ANTALYA’S POV
I barely noticed the days passing as I sulked inside Dominic’s mansion, trapped and empty. Each hour felt like a punishment. He didn’t come to see me, didn’t even send a message. It was like I’d become some decorative thing to him—an unwanted painting left to gather dust. The anger in my chest was sharp. My parents were gone. I should have been dead too, but the need for revenge kept me breathing.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s face, saw my father’s pleading look as Dominic’s men dragged them away. Hate roared inside me, wild and loud. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to calm the storm, but it never faded.
On the morning of the competition, I saw it all on TV—other people living my dream, skating and laughing, while I was locked up like a dirty secret.
