Chapter 152: It’s Zetana World

Lorali - One Week Later

The air inside the arena was freezing, smelling heavily of crushed ice, damp wool, and the ozone tang of heavy venue lighting. Overhead, the halogen floodlights hummed so loudly I could feel the vibration behind my eyelids, casting a brilliant glare over the smooth white surface of the rink.

A week had passed since I blew up Torin’s car and ever since then, I haven’t been spending much time at home not because I feared his anger but because I was too busy preparing for the most important moment of my life. I couldn’t be wasting my time thinking about Torin.

I stood near the barrier of the ice rank clutching my warm-up jacket, the sheer circus of the venue was already making my blood boil.

There were reporters everywhere. Dozens of them, perched along the metal barriers like vultures on a fence, flashbulbs popping into the frigid air, camera lenses tracking every breath taken near the ice.

On paper, this was just a local qualifier, a stepping stone. But the stakes were suffocatingly high. It was the kind of event that set the narrative for the entire upcoming competitive season. One wrong edge, one shaky landing, and the press would carve you up before you even reached the locker room.

"Look at her," Scarlett murmured beside me, her breath fogging in the chill as she leaned against the padded barrier. "She doesn’t even look like she’s exerting herself."

I didn’t need Scarlett to tell me who to look at. My eyes had been locked on the ice for the past three minutes, tracking the girl floating across the surface like an ethereal ghost.

Zetana.

God, I hate her already,Look at her. Floating around like she owns the gravity in this room.

Zetana was an anomaly, a freak of nature in the figure skating world. She was a female Alpha, a rarity that already gave her an unfair, biologically dominant presence on the ice, and for the last three years, she had been the undisputed, untouchable monarch of the sport.

Not just in the region. Not just in the country. Worldwide. She had burst onto the senior circuit three years ago, a prodigy who had been training since she could walk, and since that day, she hadn’t lost a single competition.

Not one. Everyone else in the division was just background noise. People didn’t watch women’s figure skating to see who would win, they watched to see how many points Zetana would beat second place by. It was Zetana’s world, and everyone else was just paying rent.

Well, I gritted my teeth, watching her effortlessly transition into a backward glide, this is the first time for everything and I’ll beat her, today.

She was wearing a deep, ice-blue costume, encrusted with thousands of sapphire crystals that caught the overhead lights, glittering like frost on armor. Her long, dark hair was slicked back into an immaculate, razor-sharp bun. She may be my competitor but I must admit she is hot, I see why she’s the head of her pack.

She launched off her back outside edge, soaring into the air with insane, terrifying height, executing a flawless quadruple toe loop before touching down on the ice as softly as a falling leaf.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Camera flashes went off in a blinding, synchronized frenzy.

"Yeah," Scarlett sighed, shaking her head as she checked her tablet. "I don’t expect you to beat her, Lorali. Honestly, no one expects anyone to beat her. We just need to get on the podium today. That’s the goal. Top three, get our qualification, and move on."

I turned my head slowly, staring at my coach as if she had just spoken to me in an ancient language.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh bubbled up from my throat. "Please. I can beat her."

Scarlett stopped typing on her tablet, looking up at me with an expression that sat somewhere between pity and utter exhaustion. "Lorali... I don’t think you can. Be realistic for once in your life. You’re good, yes but not Zetana good."

"I can," I snapped, tossing my chin up, my eyes flashing as I turned back to the ice. "Don’t worry about me."

She really thinks I’m going to settle for second best? Is she out of her mind?! I didn’t spend weeks building muscle, bruising my knees on the ice, and working till my bones felt soft just to stand on a lower wooden step and clap for some arrogant Alpha girl! (I am just an Alpha hater)

Sure, her triple-axle landings are clean. Sure, she glides like she’s sliding on liquid butter. She might even be better than Scarlett ever was in her prime. But she is not better than me.

On the ice, Zetana struck her final pose, one arm extended toward the rafters, her chest barely heaving, her chin tilted at a majestic, insufferable angle. The crowd went completely wild, feet stomping against the bleachers, throwing white roses over the glass.

"Representing the Falcon’s rank," the arena announcer’s voice boomed over the crackling loudspeakers, echoing through the cavernous space, "please welcome to the ice... Lorali Spade!"

The sound of my legal name hitting the air felt like a bucket of ice water dumped down my spine. Spade. Goddess, I loathed it. "Go," Scarlett said, giving my shoulder a firm shove. "Clean execution. Forget about Zetana. Just skate your program."

"Whatever," I muttered, unzipping my jacket and tossing it into her arms.

I stepped onto the ice, the thin metal blades biting into the smooth surface with a satisfying, sharp crunch. The sudden drop in temperature hit my bare shoulders, sending a shiver straight down my back, but I forced my posture upright. I glided out to the center of the rink, the bright white spotlights pinning me in place like an insect under a microscope.

I took my starting position, my hands crossed over my chest, my head bowed. The first notes of the violin swelled through the speakers.

I moved. I threw myself into the choreography, feeling the wind cut past my face as I gathered speed. The ice spun beneath me in a blur of white and light.

I pressed into my back edge, loading my weight into my left leg, and launched into my first triple lutz. I soared, spinning three tight rotations in the air, the world whipping around me—

LAND!

My right blade hit the ice hard. A tiny, microscopic wobble rippled through my ankle, forcing me to throw my left arm out half an inch further than the choreography called for to keep my balance. It was barely a twitch. A casual observer wouldn’t even notice it.

Damn it! my mind shrieked, a hot, searing wave of irritation flashing through my blood. You sloppy idiot! Your edge was too flat! The judges are going to deduct half a point for that recovery!

I didn’t let the anger show on my face. I forced a brilliant, dazzling smile onto my lips, leaning into a long, sweeping spiral, my leg extended high behind my head as I rounded the far corner of the rink. I landed my double-axle sequence cleanly, my spins tight and fast, a blur of sparkling pink fabric and flying ice dust. By the time the final crescendo of the music slammed through the arena, I hit my final pose on one knee, my chest rising and falling heavily, my arms outstretched toward the panel of judges.

The applause rained down from the stands. It wasn’t the deafening, earth-shattering roar that Zetana had received, but it was loud. It was respectable.

I pushed myself up off the ice, tossing my head back, forcing a proud, glowing smile for the cameras as I skated toward the exit gate.

Scarlett met me at the barrier, her face flushed with genuine relief as she handed me my skate guards. She slapped her hand against mine in a high five. "That was great, Lorali! Honestly, that was better than my daughter ever was at your age! Beautiful spins!"

"Yeah, thank you," I said, catching my breath as I clicked my skate guards onto my blades.

I killed it. My chest expanding with a huge, arrogant surge of confidence as I stepped onto the rubber matting. I absolutely killed it. I worked my ass off this past week. I practically lived on the ice while Torin was off brooding in his office! This has to be it. First place. I am not taking second. I am definitely not taking third. I am the winner here.