Page 7

For the next few weeks, Amara poured everything into her training.

Early mornings, late nights—she practiced until her muscles ached and her lungs burned, determined to perfect every spin, every leap.

She could feel the weight of the competition, the eyes of the judges, the whispers of the skating world, and she wanted to prove them wrong, to prove herself wrong.

But no matter how hard she tried to stay focused, a certain pair of dark, steady eyes kept creeping into her mind. Liam Blackwell.

She'd see flashes of him while catching her breath between routines, imagining his watchful gaze as she worked on a challenging sequence, and somehow, it pushed her to skate harder, better. She couldn't explain it; it was infuriating and exhilarating at the same time.

His presence haunted her like an electric current, sparking her to excel even as it frustrated her.

She didn't know what to make of it. Liam had stirred something in her—an unshakable mix of curiosity, respect, and a vulnerability she hadn't let herself feel in years.

One evening after practice, as she stretched on the ice, her coach, Marina, noticed her drifting off.

"Earth to Amara," she teased, nudging her with a grin. "Where'd you go just now?"

Amara snapped back to the present, hiding the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Nowhere. Just... thinking about the routine."

Marina's eyebrow lifted skeptically, but she let it go, offering her a soft pat on the shoulder instead. "Good. Keep that focus, kid. You're on the right track. But don't overthink it—you're at your best when you let go."

Amara nodded, mulling over her coach's advice. She'd always clung to control, trying to perfect every detail. But letting go? That was the one thing she'd never mastered. Letting go meant trusting herself, and somehow, that felt more difficult than any jump or spin.

Meanwhile, Liam found himself uncharacteristically distracted as well.

He was a man used to compartmentalizing, to shifting his attention from one venture to the next with practiced ease.

But since the Winter Blaze Invitational began, Amara's fierce gaze and determined spirit had lingered in his mind. Her dedication reminded him of his own struggles to build his empire, but her artistry, her single-minded commitment to perfection—that was something else entirely.

One evening, after a long day at the office, Liam found himself looking up Amara's previous performances online. He watched a video of her last competition, captivated by the way she moved—graceful yet powerful, completely immersed in her craft. As she executed each leap, his admiration deepened. She was a fighter, a force to be reckoned with, and the more he watched, the more he felt a strange pull toward her, something beyond admiration.

When he finally closed his laptop, he sat back, shaking his head with a small smile. He'd seen her determination, her strength—but there had been a fragility, too, one he sensed she guarded carefully. He felt drawn to her, to understanding the complexity behind that drive.

As the days passed, Amara pushed herself harder than ever, fueled by a strange, silent competition with herself.

She could feel the pressure building, but it was a different kind of pressure than she was used to.

It wasn't just about the competition anymore; it was about proving to herself—and maybe, in some small way, to Liam—that she could rise, that she was more than just a promising skater with potential.

One evening, after a grueling practice session, she sat alone in the empty rink, catching her breath.

The dim lights cast a soft glow over the ice, and her mind wandered to him again.

She hated that she couldn't shake him, hated that she'd let him see a part of her that she usually kept hidden.

But no matter how hard she tried to bury the memory of their encounter, his words lingered.

"Passion like yours is rare, Amara."

She drew in a shaky breath, hearing his voice echo in her mind, that quiet sincerity she couldn't ignore. Maybe he'd been right. Maybe she was stronger than she allowed herself to believe. She closed her eyes, letting herself imagine him there in the stands, watching her with that quiet intensity.

And as she pictured it, something shifted inside her—a release, a letting go.

She knew she couldn't control every outcome, couldn't shield herself from every fall.

She'd have to trust herself, to skate with her whole heart, if she wanted to succeed. Her training took on a new energy, a rawness and vulnerability that both scared and exhilarated her.

That night, as Liam sat in his office reviewing competition logistics, he found himself wondering how she was doing, if she was ready to face the ice.

He was about to reach for his phone, to text a quick check-in, but stopped himself.

He didn't want to interfere or distract her, even though he wanted to offer his support.

But deep down, Liam knew one thing: he'd be there, in the stands, watching as she faced her fears head-on, his own silent witness to the strength and resilience that had captivated him. He could only hope that she'd find the courage to trust herself—and maybe, just maybe, let him be a part of the journey.

And as Amara continued her training, fueled by the growing realization that she was no longer skating just for herself, both she and Liam found themselves entangled in a magnetic pull neither could ignore—a connection that was slowly but inevitably drawing them together.