Chapter 5: Casualties of the Empire
Richard Sterling’s voice echoed through the arena, devoid of any paternal warmth. It was the voice of a CEO cutting a catastrophic loss.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Chloe.”
Chloe froze on the ice below. “What?”
“You acted entirely alone,” Richard continued, staring down at his daughter with eyes like chips of flint. “If you have been manipulating anti-doping protocols and intimidating medical staff, you have done so without the knowledge or consent of the Federation board, or myself. It is a disgusting act of personal jealousy.”
The betrayal hit Chloe harder than a physical blow. Her knees buckled, and she fell hard onto the ice, the heavy thud echoing through the silent stadium.
“Dad… no. You authorized the offshore payments! You said we needed the gold to secure the new broadcasting rights! I did this for the family name!”
“You are delusional,” Richard spat, turning his back on the window completely. He raised his hands in a gesture of total surrender to the agents below. “The Federation will cooperate fully with the international investigation. We are victims of this athlete’s deception as much as anyone else. Effective immediately, I am stepping down as President to allow a transparent inquiry.”
It was a masterclass in sociopathy. To save himself from immediate arrest, Richard was publicly throwing his own daughter to the wolves, discarding her with the same casual cruelty she had shown me when she tore my dress.
“We’ll see about that, Mr. Sterling. We have warrants for your federation offices as well,” the lead WADA agent shouted up at the box.
Two female agents approached Chloe on the ice. She didn’t fight them. The fight had been entirely hollowed out of her the moment her father turned his back. The confident, cruel “Ice Princess” was gone, replaced by a broken, sobbing girl in silver sequins as the agents escorted her off the ice, her skates scraping clumsily against the surface.
The arena erupted into absolute chaos. Journalists were screaming into their phones, dignitaries were fleeing the VIP boxes, and other skaters were rushing off the ice.
Through the scattering crowd, Liam was pushing his way toward me. My husband. My coach.
His face was a mask of furious righteousness. He had finally grabbed a heavy team jacket and was rushing forward, holding it out to wrap around my exposed, scarred leg.
“Harper, my god,” Liam breathed, his voice thick with practiced emotion. “I am so sorry. I had no idea she was this insane. Are you okay? Put this on, let’s get you out of here, darling. We’re going to sue them into oblivion.”
He reached out to drape the jacket over my waist.
I lifted my hand and pressed it flat against his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“Don’t,” I said.
