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The gala was winding down, and Liam Blackwell slipped away from the crowded ballroom with a purpose.

He'd attended enough of these events to know exactly what to expect-clinking glasses, polite applause, and the occasional overzealous pitch from someone trying to make a connection. But tonight had been different, and it had nothing to do with business.

Amara Taylor.

Liam had heard of her before, had even glimpsed her name in a few local skating reports, but he'd never seen her skate in person. Her performance had been captivating-the fluidity of her movements, the focused intensity in her expression, the way she commanded attention without even trying. She had talent, and it was clear that her whole being was poured into her craft. Yet, as she took on that final, complicated jump, he could tell something was off, even before she stumbled. And the look on her face when she fell... He'd seen that look in the mirror himself, years ago.

As he made his way toward the hallway where he'd seen her disappear, he wondered if she would even speak to him. She was likely dealing with the sting of humiliation, the frustration of a night gone wrong. Still, he wanted to say something, offer her the words he wished someone had told him during his own struggles.

He found her in the alley behind the venue, her slim figure barely visible in the dim light.

She was leaning against the wall, staring out at nothing, her shoulders hunched as if bracing herself against an unseen storm.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should approach her.

But the raw vulnerability in her posture made him step forward.

"Amara," he said, keeping his tone gentle so he wouldn't startle her.

Her head whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise. She quickly masked it with a look of defiance, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

Liam kept his distance, holding his hands loosely at his sides, a non-threatening stance. "I wanted to check on you. It looked like you took a hard fall."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "If you came to tell me how sorry you are for me, don't bother. I don't need your pity."

He paused, taken aback by the defensiveness in her voice. "Pity?" he repeated, his voice calm. "I'm not offering pity."

"Then what is it, exactly?" she shot back, her gaze hardening. "Words of wisdom from a rich man who thinks he can solve everything with a few kind words?"

Her hostility was palpable, almost a wall between them.

Liam realized he hadn't been prepared for the force of her frustration. But he couldn't blame her; he knew what it felt like to fall and have others try to tell you it wasn't a big deal. Still, something about her resilience, her fierce independence, made him want to break through that wall.

"Look," he said, his voice steady, "I get that you're angry and embarrassed. But that fall doesn't change the fact that you have talent. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

She scoffed, her gaze flicking away from him. "It's easy for you to say that. You have everything, don't you? One night in front of the wrong people isn't going to ruin your life."

Liam's eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of understanding dawning on him. Her frustration wasn't just about the fall-it was about her entire journey, the weight of every obstacle she'd faced along the way. It was a feeling he understood far too well, even if their paths were different.

"Do you think I've never fallen before?" he asked, his voice softer.

Amara glanced at him, skepticism in her eyes. "Falling in the boardroom isn't exactly the same as falling on the ice."

"True," he admitted, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But believe me, I know what it's like to fight for something only to have it slip through your fingers."

For a brief moment, she looked at him, truly looked at him, as if searching his face for sincerity. But then, just as quickly, the guardedness returned, and she shook her head. "Why are you really here, Liam? What's in this for you?"

He met her gaze evenly. "I'm here because I see potential in you. You're talented, Amara, and tonight was just one night. It doesn't define you."

Her mouth pressed into a hard line, her eyes shimmering with a mix of anger and something else, something fragile that she was fighting to keep hidden. "You don't know me," she whispered, almost to herself. "You don't know how much I've worked for this, how much I've sacrificed..."

Liam felt the weight of her words, the sharp edges of her pain.

But he also saw something else-a spark that hadn't been extinguished, even now, even in her anger. "No, I don't know everything you've been through," he admitted, "but I know enough to recognize someone who's driven. Someone who won't let one fall stop them."

She looked away, her shoulders tense. The silence stretched between them, filled with unsaid words, lingering emotions, and the faint sounds of the city beyond. Liam could tell she was wrestling with her pride, her desire to push him away colliding with her need to be understood.

Finally, she let out a long, shaky breath, her gaze softening just slightly. "Why do you care?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Because I know what it's like to be underestimated," he replied, his voice low. "And I know how much it hurts to feel like no one sees your potential. You might think you're alone in this, but you're not."

Amara's expression shifted, her defenses starting to crack. For the first time, she seemed to consider his words, letting them settle instead of pushing them away. But then, just as quickly, she shook her head, pulling her walls back up.

"Thank you for... whatever this is," she said, her voice clipped, the vulnerability disappearing from her eyes. "But I'm fine. Really."

Liam studied her for a moment, recognizing the stubbornness in her gaze, the determination not to let him see her wounds. He respected it, even if he didn't fully understand it.

"All right," he said, stepping back. "But remember what I said-this one fall doesn't define you."

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed on a spot in the distance as if refusing to acknowledge his words. He took the hint and began to turn away, his footsteps echoing softly in the narrow alley. But just before he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder.

"If you ever need support-whether it's financial, professional, or just someone to listen-I'm here," he said quietly. "I hope you'll think about it."

He didn't wait for a response, didn't linger to see her reaction. He simply walked back inside, leaving her standing alone in the cold night air.

Once he was gone, Amara let out a shuddering breath, her defenses crumbling in the silence.

The anger, the frustration, the shame-it all mingled with an emotion she hadn't expected. He had offered her kindness, not pity. He had spoken to her as an equal, not a fallen star. And as much as she wanted to brush him off, to deny that his words meant anything, a small part of her knew they had.

Amara leaned back against the wall, her head tilted toward the night sky. She let the cool air wash over her, clearing her thoughts, her heart still pounding with a confusing mix of emotions.

Perhaps Liam Blackwell didn't understand her world, her struggles-but he had seen her fall, and he hadn't turned away. And for the first time in a long while, she felt as though she might not have to face this journey alone.