Chapter 5: Pressured into Marriage

Selena's POV

"What?"

I thought I'd misheard.

Carl was still looking at me the same way — that lazy, sizing-up kind of look.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Selena."

"That figure skating of yours isn't going to take you anywhere. Get married while you're still young, settle down, and you won't have to work so hard anymore."

The restaurant went quiet.

I gripped my fork tight and kept my temper in check.

Then I turned and looked at Jon.

He was sitting across from me, head down, scrolling through his phone, his thumb moving fast across the screen.

Not the least bit bothered by what Carl had said.

I watched him and waited.

Waited for him to say something for me. Even just one word.

Jon's thumb paused for a moment, like he felt my eyes on him.

Then he shifted slightly in his seat, tilted his phone screen toward himself, and kept scrolling.

Didn't look up.

In that moment, something inside me went completely cold.

I slowly looked away, took a deep breath, and pushed down the feeling rising in my throat.

"I'm not retiring."

I said it calmly.

Carl narrowed his eyes, clearly unhappy with my answer.

I kept going. "My knee is healing, and the new season's rule changes actually work in my favor. On top of that, I've already submitted a full training plan for quad jumps."

I spoke slowly, making every word count. "Barring anything unexpected, I plan to keep skating."

Elara immediately set down her knife and fork.

"Selena," she said, her tone condescending, "we agreed to let Jon marry you for your own good, but don't push it."

"And of course, we feel for you. A child who grew up in an orphanage — it hasn't been easy getting to where you are. Now someone is willing to give you a real home. You should appreciate that."

"So don't be ungrateful."

That last line landed in my ears like a needle, puncturing my pride.

Like I was supposed to be thankful to them.

But who did they think they were?

I suddenly found the whole thing absurd.

I got up at five in the morning to train. I competed with my knee wrapped in bandages. I placed first in the trials. At night I secretly practiced quad jumps and ended up covered in bruises.

I didn't do any of that so someone could hand me a home.

What gave these two strangers the right to ask me to give it all up?

"Mrs. Brown, I appreciate what you said about family." I spoke quietly. "But I don't see any connection between getting married and retiring. I didn't take up figure skating so I could get married."

"And I never said I was going to marry Jon."

At that, Jon finally looked up.

But I didn't look at him.

Elara's brow furrowed slightly, her expression cooling with displeasure.

"Why are you so stubborn?" she tried to sound gentle. "We're all thinking of what's best for you. Do you really think you can skate forever?"

"Besides, figure skating isn't exactly a respectable career. It'll only embarrass our family name."

I took a deep breath, about to respond, when Jon cut me off.

"Enough, Selena."

So he'd finally decided to stop pretending he was mute.

It felt ironic, but I still held onto a small hope that he might say something in my defense.

After all, he'd seen every bit of effort I'd put in on that ice.

But once again, he let me down.

"My parents have a point," he said, dismissing me outright, his voice full of blame. "Your skating really doesn't have much of a future."

"There are so many skaters in the country — how many actually make it? After all these years, you've got what, a first place in an internal trial? What's wrong with getting married while you're young? My mom's just giving you some advice. It's not like she's trying to hurt you."

He paused, then added one more thing.

"Stop being so selfish. Can you think about my feelings for once?"

The light in the restaurant seemed to dim all of a sudden.

No — the lights hadn't changed. It was my vision that narrowed, that went dark for a moment.

Everything around me blurred away, leaving only Jon's face and myself.

So this was what he'd really thought all along.

And yet — I refused.

I suddenly felt like laughing.

He was calling me selfish.

This Jon, who had secretly deleted my training plans.

This Jon, who had looked the other way when I needed him most.

This Jon, who had kissed another woman right in front of me.

And he was calling me selfish.

How funny.

I even felt a little dazed, unable to believe that the person in front of me was the same boy who had stood outside the rink three years ago, holding a warm cup of hot cocoa, waiting for me.

People really do change.

Or maybe he hadn't changed at all. Maybe I'd just never seen him clearly.

"Say something." Jon's voice had an edge of impatience now, his brow creasing slightly, like I owed him an explanation.

"My dad's right — if you keep skating on that knee, you're going to destroy it. You might not even be able to walk properly. What am I supposed to do then? Support you for the rest of my life? I'm not marrying someone who ends up disabled."

Elara sighed beside him. "We mean well, Selena. Stop looking at us like we're out to get you."

"Look at yourself. A kid from an orphanage — let's be honest, you're just someone nobody wanted. No family background, no impressive education. Jon chose you. That's your luck. How can you not see that?"

"Mom, that's enough." Jon stood up as he said it, walked over to me, and looked down at me.

"Selena, take my advice. Just get married and live a quiet, stable life. Isn't that good enough?"

"You just want security, right? I can give you that. My dad's already offered to set you up with a job — you won't have to worry about anything. That figure skating of yours, when you really think about it, it's not that big a deal."

The way he said all of this — it sounded like charity.

Just like his parents. Handing it down from above, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I looked into his eyes.

These eyes I once thought were kind. Now all I saw was a shallow contempt.

Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. And I had wasted them on someone this ridiculous.

I slowly stood up and folded my napkin, setting it on the table.

My fingers brushed the handle of the silver cutlery — the cold of it traveled up from my fingertips.

My knee ached faintly. I wasn't sure if it was from sitting too long or from pushing too hard at afternoon practice.

But my voice stayed steady.

"I don't need anyone to give me security." I looked at Jon, each word deliberate. "My security comes from the ice. Not from whatever shallow feelings you have."

Jon's expression shifted.

The impatience mixed with a flash of anger — like he felt I'd embarrassed him, or like he found my composure ridiculous.

"You—"

"Making a scene out of dinner."

A voice came from the direction of the stairs.

Low, unhurried, with a touch of easy mockery.

Every sound in the room stopped.

Everyone's faces changed — like they were suddenly on guard.

Caught off guard, I turned toward the voice.