Thin Ice

chapter 3

Clare’s POV

Clare had been skating since she was six, but never had the ice felt as cold as it did that morning.

The Frostbrook Arena was nearly empty, except for the sound of blades slicing across ice echoing like thunder in the stillness.

Clare tightened the straps of her practice top, eyes narrowing as she watched Adrian glide in smooth circles near the center of the rink, warming up as if it were just another Tuesday.

Effortless. Arrogant.

She stepped onto the ice with a sharp breath, the sting of cold rushing through her socks and into her spine. Her body knew the drill; posture, poise, balance, but her mind was buzzing.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. Not with the memory of Adrian’s words from yesterday lingering in her head.

“You’re just a replacement.”

He hadn’t even tried to be civil. Clare wondered why he even hated her that much in the first place. If anyone should be pissed and angry at the arrangement, it should be her.

Adrian noticed her approach but didn’t acknowledge her until she was just feet away. He stopped mid-turn and looked at her coolly. “Try to keep up.” He muttered.

Clare bristled. “I don’t need a lecture. I’ve competed at Nationals before.” She retorted, her voice sharper than she intended.

He shrugged, effortlessly coasting backward with that infuriating calm she remembered all too well. His eyes flicked over her like she was a number on a scoreboard, not a person. “Then act like it.”

The jab landed. Her jaw clenched.

She narrowed her eyes, fire rising in her chest. “Do you always insult your partners, or is this just part of your morning routine?” she spat.

Adrian stopped abruptly, his skates carving a clean halt into the ice. He tilted his head slightly, face unreadable. “Only the ones who thinks showing up is enough.” He replied.

Her mouth parted in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, eyes locked on hers now, steady and unflinching.

Clare took a step forward, barely resisting the urge to poke a finger into his chest. “I didn’t ask to be here, remember? I was fine, until your agency dragged me into this mess.” She muttered, even though she knew it was half the truth.

“No,” he said evenly. “But you agreed. And now we both have to live with it.”

She snorted. “I agreed because I thought I was working with a professional, not an egotistical jackass.” Clare fired at him.

That got a flicker… something in his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her for a moment longer, then turned away like she was barely worth the energy.

“Save the fire for the routine, Crawley,” he said over his shoulder, already skating off again. “Unless you plan on tripping over your pride mid-lift.”

The insult stung more than she wanted to admit.

Clare inhaled deeply, steadying herself. She wasn’t going to let him get under her skin. Not again. She’d survived worse. She’d survived him once before.

She launched herself across the ice, catching up beside him with effortless speed. “Don’t worry, Peterson. I won’t trip. And I certainly won’t drop the ball. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?” she said.

He glanced sideways at her, something flashing in his eyes, surprise, maybe, or recognition.

Then, just as quickly, the shutters came back down. He skated ahead, voice cool and low. “Let’s just try to survive tonight without killing each other.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “You first.”

The tension between them crackled like electricity as Adrian glared at her. For a moment, Clare thought she might actually shove him off the ice.

But before either of them could say another word, the sound of a door opening broke the silence. Footsteps. Voices.

Adrian immediately stepped back.

Clare turned her head just in time to see three people entering the rink’s side gallery. One holding a camera, the other two wearing press badges. Of course! It’s the media.

Adrian straightened like a switch had flipped. He flashed a perfect, press-friendly smile and skated forward. “Come on, it’s ShowTime,” he muttered under his breath.

Clare frowned, but followed him, struggling to mask the disbelief etched across her face. Where the hell was Adrian going? The press had just arrived, weren’t they here to observe, to capture behind-the-scenes moments?

And yet, he was already walking off like the rehearsal was done. They hadn’t even been on the ice for thirty minutes, hadn’t completed a full routine, hadn’t trained together at all.

National qualifiers was in a few hours, and they still moved like strangers. A slow, creeping doubt began to settle in her chest, how were they supposed to perform tonight? More importantly, how were they supposed to win?

“Adrian!” one of the reporters called, lifting a phone to record. “We heard about the last-minute switch. Is it true your new partner is Clare Crawley?”

He nodded with practiced charm. “It’s true.” He muttered.

Clare forced a smile, standing beside him. “Surprise,” she said with a small wave, but was ignored by the reporter.

“And how are things going with your new pairing?” the reporter asked, clearly hoping for a soundbite. “Will you still be competing tonight? Did she transfer to Frostbrook university already?”

As surprising as it was, her transfer had been quick and smooth. She had only needed to go to the admission office that morning, to sign some papers and it was done.

Adrian turned to Clare, raising a brow. She hesitated only briefly before nodding confidently. The asshole was enjoying putting her on the spot.

“Absolutely,” she said. “We’ve worked hard. We’ll be ready.”

“And what can we expect from the performance?” the reporter asked Adrian, still ignoring her. Clare rolled her eyes, she wasn’t expecting them to like her instantly; of course they were here for Adrian, but at least, it didn’t have to be that obvious.

Adrian leaned in slightly, voice smooth. “Expect fireworks.” He said with a playful grin dancing on his face.

The press chuckled, and one woman in particular had no shame blushing. Clare would have rolled her eyes, but she had a feeling that Adrian would not like it.

They asked a few more surface-level questions about how they met, what their training schedule was like, if they had plans beyond this competition.

Girl, we just became partners yesterday, Clare thought.

Clare however deflected all the questions, and Adrian handled it all with a smoothness that made her stomach turn. He was good at this. Too good. She was starting to see why he was the media darling.

As the reporters gathered their things and exited, Adrian’s smile vanished.

Without so much as a glance her way, he skated to center ice and waited for her. She joined him reluctantly, forcing her posture straight.

“We’re going from the top,” he said.

Clare nodded, trying to shake off the knot in her chest.