My heart was pounding as I fled the dance hall, unable to face the curious stares and whispers of my peers. The image of Jae and Lizzie entwined in that bed was burned into my mind, a painful reminder of what I had just seen. I needed to get away, to find a place where I could clear my head and ground myself. The only thing that had ever managed to do that for me was skating.
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I found my driver waiting outside and asked him to take me back to school. The ride was silent, my thoughts a chaotic jumble of emotions. Betrayal, anger, sadness, and a deep sense of loss. I wasn't even sure if I was allowed to feel this way since I was the one who ended things, and we were never actually anything, but it didn't change the fact that it hurt deeply. By the time we arrived, I felt like I was going to burst. The school was mostly empty, the track team practicing at the far end of the campus. I made my way to the locker room, my feet carrying me with a sense of urgency.
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I retrieved my skates, the familiar feel of the leather and laces in my hands providing a small measure of comfort. The ice rink was empty, its surface smooth and pristine. The air was cool and still, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside me. As I laced up my skates, I tried to push the memories of the conversation with Lizzie out of my mind, but they clung to me, refusing to let go.
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The silence of the rink was almost deafening, the only sound the soft scrape of my blades on the ice. I took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs, and began to glide across the surface. The familiar rhythm of my movements was soothing, each stroke propelling me forward and giving me a sense of control. But no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the motion, the images and words from earlier kept creeping back in.
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As I moved into my routine, I felt the strain of my emotions weighing me down. Each step, each jump, every spin felt heavy and uncertain. When I attempted the Biellmann spin, my body rebelled, my balance faltering, and I stumbled. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I cursed loudly, the sound echoing in the empty rink.
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I skated to the side, wiping the sweat from my face, trying to regain my composure. That's when I heard it—a voice, calm and steady, offering advice from the shadowed corner of the pavilion seats.
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"Your form is off. You're letting your emotions control your movements."
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I spun around, my heart racing with surprise and indignation. "Who the hell are you to give me advice? That’s a bit creepy to hide in the shadows and watch someone," I snapped, my voice sharp and defensive.
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The figure stepped out of the shadows, and my breath caught in my throat as I recognized him. It was Graeme Yorkley. What was he doing here?
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"Easy there, ice queen," he said with a smirk, his skates hanging over his shoulder. "Didn't mean to startle you. I was going to work on my striding technique and saw you out here struggling."
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"I wasn't struggling," I retorted, narrowing my eyes. "I was... adjusting my routine. Besides, the hockey team has their own rink upstairs. I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to practice here."
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"Adjusting…" Graeme said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I make my own rules. Never been caught before. You’re not about to tell on me, now, are you?"
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I glared at him and rolled my eyes. "Well, I highly doubt you’ll get into any trouble. It’s obvious that when you’re from a founding family, you’re immune to any kind of consequence. Must be nice to have that level of reassurance."
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Graeme chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ah, the perks of privilege. But let's not get into that. Actually, I wanted to apologize for the Valentine Formal scandal. I wasn't at the dance, but I heard about the chaos that ensued. I'm really sorry for the backlash you endured."
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I shrugged, trying to brush it off. "It wasn't your fault. You probably know the elite crew better than I do. I'm just glad people are no longer pinning me in the middle of your feud with Jae."
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Graeme's eyes flickered with discomfort, and he quickly changed the subject. "So, any tips for improving my striding technique?"
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I caught on to his avoidance and decided to let it go. "Sure, let's see what you've got."
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Graeme laced up his skates and joined me on the ice. I watched as he demonstrated his striding, his movements powerful but a bit uneven. "You need to focus on your balance and posture," I said, skating beside him. "Keep your core engaged and try to glide more smoothly."
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We spent the next hour working on his technique, exchanging advice and engaging in lighthearted banter. As we skated, we started sharing our favorite moments on the ice.
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"You know," Graeme said, "one of my favorite memories is from when I was a kid. My dad took me to my first SIHL game. The energy, the excitement, it was incredible. I've been hooked ever since."
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I smiled, feeling a connection. "For me, it was when I landed my first double axel at seven years old. It felt like I was flying. That sense of accomplishment and freedom is what keeps me going."
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Graeme raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Seven years old? Overachiever much?"
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I grinned, owning it. "What can I say? I like to aim high."
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"Who's your favorite ice hockey player?" Graeme asked, curious.
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"Axel Valcourt," I replied without hesitation. "He's a standout. His skill and presence on the ice are remarkable."
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Graeme nodded, though with a hint of challenge in his eyes. "Valcourt is great, but Orin Falkner has always been the greatest in my book. His consistency and leadership are unmatched."
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We continued sharing our favourites, from figure skaters to memorable performances. "I have to say, Lyra Hanyu's performances always leave me in awe," I said. "Her artistry and technical precision are just amazing."
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"She's impressive, no doubt," Graeme agreed. "But I also admire the toughness of ice hockey players. The hits, the speed, it's a whole different world."
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"True," I said, nodding. "Figure skating is all about grace and precision, while ice hockey is more about power and endurance. But there's a common denominator—both require incredible skill and dedication."
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Graeme smiled. "I guess we're not so different after all. Just different ways of expressing our love for the ice."
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As we wrapped up our practice, I turned to him with a smile. "You know, I don't understand why people think you're a dick. I found our conversation rather refreshing."
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Graeme chuckled. "Well, I guess people like to judge based on rumours. I'm glad you gave me a chance."
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"Me too," I said, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Thanks for the advice and the company, Graeme."
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"Anytime, ice queen," he replied with a wink. "Anytime."
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Despite the comfort Graeme provided, the incident with Jae and Lizzie still gnawed at me, a lingering ache that wouldn't easily be soothed. As I left the rink, the peace I felt from our conversation was overshadowed by the confusion and hurt that remained. The image of Jae and Lizzie entwined together haunted my thoughts, and no amount of camaraderie could fully erase it. I knew I had to face these emotions head-on, but for now, all I could do was take it one step at a time, finding solace where I could and hoping that, eventually, clarity and strength would emerge from the chaos.
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Beatrice had been dreading this day for weeks. The thought of meeting Liana King at the Mental Health Centre filled her with a mixture of anxiety and determination. Years of being apart had left uncertainty about what Liana had gotten herself into now. She wasn't sure how to feel about this meeting, but a promise was a promise.
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Beatrice's thoughts drifted to Olivia Cuthbert, remembering the urgency and desperation from the teenager when she begged her to go and see her mother. Beatrice wondered if she was truly the only person to turn to. With that in mind, she couldn't refuse, despite the unease she felt. She thought of the gravity of not being able to see her own daughter and the deep impact it would have on her.
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As she drove towards the centre, her phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID. It was the dance teacher.
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"Hello?" Beatrice answered, her voice steady despite the unease she felt.
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"Ms. Beatrice, I hope I'm not interrupting," the dance teacher said, her tone professional yet concerned. "I wanted to inform you that Kaye walked out in the middle of the dance class today. She never returned. This behavior is highly unacceptable, and if I was to raise this concern to the board, they would disqualify her from debuting at all. I thought I would inform you first since you’ve been so generous in supporting our business."
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Beatrice's heart sank. It was of utmost importance to her and her husband’s pressing ambitions that their daughter enter into the High Society. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll smooth things over and ensure that this doesn’t happen again. And Ms. Sinclair, thank you for not contacting the board. I’ll be sure to be even more generous with my next donation."
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After ending the call, Beatrice's thoughts raced. She knew Kaye had been struggling, but she seemed to be embracing the new challenges. She made a mental note to address it later, but for now, she needed to focus on the task at hand.
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Arriving at the Mental Health Centre, Beatrice took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The building loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the challenges Liana had faced. As she walked through the entrance, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled her senses. She adjusted her big sunglasses and headscarf, ensuring that her disguise wasn’t coming off.
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She approached the front desk, where a receptionist greeted her with a polite smile. "Good afternoon. How can I help you?"
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"I'm here to see Liana King," Beatrice said, her voice firm. "I'm a close family friend."
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The receptionist went through the computer, a frown plastered over her face. "We don’t have a patient by that name, I’m sorry."
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Beatrice shook her head. "Can you check under Cuthbert? I forgot she took her husband’s name."
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The receptionist's face went pale. She looked around in terror, then briefly looked up at the camera in the corner of the waiting room. She gulped. "I’m sorry, ma'am. Mrs. Cuthbert is not allowed any visitors."
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Beatrice's eyes narrowed, her voice taking on an authoritative edge. "Do you know who I am?"
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The receptionist visibly trembled, clearly torn between her duty and the fear of the powerful names involved. "I... I'm afraid I can't—"
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"Listen carefully," Beatrice interrupted, her tone calm but firm. "I know you’re probably scared right now, not wanting to lose your job or anger someone as powerful as Antonio Cuthbert, but trust me honey, you should be more scared of me than him. Now, I am not asking for permission. I am informing you that I will see Liana Cuthbert today. You’re going to write down her room number on this piece of paper right her, I’m going to pretend to leave then you will get up and go to the bathroom."
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The receptionist's eyes widened; fear plastered over her face. She hesitated, then nodded and proceeded to write down the room number. "Very well, ma'am."
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Beatrice took the slip of paper and slid it into her purse with a curt nod. "Thank you. I'll be on my way now."
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She turned and walked out of the reception area, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Once out of sight, she ducked into a side hallway and waited for a few minutes. She peered around the corner, watching as the receptionist followed her instructions, heading towards the bathroom.
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With swift, purposeful steps, Beatrice made her way to the room number written on the paper. Her heart pounded as she approached the door. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and knocked softly.
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"Liana, it's Beatrice," she called out quietly.
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A moment later, the door opened, and Liana stood there, her eyes wide with surprise and relief. "Beatrice, you made it."
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"I told you I would," Beatrice replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. The room was sparse and clinical, a stark contrast to the vibrant memories of their past.
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Liana gestured for Beatrice to sit on the small chair by the window, while she settled onto the edge of the bed. "I can't believe you're here. Thank you."
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"I had to come. Olivia was so worried, and I couldn't let her down," Beatrice said, her voice softening. "Besides, I need to know what happened. Why are you here? How did you end up marrying your high school enemy?"
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Liana's eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "Antonio put me here. He wanted to keep me out of the way. I know too much about his dealings, and he couldn't risk me exposing him."
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"But why come to me? The King family holds significant power in the political world. Your brother, Archinald, could easily get you out," Beatrice pressed.
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Liana sighed deeply. "After Antonio and I ran into each other during spring break in college, he seemed like a changed man. We hit it off, one thing led to another, and we slept together. I fell pregnant with our triplets. Purity, virtue, and arranged marriages were everything back then. When I told my family, they were furious. In Kalthara, the Cuthberts weren't as significant as the Ravenscrofts. When I disgraced the King's name by refusing to marry Alistair Ravenscroft, I was disowned banished from ever returning home. Antonio was happy to marry me since I was already pregnant with the next Cuthbert heir, and with my affluent family background, the Cuthberts welcomed me. Antonio wasn't matched to marry anyone, so it worked out for him."
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Beatrice's mind whirled as she processed Liana's words. The dark world they had married into, the sacrifices and betrayals, the convoluted web of power and influence—it all came crashing down on her.
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"I suppose, it’s time for me to return the favour from all those years ago," Beatrice said firmly. “If it weren’t for your warning, Victor…” she paused for a brief second, “Vance would be dead. Thank you for keeping our secrets after all these years.”
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Tears welled up in Liana's eyes. "That night when I saw them strung up those small children from the Ferucchi’s, I knew I was right not to tell Antonio that you and Vance had been dating in secret. You kept him safe all of these years.”
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Beatrice pulled her old friend into an embrace. “It’s all thanks to you. I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer for our expense.”
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Liana placed her hand on Beatrice’s, “Not at all… I never thought it would be possible to divorce him once I saw to what lengths the Cuthberts and the rest of the founding families would go to ensure they become the most powerful. I’m locked up here because I was going to divorce him and take my children back to Kalthara. I didn’t care about the shame of being a single divorced mother anymore, I wanted to protect my children from this world, from their family’s dark legacy. I didn’t want Aaron to become like his father or to have my daughters think that this was how a man is supposed to treat you. My biggest regret is not being there for them when they grew up, Liv had told me the nightmares they had to endure, especially Aaron.”
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Desperation filled her eyes. “When he was just a young boy, he cried because he missed me, and Antonio beat him that his jaw broke. The pain my poor baby must have felt, I can’t imagine how much he hates me for leaving them with that monster.” She cried.
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Beatrice listened intently, her mind racing. She had always known Antonio was a powerful and dangerous man but hearing Liana's firsthand account, and the horrors he was willing to instil on his own children, brought a new level of urgency to the situation.
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“I will help you. I will get you out of here Liana, I promise. You will be reconciled with your children and I’m sure Aaron will understand how much you loved him, that you trying to get away was the only thing you could’ve done to ensure that they wouldn’t know the pain they do now.”
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Beatrice knew that this was just the beginning of a long and difficult journey, but she was ready to face it head-on her instincts as a protective mother driving her determination, for the sake of her friend, and for the sake of justice for the Ferucchis.
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