Page 16

The rink was quiet, save for the soft scrape of Amara's skates against the ice as she practiced her routine for the hundredth time that week. She was in the middle of a complicated spin sequence, her body a blur of precision and grace, when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye.

She slowed to a stop, her skates cutting into the ice as she turned—and froze. Liam was standing just beyond the edge of the rink, watching her with that unreadable intensity that both unnerved and intrigued her.

She tightened her grip on the railing, her breath quickening with frustration. What was he doing here? She hadn't asked for his presence, let alone his opinions. This was her time, her space to focus, and his unexpected visit felt like an intrusion.

"Liam," she said, her voice tinged with irritation. "Why are you here?"

He met her gaze calmly, undeterred by her tone. "I wanted to check in. I know the competition is coming up, and I thought I'd see how you were holding up."

She scoffed, crossing her arms as she stepped off the ice to face him. "I don't need you to 'check in' on me. I'm not one of your business investments."

Liam's expression softened, but he didn't back down. "I'm aware of that. But after seeing your performance at the gala, I knew you were someone worth rooting for. This isn't about business, Amara. It's about talent and resilience—and you have both."

His words struck a nerve, and she looked away, swallowing the knot in her throat.

She didn't want to let herself be swayed by his sincerity, didn't want to believe that he saw something special in her.

She'd built walls for a reason, and she wasn't about to let them crumble just because of a few well-placed words.

"Look," she said, her voice steely, "I appreciate your... enthusiasm, but I've been doing this on my own for a long time. I don't need you meddling in my career or telling me what you think I'm capable of."

Liam took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "Meddling? Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"What else would you call it?" she retorted, her voice rising. "You show up out of nowhere, watch me skate like it's some kind of experiment, and act like you know me. You don't. You don't understand what I've sacrificed to be here."

There was a brief silence as her words hung in the air, sharp and cold. But Liam didn't flinch. Instead, he regarded her with a gentleness that took her by surprise.

"Amara," he began softly, "I know I don't understand everything you've been through. But I do understand hard work and sacrifice. I didn't grow up with privilege—I built my company from the ground up, and I know what it's like to push yourself to the limit, to risk everything just to make a dream come true. That's why I'm here. Because I see that same fire in you."

She felt the sting of her defensiveness wavering, his words cutting through her frustration. She wanted to stay angry, to keep him at arm's length, but his gaze held an authenticity she couldn't deny.

Liam continued, his voice steady.

"I'm not here to control you, Amara. I'm here because I believe in what you're capable of, and I want to support you however I can. If that means stepping back and letting you do this on your own, then fine. But don't push me away because you think I'm trying to meddle. I'm not. I just... I want to see you succeed."

Her chest tightened as she absorbed his words, the sincerity in his voice chipping away at her defenses.

She'd spent so long fighting, struggling to prove herself, that the idea of someone genuinely wanting to help her felt foreign, almost frightening. But she could sense that Liam wasn't like the others who had tried to push their way into her life.

He wasn't looking to control her; he was offering her something she hadn't let herself want—support.

After a moment of silence, she met his gaze, her voice softer, the fight easing from her stance. "Why, Liam? Why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

Liam hesitated, his expression shifting as he chose his words carefully.

"Because I know what it's like to feel alone in your ambition. To have people doubt you, to think you're chasing something impossible. But watching you skate... it's inspiring, Amara. You're different from anyone I've met. Your passion, your dedication—it's rare. And I don't want to see you burn out because no one bothered to stand beside you."

Amara felt her defenses crumble a little more, his words striking a chord deep within her.

She'd spent years fighting for recognition, struggling to prove herself worthy of the dreams she held close to her heart. And now, here was Liam, offering her the one thing she'd longed for without realizing it: belief.

She looked down, her voice almost a whisper. "I don't know how to let people in, Liam. I've been on my own for so long... I don't know how to trust that you're really here for me and not for some... ulterior motive."

Liam's eyes softened, and he reached out, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "Then let me prove it to you. I'm not asking for your trust all at once. Just... give me a chance. Let me be someone you can lean on, even if it's just for a little while."

The warmth of his touch seeped through her jacket, a comfort she hadn't realized she needed. She searched his face, looking for any hint of insincerity, but all she saw was an open, quiet sincerity that made her heart skip.

Finally, she nodded, her voice barely audible. "Okay. I'll... try."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he nodded back, his voice gentle. "That's all I ask."

As they stood there in the quiet rink, the tension between them softened, replaced by something warmer, something unspoken yet undeniable.

And for the first time in a long time, Amara felt the weight on her shoulders ease, just a little, as she allowed herself to accept the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to do this alone.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft but sincere.

Liam's smile widened slightly, his gaze holding hers. "Anytime."

And as he walked away, she felt a strange mixture of relief and anticipation, knowing that this was just the beginning of something she couldn't yet define—but whatever it was, she wasn't going to fight it anymore.