Stolen Medal, Broken Heart

Two weeks passed in a blur of training sessions and avoiding calls from reporters who wanted my reaction to the "scoring controversy." I'd thrown myself back into skating—what else could I do? The ring Langston had given me sat heavy on my finger, a constant reminder of his promise to make things right.

When he came home late one evening, I was already in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"We need to talk," he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His voice carried that same persuasive tone he'd used when proposing. "There's a charity gala this weekend. The Stone Foundation is hosting it."

I turned to look at him. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything." He took my hand, thumb brushing over the diamond. "This is our chance to announce our engagement properly. Plus, there'll be sponsors there—people who could fund your training for the next Olympics."

My stomach twisted. "I don't have anything to wear to something like that."

"I'll take care of everything." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's important for our future, Elianna. For us."

I touched my grandmother's bracelet, seeking courage. "Okay."

---

The ballroom of the Grand Meridian Hotel was beyond anything I'd imagined. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow fragments across marble floors. Champagne flowed from ornate fountains. Women draped in designer gowns and diamonds worth more than my entire life savings floated past in clouds of expensive perfume.

"Remember," Langston whispered as we entered, "just smile and be yourself."

Be myself in a borrowed dress that cost more than three months' rent? I clutched my small purse tighter, feeling like an imposter.

Langston guided me through the crowd, his hand at the small of my back. People nodded respectfully at him—not the warm greetings I was used to at skating events, but something cooler, more calculated.

"Langston, darling!" A woman's voice cut through the murmur of conversation.

I turned to see Zaria Webb gliding toward us in a gown that probably cost more than my car. Around her neck hung my gold medal, catching the light with every step.

"You look stunning," Langston said, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you." Her eyes slid to me, lips curving into what might have been a smile on anyone else. "Elianna. How... unexpected to see you here."

Before I could respond, an announcer called for everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our guest of honor, the newly crowned national champion, Miss Zaria Webb!"

The crowd parted as Zaria made her way to the small stage. I stood frozen as she took the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the ballroom. "This victory represents more than just a medal to me."

My fingers found my grandmother's bracelet, twisting it frantically as she continued.

"I want to thank someone special tonight." Her gaze found Langston in the crowd. "Langston Stone has been my unwavering support throughout this journey. Without his belief in me, I might not be standing here today."

Applause erupted. I looked at Langston, expecting him to at least glance at me, to acknowledge the lie we were living. Instead, he smiled and waved from his family's table, completely at ease.

---

"Some people just can't handle pressure at the highest levels."

Zaria's voice sliced through my thoughts as I stood near the restroom, trying to collect myself. She'd cornered me while I was alone, a group of socialites watching with barely concealed interest.

"Technical errors happen to the best of us," she continued, fingering my gold medal. "But some are just... more unfortunate than others."

I stared at the medal—my medal—hanging around her neck like a trophy of my failure.

"That wasn't a technical error," I said quietly. "And we both know it."

She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "What we know and what matters are two different things, Elianna."

I scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Langston. He was across the ballroom, surrounded by his parents and a group of suited men, laughing as if nothing was wrong.

When I finally reached him, tugging at his sleeve, his expression shifted to irritation.

"What is it?" he hissed.

"She's wearing my medal," I whispered. "And she's telling everyone I choked under pressure."

"Later," he said, already turning away. "I'm in the middle of something important."

"But—"

"Later, Elianna. I'll address it later."

I stood there as he rejoined his conversation, watching him laugh and gesture with the confidence of someone who'd never had to count pennies for training fees.

Something hardened inside me as I walked toward the exit, my borrowed heels clicking against marble. Outside, the city streets were quiet, the night air cool against my flushed skin.

I walked alone, each step cementing a new resolve. Langston would always choose the path of least resistance. And I would never again be the person left behind.