Kat’s POV
The screech of metal on metal shattered my concentration mid-jump.
I stumbled out of my triple-triple combination, nearly slamming into the boards as the arena doors swung open.
“Kateryna.” My heart stopped from that version of my name.
Papa stood at the entrance, imposing in his expensive coat and signature dark suit, silver hair perfectly styled. He looked pleased but calculating—the same expression he wore when evaluating Olympic prospects.
“Papa?” I skated toward him, panic rising in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Change of plans, my darling,” he said, opening his arms for a hug that felt like a trap. “The school contacted me yesterday. They’re hosting a special coaching weekend—bringing in specialists to work with their elite athletes. They specifically requested me.”
I pulled back from his embrace, studying his face. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Papa said with that enigmatic smile that meant trouble. “Besides, I was curious to see this new school of yours. To meet your friends, your teachers…”
His eyes gleamed with paternal interest. “Your boyfriend.”
My blood turned to ice. “My what?”
“This Nate Carter boy you mentioned when we spoke last week,” Papa continued, apparently oblivious to my growing panic. “You said he was very special to you. I’m looking forward to meeting him properly.”
Oh God. I had mentioned Nate during our last phone call, but only in passing. I certainly hadn’t intended to give Papa the impression that we were seriously involved.
“Papa, about Nate—”
“This is excellent ice,” he interrupted, bending down to examine the surface. “Very well maintained. And the sound system is professional grade. I could work with this.”
“Work with it for what?” I asked, though dread was already creeping up my spine.
“The coaching weekend, of course. I’ll be working with several athletes here—not just figure skaters. The hockey team, some of the other winter sports athletes. Mental conditioning, visualization techniques, discipline training.”
He straightened and fixed me with that intense stare.
“I understand there are some very talented players here who could benefit from my methods.”
The arena doors opened again, and my stomach dropped as Nate and several teammates walked in with their gear bags, clearly expecting ice time for practice.
“Kat!” Nate called out cheerfully, then stopped short as he noticed my father.
Even from across the rink, I could see the moment recognition dawned on his face.
“Oh. Mr. Melnyk. I didn’t know you were visiting.”
“And you must be Nate,” Papa said warmly, skating toward the boards where the hockey players stood. “Katya has told me so much about you.”
I watched in horror as Nate’s expression shifted from surprise to something much more calculated.
That look I was beginning to recognize—the one that meant he was seeing an opportunity and figuring out how to exploit it.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Nate said, his voice taking on a tone of respectful admiration I’d never heard from him before. “I’ve followed your career for years. Your work with Olympic athletes is legendary.”
“You’re very kind,” Papa replied, pleased by the recognition. “Katya tells me you’re quite the hockey player yourself.”
“I try to be,” Nate said with perfectly calibrated humble confidence. “Though I have to admit, I’ve been incredibly interested in your approach to mental training. I’ve read several articles about your work with professional athletes.”
I felt sick. This was exactly what Liam had accused Nate of—using our fake relationship to get access to my father’s expertise.
And here I was, watching it happen in real time, unable to say anything without exposing our lie.
“Have you really?” Papa’s eyebrows rose with genuine interest. “Not many hockey players understand the importance of mental conditioning at your age.”
“I think it’s the missing piece for most athletes,” Nate continued smoothly. “Physical training can only take you so far. The mental game is what separates good players from great ones.”
Behind Nate, I could see his teammates exchanging impressed glances.
Even Liam was watching the conversation with sharp attention, though his expression was unreadable.
“Very astute,” Papa said, nodding approvingly. “Tell me, what specific aspects of mental training interest you most?”
“Visualization techniques, primarily,” Nate replied without hesitation. “And pressure management. I’ve been working on my own visualization exercises, but I know I’m probably doing them wrong without proper guidance.”
“Show me,” Papa said suddenly, and I saw Nate’s eyes widen slightly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your visualization process. Walk me through what you do before a crucial play. Let’s say… a penalty shot with the game on the line.”
I held my breath as Nate paused for just a moment, clearly thinking fast. Then his expression grew serious and focused.
“I close my eyes and picture the entire sequence,” he said slowly. “The skate to center ice, the feel of the puck on my stick, the goalie’s positioning. I visualize three different shot scenarios—top shelf glove side, five-hole, and blocker side low. Then I feel the weight of the shot, the perfect release, the sound of the puck hitting the net.”
Papa listened intently, his head tilted in that way that meant he was evaluating every word. “And what do you do about the pressure? The crowd noise, the stakes?”
“I try to embrace it instead of fighting it,” Nate said, and I realized he was actually being genuine now, not just performing. “I tell myself that pressure is just energy, and I can choose how to use that energy. I can let it crush me, or I can let it fuel me.”
“Excellent,” Papa said, approval clear in his voice. “Your instincts are very sound. With proper training, you could develop these techniques much further.”
“I would love that opportunity, sir,” Nate said, breathlessness creeping into his voice. “Learning from you would be incredible.”
Papa was quiet for a moment, studying Nate with the same intensity he usually reserved for evaluating potential Olympic candidates. Finally, he nodded decisively.
“I’m hosting a private training weekend next month at my facility in Colorado,” he said. “Very exclusive—only a handful of elite athletes who show exceptional potential and dedication. Would you be interested in participating?”
I watched Nate’s face light up like he’d just been offered a spot on the Olympic team. “Absolutely, sir. That would be an honor.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my assistant send you the details.” Papa glanced over at me, his smile warm and paternal. “It will be wonderful to work with someone so important to Katya.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. This was really happening.
My fake relationship with Nate was leading to real consequences, real opportunities for him that he was gaining under false pretenses.
“Papa,” I said quickly, skating closer to the boards. “Maybe we should—”
“Actually, sir,” Nate interrupted, “I was wondering if you might have time to watch our practice today? I’d love to get your perspective on how mental conditioning applies to team sports.”
“An excellent idea,” Papa said enthusiastically. “I’d be very interested to observe your team dynamics.”
As the hockey players began lacing up their skates and preparing for practice, I felt like I was watching a car accident in slow motion.
Nate was getting exactly what he wanted—access to my father’s expertise, a private training opportunity that could change his entire career trajectory.
And he was getting it by pretending to be my boyfriend.
“Kat,” Nate said quietly, skating over to where I stood frozen by the boards. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just surprised to see Papa here.”
“This is incredible,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement. “A weekend with Viktor Melnyk? Do you know what this could mean for my career?”
I stared at him, seeing him clearly for maybe the first time since we’d started this charade.
The calculating gleam in his eyes, the way he’d so smoothly transitioned from surprise to opportunity, the practiced charm he’d used on my father—it was all exactly what Liam had warned me about.
“Yeah,” I said numbly. “I’m starting to understand exactly what it means.”
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