on my phone screen burn through the darkness.
Sleep is impossible again—college scouts, family expectations, and the way Kat Melnyk looked at me during our confrontation at the party churning through my mind like a storm.
I grab my gear bag and head for the rink. The ice calls to me—empty, peaceful, familiar.
But as I approach the arena, I hear something that stops me cold. The sound of blades cutting through ice, but not the heavy, aggressive strokes of hockey skates.
These are lighter, more graceful, with a rhythm that speaks of years of training.
Figure skating.
I push through the doors silently, staying in the shadows. The overhead lights are dimmed, but there’s enough illumination to see her clearly.
Kat Melnyk is flying.
She moves across the ice like she was born on it, every movement fluid and purposeful. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she wears simple black leggings and a fitted athletic top that shows off lean muscle definition.
I watch her gather speed, then launch into a triple jump. She spins through the air with impossible grace, landing clean and smooth before flowing into a spiral sequence.
“Jesus,” I whisper.
This isn’t some spoiled rich girl playing athletics. This is an artist, a warrior, someone who has sacrificed everything to perfect their craft.
She moves into a combination jump, taking off with perfect timing and rotating through the air with speed that seems impossible.
When she lands, extending her arms in a finishing position, something twists in my chest.
That’s when she notices me.
She spins around, her eyes going wide with shock and embarrassment. For a moment, we just stare at each other across the ice, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire.
“How long have you been watching me?” she demands, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Long enough.” I skate toward her, my hockey strides eating up the distance. “I had no idea you could actually skate.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps, defensive walls slamming back into place.
“I mean, I thought you were just another rich princess playing dress-up.” The words feel hollow now. “That was… that was actually impressive.”
Confusion flickers across her face. My tone doesn’t match the harshness of my words.
“Don’t look so shocked. I can appreciate talent when I see it, even when it comes wrapped in a pretty package with daddy issues.”
“Why are you here so early?” she asks, clearly choosing to ignore my jab.
“Same reason you are, I’m guessing.” I begin to circle around her slowly.
It’s a hockey habit, this circling, this constant movement.
“Peace and quiet. No crowds, no coaches breathing down your neck, no pressure. Just you and the ice.”
She watches me warily as I continue my lazy circles around her, and I can see the exact moment she decides to retreat.
“Well, you’ve seen what you came to see,” she says, starting to skate toward the exit. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Reality comes crashing back. The college scouts, the family expectations, the carefully constructed image I’ve spent years building.
“Actually, you need to get the hell out right now,” I say, my voice shifting back to its familiar coldness. “Hockey team has the ice booked from six-thirty to eight. This is our practice time.”
She glances at the scoreboard clock. “I didn’t know. I’ll be gone in five minutes.”
“You’ll be gone now,” I say, skating faster to cut off her path to the exit. “I don’t care if you’re in the middle of practicing your little princess pirouettes. When it’s hockey time, figure skaters clear the ice.”
“Stop calling me princess,” she says, her temper finally snapping. “And stop being such an ass to me. What have I ever done to you? I’ve been here a week, and you’ve been nothing but horrible to me from the moment we met.”
The question hits me like a slap shot to the chest. What has she done to me? She’s existed, she’s been talented, she’s refused to be intimidated.
“You want to know what you’ve done?” I say, skating closer, backing her toward the boards. “You exist. You show up here with your designer everything and your tragic backstory, expecting everyone to just roll out the red carpet because daddy wrote a big enough check.”
“That’s not true,” she protests, but I’m already moving closer, anger rising in my chest like a tide.
“Isn’t it?” I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You think I don’t know how this works? A rich girl gets in trouble, rich daddy makes a phone call, and suddenly there’s a spot available at the most exclusive sports academy in the country. Meanwhile, kids who actually deserve to be here get wait-listed.”
“You don’t know anything about my situation,” she says, but her back is against the boards now, and I’m still moving closer. “And you definitely don’t know anything about what I deserve.”
“I know enough.” I place one hand on the boards beside her head, effectively trapping her. “I can make your life hell at this school. I can make sure you eat lunch alone, make sure no one wants to be your lab partner, make sure every social event is a nightmare for you. And your daddy can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Why?” she whispers, and for a moment, her mask slips.
I can see genuine confusion in her eyes, real hurt beneath the anger.
“Why do you care so much? Why does it matter to you if I’m here or not?”
The question catches me off guard because I don’t have a good answer. Not one I’m willing to admit, anyway.
“Because people like you always take things away from people like me,” I say finally, the words coming from some dark place I usually keep locked away.
“You may not mean to, but you do. And I’m not going to let that happen again.”
“People like me?” she repeats, anger flaring. “You mean successful people? Talented people? Or just people who threaten your precious little ego?”
Her words hit too close to home, and before I can stop myself, I bring my other hand up to brace against the boards on her other side, caging her in completely.
We’re so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, and can feel the warmth radiating from her body.
Can feel how fucking good she smells even after training.
“Careful, princess,” I murmured, my breath warm against her ear. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I like fire,” she shoots back, refusing to be intimidated even though I can see her pulse racing at the base of her throat. “Maybe I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”
I pull back to look at her, and for a moment, everything else falls away.
The hostility, the anger, the carefully constructed reasons why we’re supposed to hate each other – none of it matters.
All I can see is the way her lips are slightly parted, the way her eyes have darkened, the way she’s looking at me like she’s seeing something she hadn’t expected.
The air between us crackles with tension so thick I can practically taste it. I find myself leaning closer, drawn by something I can’t name and don’t want to understand.
“Liam! You out there, man?”
Jude’s voice echoes across the rink like a bucket of ice water, breaking the spell that had settled over us.
I immediately push away from her, putting several feet of distance between us in one smooth motion, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Yeah, just clearing the ice,” I call back, my voice perfectly normal despite the chaos in my head.
“Get out,” I say quietly, not looking at her because I don’t trust myself to maintain the facade if I meet her eyes again. “Before the rest of the team gets here.”
She skates past me toward the exit, and I can feel the phantom warmth of her body still lingering in the space between us. As she reaches the gate, she turns back, sparing me one last disdainful glance before leaving.
Nothing about this is normal. Nothing about the way she makes me feel is normal.
Fuck.
