Two weeks passed in a blur of training sessions and avoiding calls from reporters who wanted my reaction to the "scoring controversy." I'd thrown myself back into skating—what else could I do? The ring Langston had given me sat heavy on my finger, a constant reminder of his promise to make things right.

When he came home late one evening, I was already in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"We need to talk," he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His voice carried that same persuasive tone he'd used when proposing. "There's a charity gala this weekend. The Stone Foundation is hosting it."

I turned to look at him. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything." He took my hand, thumb brushing over the diamond. "This is our chance to announce our engagement properly. Plus, there'll be sponsors there—people who could fund your training for the next Olympics."

My stomach twisted. "I don't have anything to wear to something like that."

"I'll take care of everything." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's important for our future, Elianna. For us."

I touched my grandmother's bracelet, seeking courage. "Okay."

---

The ballroom of the Grand Meridian Hotel was beyond anything I'd imagined. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow fragments across marble floors. Champagne flowed from ornate fountains. Women draped in designer gowns and diamonds worth more than my entire life savings floated past in clouds of expensive perfume.

"Remember," Langston whispered as we entered, "just smile and be yourself."

Be myself in a borrowed dress that cost more than three months' rent? I clutched my small purse tighter, feeling like an imposter.

Langston guided me through the crowd, his hand at the small of my back. People nodded respectfully at him—not the warm greetings I was used to at skating events, but something cooler, more calculated.

"Langston, darling!" A woman's voice cut through the murmur of conversation.

I turned to see Zaria Webb gliding toward us in a gown that probably cost more than my car. Around her neck hung my gold medal, catching the light with every step.

"You look stunning," Langston said, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you." Her eyes slid to me, lips curving into what might have been a smile on anyone else. "Elianna. How... unexpected to see you here."

Before I could respond, an announcer called for everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our guest of honor, the newly crowned national champion, Miss Zaria Webb!"

The crowd parted as Zaria made her way to the small stage. I stood frozen as she took the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the ballroom. "This victory represents more than just a medal to me."

My fingers found my grandmother's bracelet, twisting it frantically as she continued.

"I want to thank someone special tonight." Her gaze found Langston in the crowd. "Langston Stone has been my unwavering support throughout this journey. Without his belief in me, I might not be standing here today."

Applause erupted. I looked at Langston, expecting him to at least glance at me, to acknowledge the lie we were living. Instead, he smiled and waved from his family's table, completely at ease.

---

"Some people just can't handle pressure at the highest levels."

Zaria's voice sliced through my thoughts as I stood near the restroom, trying to collect myself. She'd cornered me while I was alone, a group of socialites watching with barely concealed interest.

"Technical errors happen to the best of us," she continued, fingering my gold medal. "But some are just... more unfortunate than others."

I stared at the medal—my medal—hanging around her neck like a trophy of my failure.

"That wasn't a technical error," I said quietly. "And we both know it."

She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "What we know and what matters are two different things, Elianna."

I scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Langston. He was across the ballroom, surrounded by his parents and a group of suited men, laughing as if nothing was wrong.

When I finally reached him, tugging at his sleeve, his expression shifted to irritation.

"What is it?" he hissed.

"She's wearing my medal," I whispered. "And she's telling everyone I choked under pressure."

"Later," he said, already turning away. "I'm in the middle of something important."

"But—"

"Later, Elianna. I'll address it later."

I stood there as he rejoined his conversation, watching him laugh and gesture with the confidence of someone who'd never had to count pennies for training fees.

Something hardened inside me as I walked toward the exit, my borrowed heels clicking against marble. Outside, the city streets were quiet, the night air cool against my flushed skin.

I walked alone, each step cementing a new resolve. Langston would always choose the path of least resistance. And I would never again be the person left behind.

The weeks following the charity gala passed in a blur of rejection and desperation. My phone, once buzzing with sponsorship offers, now sat silent on my kitchen counter. The few messages I received were from bill collectors, their tones growing increasingly impatient.

I stared at the empty cupboard, then at the single packet of instant noodles in my hand. Dinner. Again.

"Fourteen dollars left until payday," I muttered, setting the kettle on the stove. The electricity had been shut off twice this month—each time, I'd scraped together just enough to get it reinstated, only to watch the balance dwindle further.

My training schedule had become a cruel joke. How could I focus on triple axels when I was constantly calculating how many hours I needed to work at the coffee shop to afford next month's ice time?

"Elianna, honey, I'm sorry, but we need to talk about your account." Coach Miller's voice carried through the phone, sympathetic but firm. "The facility fees are three months behind."

"I'll get it to you," I promised, twisting my grandmother's bracelet. "I just need a little more time."

Time. As if that was something I could control when I was working double shifts between training sessions, surviving on caffeine and whatever I could afford to eat.

I'd called Langston seven times in the past week. Each call went straight to voicemail. Each text message showed read but remained unanswered.

"Family obligations," he'd said when we last spoke. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Another promise. I touched the diamond ring on my finger—beautiful, expensive, and completely useless when I couldn't afford groceries.

That night, I made a decision. I'd go to Langston's apartment and ask for help. Just a small loan to get me through until I could figure something else out.

"I wouldn't ask if I had anywhere else to turn," I whispered to myself as I boarded the bus the next morning.

The address Langston had listed on his apartment paperwork led me to the outskirts of the city. As the bus wound through increasingly affluent neighborhoods, my stomach twisted with confusion.

"This can't be right," I murmured, double-checking the address.

The bus stopped at a gated entrance. Beyond the wrought-iron fence stretched manicured gardens and a circular driveway filled with cars I recognized from magazines—names like Bentley and Rolls-Royce gleaming in the morning sun.

"Are you getting off here, miss?" the driver asked.

"Yes," I said, gathering my courage. "This is the address."

I approached the gate, pressing the intercom button with trembling fingers.

"Stone residence," a crisp voice answered.

"I'm looking for Langston Stone," I said. "I'm Elianna Nguyen."

There was a pause. "One moment, please."

The gates swung open silently. As I walked up the winding path toward the mansion—because that's what it was, a mansion with columns and windows that gleamed like diamonds—my mind raced.

A woman in a neat uniform opened the door before I could knock.

"Ms. Nguyen," she said with a slight bow. "Master Stone isn't home at the moment, but I can inform him of your arrival."

"Master Stone?" I repeated, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.

"Yes, Master Stone, the heir." She gestured toward an ornate sitting room. "Would you like to wait?"

The heir. The words echoed in my head as I stepped inside, my eyes taking in the crystal chandelier, the antique furniture, the oil paintings that probably cost more than my entire life.

For three years, I'd counted pennies for groceries. I'd worked extra shifts to pay for ice time. I'd eaten instant noodles for weeks at a time while Langston watched me struggle.

"Ms. Nguyen?"

I turned to find Langston standing in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something I couldn't quite read.

"Elianna," he said softly. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to ask you something," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "But now I think I understand."

He stepped closer, reaching for my hands. "It's not what you think."

"It's exactly what I think," I replied, pulling away. "You're rich. You've always been rich. And you let me struggle while you watched."

"Elianna, please." His voice dropped to that persuasive tone I'd grown to distrust. "I can explain everything."

"Three years," I whispered, touching my grandmother's bracelet for strength. "Three years of lies."

"Not lies," he insisted, following me as I moved toward the door. "I just didn't tell you everything."

"That's the same thing!" My voice cracked as I turned to face him. "Do you have any idea what it's like to choose between groceries and training? To work until your feet bleed because you can't afford new skates?"

His expression shifted to something like pity. "I wanted you to love me for me, not for my money."

The words hit me like a physical blow. In that moment, I saw him clearly for the first time—not as the man I loved, but as someone who had deliberately watched me suffer while holding all the power to prevent it.

"You're sick," I said quietly, walking past him toward the door. "And I'm done."