Page 4

The applause had faded, and the bustling crowd at the gala was beginning to thin, but Liam Blackwell had only one thought on his mind: Amara Taylor.

He had watched her performance in captivated silence, impressed by her grace, her focus, and the passion in her every movement.

Even in her fall, she'd displayed a fire, a resilience that struck a chord in him. He'd spent years honing his own craft, building his business with the same intense dedication he'd seen in her eyes tonight. That look-the hunger to succeed, the drive to rise above-wasn't something he saw often.

Without hesitation, he slipped out of the ballroom, heading in the direction she'd fled.

He found her outside, leaning against the wall of the building, her back to him as she stared out into the empty street.

Her shoulders were tense, her figure taut with frustration and disappointment.

Her skates were gone, replaced by simple sneakers, as if she'd shed the part of herself that had failed tonight. Liam's footsteps were quiet, but she sensed him immediately, turning sharply with a defensive glare.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, folding her arms as if to shield herself from his gaze.

"I came to check on you," Liam replied, his voice calm and measured. "You looked hurt when you left the rink."

Her eyes narrowed, and she let out a bitter scoff. "So you came to what-console me? Tell me 'better luck next time'? I don't need your sympathy."

He paused, surprised by the sharpness in her tone. "I wasn't offering sympathy," he said simply. "I thought you could use some encouragement. Tonight was only one performance, Amara. One moment doesn't define you."

"Easy for you to say," she shot back, her arms tightening around herself. "You're Liam Blackwell. Your 'falls' are probably just minor setbacks, and they don't happen in front of hundreds of people."

The words hit him unexpectedly. She didn't know him, not really, yet she had already cast him as someone who had never struggled, who could never understand what it meant to fail in public. For a moment, he was silent, weighing his response.

"Believe it or not," he said slowly, "I know what it's like to fall. And to have everyone watching when it happens."

She shook her head, her expression hard and unyielding. "No, you don't. You may have had setbacks, sure, but people like you don't understand what it's like to put everything on the line, to pour your whole heart into something, only to have it crumble in front of everyone."

Liam's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "I wasn't born with what I have now, Amara. I had to build it, and yes, I made mistakes. I failed, publicly, many times. But that's how I got here-by refusing to let those failures define me."

The words lingered between them, and for a moment, he saw her resolve falter, her gaze softening just slightly. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by that same defensive hardness.

"Thanks for the pep talk," she said, her tone biting. "But I don't need advice from someone who doesn't understand what it's like to be in my shoes."

Liam took a step forward, his gaze steady, his voice firm. "Don't make assumptions about people you don't know. Just because I'm in a different field doesn't mean I don't understand what it's like to be passionate about something-to risk everything for it."

She looked away, her jaw clenched, and for a long moment, they stood in silence. The tension was thick, her defenses firmly in place, and he realized she wasn't ready to hear him-not yet.

"Fine," he said at last, his voice softening.

"If you don't want advice, I'll give you something else." She glanced up at him, wary but curious.

He met her gaze squarely.

"You don't have to believe me, but I'll say it anyway. You have talent, Amara. Real talent. One fall won't erase that. And one night won't define your entire career."

For a second, he thought he saw a flicker of appreciation in her eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came. She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Maybe in your world, but in mine? People don't remember the ones who fall-they remember the ones who rise above without ever stumbling."

Liam sighed, recognizing the weight of her pride, the shield she used to protect herself from the vulnerability of failure. He knew that shield well; he'd once wielded it himself. But he could see that she wasn't ready to lower it, not yet.

"Suit yourself," he said, stepping back and giving her the space she clearly wanted. "But just remember that not everyone sees you as a failure. Some people can see past one mistake. And if you're one of those people, you'll be back on that ice, stronger."

She looked at him, eyes flashing with defiance and a hint of confusion. He didn't wait for her response this time, nodding slightly before turning to leave. But as he walked away, he could feel her gaze on his back, as if she were trying to decipher his intentions.

Liam returned to the ballroom, his thoughts still on the skater with the fierce, unbreakable spirit.

She may have brushed him off tonight, but he had a feeling their paths would cross again.

He admired her resilience, her unwillingness to accept pity, even if it was misplaced.

And as he re-entered the gala, he found himself unexpectedly intrigued.

Amara Taylor was a fighter. And though she might not realize it, that fall tonight was just one step in a journey he suspected she was destined to conquer.