Chapter 7 Are You Tired of Acting?

The crack of the ball was sharp and clean — noticeably faster than before, the landing point deeper in the court.

"How does it feel?" Benjamin asked.

"My wrist is barely working at all," Cecilia said honestly. "The power transfer is so much smoother." She paused. "Thank you, Mr. Howard."

"Don't mention it." He picked up a water bottle from the bench, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink. "You've got real talent. Don't let people who don't matter mess with your head."

As he said it, his gaze finally drifted — deliberately, unhurriedly — to where Charles and Ivy were standing.

Charles's expression curdled.

He didn't play professionally, but he knew exactly who he was looking at. The whole tennis world knew Benjamin Howard.

And he'd just stood there and talked back to him.

Ivy had gone completely still beside him. She'd come here to use Charles as leverage against Cecilia. She hadn't counted on Cecilia knowing someone like this.

"Mr. Howard." Charles forced himself forward, voice stretched into something that wanted to sound casual. "I'm Charles Whitmore — Silverline Media. And, ah, Cecilia's ex. I didn't realize it was you earlier. My apologies."

Benjamin capped his water bottle.

He didn't answer.

The silence was worse than anything he could have said. Charles's face went dark red. His mouth opened and closed with nothing to show for it.

Ivy grabbed his arm. "Charles. Let's go — we're interrupting her training."

Before she turned, she looked back at Cecilia. Just once. Her eyes said everything her mouth didn't — something raw and bitter and green underneath.

When they were gone, Cecilia let out a slow breath and turned back to the court.

"Sorry you had to see that," she said.

"Nothing to apologize for."

She almost smiled. "Thanks anyway."

They trained in silence after that, and by the time the facility emptied out, Cecilia felt like she'd been wrung out and left to dry. She'd pushed herself to twice her usual intensity — every muscle burning, her shirt soaked through.

The locker room was quiet when she got in. A few other players were packing up their bags, someone running a blow dryer in the far corner. Cecilia grabbed her shower kit and pushed through the door to the changing area.

Steam hit her immediately.

She found an open stall, locked it, and turned the water up hot. The moment it hit her shoulders, some of the tension finally started to let go. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back into the spray.

Her foot went out from under her.

Her back slammed into the tile wall. She grabbed the metal safety bar — fingers scraping against the steel with a sound that made her teeth hurt — and held on until the world stopped lurching.

When she looked down, she saw it.

The floor was slick with foam. Not water. Soap — half a bottle of body wash, at least, worked into the grout and spread across the tile in a layer so thin it was nearly invisible under the steam.

She stood there for a moment, hand still on the bar, letting her heartbeat settle.

Someone did this on purpose.

The latch on this stall had always been loose — she'd noticed it on the way in. Someone who knew that could have pushed the door open easily enough. She'd walked straight in without looking down.

She shut off the water, dried off quickly, and stepped carefully around the slick patch on the way out.

The locker room had filled up a little while she was gone. Nobody looked her way. Cecilia got dressed and caught a facility attendant on her way to the door.

"Could you check the security footage for the hallway outside shower stall three?"

The attendant nodded and came back five minutes later with an apologetic look. "I'm really sorry — that section of the camera system has been down since last week. We haven't gotten it repaired yet."

"What about before it went down?"

"I'd have to get the manager involved. That's above my clearance."

"Thanks." Cecilia didn't push it.

She stepped out into the main training hall. The overhead lights were harsh after the dim of the locker room, and she squinted as her eyes adjusted, scanning the floor.

Over by the rest area, Ivy stood next to Charles, holding out a sports drink with both hands, careful and deliberate. Charles had his phone out and wasn't looking at her. She nudged the bottle closer. He glanced up, took it, drank. Ivy smiled immediately — the kind of smile that had to be maintained, not felt.

Cecilia looked away and unscrewed her own water bottle.

"You slipped in the showers."

She turned. Benjamin was beside her — she hadn't heard him come up. He had a towel over his shoulder, damp at the edges, like he'd just come from the private training suite next door.

His eyes dropped briefly to her shoulder. The skin there had gone faintly pink where she'd hit the wall.

"That's a bruise starting," he said. "Have you iced it?"

"It's fine," Cecilia said. "The floor was just wet."

Benjamin reached into his jacket pocket and held out a small tube. "Arnica gel. Put it on before you go to sleep. And if it's still giving you trouble tomorrow morning, let me know before you train."

"Thank you."

"Sure." He turned to leave. "I'd just find it inconvenient if you withdrew from the first round with an injury."

Then he was gone.

Cecilia stood there for a second, the tube warm in her palm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement from the rest area. Charles had left. Ivy was alone on the bench now, hunched over her phone, typing fast, her expression flat and hard. Then she looked up — and her eyes landed directly on Cecilia.

She stood up and walked over.

"Cecilia." Her voice was low, careful. "Did something happen in the showers just now? I thought I heard someone fall."

"Good ears," Cecilia said, capping her water bottle.

"I just — I was worried." Ivy stepped closer, dropping her voice further. "The competition at the WTA level is brutal. Some players will do anything to get an edge. You're training alone. You should be careful."

Cecilia looked at her. "Is that a warning?"

"It's friendly advice." Ivy's eyes went glassy at the edges. "I know things have been weird between us. But you're still my sister. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Cecilia laughed — a short, quiet sound.

"Ivy," she said, "how long have you been running that routine? Doesn't it get exhausting?"

Ivy's face went very still.

"I'm heading out." Cecilia picked up her bag. "One thing, though — if you're going to pull something like that again, at least be subtle about it. Body wash on the shower floor?" She tilted her head slightly. "That's amateur."

She didn't wait to see Ivy's reaction and walked straight toward the exit.

Ivy stayed where she was, her face drained to an almost frightening white under the lights. The hand holding her phone was trembling. Her eyes stayed locked on Cecilia's back.

A few seconds later, she looked down and typed something quickly, then hit send.