Chapter 3: Transaction

Selena's POV

After that day, Jon didn't disappear from my life.

If anything, he started acting like the person I'd fallen in love with all over again.

Good morning texts every day, waiting for me outside the rink after practice, even showing up with the hot chocolate I used to love.

A few times, watching him standing there in the wind, I felt something stir in me for just a moment.

But I didn't take him back.

I just wanted to see how long this so-called change of his would actually last.

A week before the team selection competition, I showed up at the rink an hour early to warm up, same as always.

At six in the morning, the rink was completely quiet. Just the sound of my blades on the ice and my own breathing.

I loved that feeling.

After warming up, I headed back to the locker room and picked up my phone to log into the training system and check the day's plan.

I typed in my username and password. The page loaded.

I froze.

It was blank.

Training plans, fitness data, technical analysis, video replays — all of it was gone.

I refreshed three times. Logged out and back in twice. Every time, the same empty screen.

What happened? Why is everything gone?

My hands started shaking.

I had spent two full months building those training plans, piece by piece.

Every jump's takeoff angle, landing position, and rotation count. Every note on energy distribution, rest intervals, and nutrition — all of it tailored to my own body and competition rhythm.

Standing there staring at that empty screen, my stomach dropped.

I pushed down the panic rising in my chest, took a long breath, and forced myself to stay calm.

I found the system admin and pulled up the login records.

The IP address and timestamp on the screen were perfectly clear. At 11:40 the night before, someone had logged into my account from a different location and deleted everything.

The address was Jon's apartment.

I stood in front of that screen for a long time.

The admin tried to recover the data.

The progress bar crept forward slowly. I stood beside him, fingers so cold I could barely feel them.

Ten minutes later, the look on his face told me everything.

"Whoever did this was thorough. They even overwrote the most recent automatic backup."

He paused, then looked at me with something close to guilt.

"We can recover some of the original footage and older fitness records. But the full training plan is gone."

I stood there staring at that empty folder, and it felt like something had slammed into my chest.

Two months of work.

Jon deleted it in under a minute.

The admin asked quietly, "Do you want to file a report?"

I shook my head.

"No."

It wasn't that I didn't hate him for it.

It was that the selection competition was one week away, and I had no time to waste on Jon.

From that night on, I barely slept.

Training during the day, then sitting up at night going through whatever footage survived, rebuilding the data by hand.

Takeoff angles, landing trajectories, energy output, program timing — everything had to be reconstructed from scratch.

At three in the morning, sitting on my apartment floor, my left knee was more swollen than it had been in days. I kept swapping out ice packs, but the pain was deep, like something had lodged itself in the bone.

I knew the old injury had flared up again.

But I couldn't stop.

Because Jon could destroy my data. He couldn't take away my right to be on that ice.

The day of the competition, the rink was louder than usual.

Pippa came over, crouched down, and pressed gently on my knee. "Selena, are you okay to do this?"

I nodded. "I'm fine, Coach Olsen."

She frowned a little. "If it hurts, tell me. Don't push through it."

"I will."

I said that, but I already knew — no matter how much it hurt today, I was going to hold myself up.

The draw put Eleanor before me.

When she stepped onto the ice, the applause was steady, not huge, but solid.

The music started and she skated out.

I had to admit, she was on that day. Every jump landed clean, every spin held its center. Technically flawless.

When she finished her last element, she dropped to her knees on the ice, both arms raised above her head like a bird spreading its wings.

The crowd erupted. She stood, bowed to the stands, then lifted her head and looked directly at one spot in the bleachers.

I followed her gaze.

Jon was sitting there in a dark blazer, hair neat, clapping.

I looked away and dropped my head to check my blades and laces. My fingers felt stiff. It took me three tries to get the knot tight.

I stood up and stomped my feet. A dull ache shot through my left knee. The painkiller was still working, but not as well as it had been that morning.

The announcer called my name.

I took a deep breath and skated to center ice.

The lights hit me, bright enough to sting.

I could feel eyes on me from every direction.

Some people waiting for something great. Some just watching. Some hoping I'd fall.

The music started.

The first half went well. I could feel myself warming up, getting looser, the knee pain fading under the adrenaline. Then came the second half — the final technical element, the triple axel.

Approach, step, launch.

The moment I left the ice, I knew something was wrong.

My left knee sent out a dull crack on takeoff, and pain shot from the joint all the way up to my hip.

My axis shifted mid-air. The rotation felt heavier than it ever had.

When I landed, my blade hit the ice hard, and the instant my left knee took the weight, my vision went blurry.

The pain moved through me like a current, from my knee outward to the rest of my body. I started tipping to the right, my blade scraping a sharp arc across the ice.

I gritted my teeth and pulled myself back.

Held on through the final edge. Arms out. Done.

The music stopped.

Two seconds of silence.

Then the whole rink went loud.

I knew I had done it.

When the competition ended and the scores came over the PA, I couldn't hear clearly through the walls, but I heard my placement.

First.

I beat Eleanor by a narrow margin.

A little while later, Pippa came in from outside holding an envelope.

She set it down beside me. "This is for you."

I opened it. Inside was a rehabilitation plan — twelve pages, every one of them filled with detailed training protocols, recovery timelines, nutrition guides, and physical therapy schedules.

On the last page, stamped with the training center's official seal, was a single handwritten line:

"Fully covered. No cost to you."

Jon's voice came from outside the locker room.

A moment later, two knocks at the door, and then it swung open.

Jon stood in the doorway, smiling.

"Selena."

Like nothing had ever happened, he said warmly, "Congratulations."

Looking at that fake smile, I felt sick.

"Say what you came to say."

His smile slipped for just a second.

"Family dinner tonight."

He softened his voice. "My parents are expecting me to bring my girlfriend."

I looked at him. "We broke up."

"I know."

He lowered his voice. "That's why I'm here. Just go along with it for one night. Pretend we're still together. I'll drive you back after dinner."

I almost laughed.

"Why would I do that?"

Jon glanced at the recovery plan in my hand, then at the bandaging on my knee.

"A hundred thousand dollars."

Like he'd finally found the thing that would work on me.

"You need money for rehab, right? Just don't embarrass me in front of my parents tonight, and I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars."

I looked at him, and felt nothing but cold.

So that's what it had always been worth to him. My dignity. My feelings. Three years of my life. All of it had a price tag.

But I did need the money.

Rehab, training, equipment — every one of those things was already weighing on me.

I folded the envelope and put it in my pocket.

"Fine."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes.

I kept my voice flat. "But this isn't getting back together. It's a transaction. After dinner, we're done."

Whatever Jon had made me feel, it was like a knife that had slowly cut away everything soft and tangled, until there was nothing left.