Cohen’s hand shoots out. He grabs my waist, hauling me into him with a force that knocks the air from my lungs, restoring my balance with his own weight.
For one suspended second, we’re hanging over the void, wrapped around each other.
“I’ve got you,” he growls. “I won’t let you fall.”
We reach the end. We take the third key.
“TO THE CENTER! TO THE CENTER!” Cohen shouts.
We sprint like maniacs, lungs burning in the cold. We burst into the final clearing.
The chest is there—twenty meters away—on an ice pedestal gleaming under the stars.
But we’re not alone.
From the opposite exit, Joe emerges.
Alone. Sarah is nowhere to be seen.
He spots us. Sees that we’re faster. That we’re about to reach the chest before him.
So he does the only thing a small man like him knows how to do: he plays dirty.
Instead of going for the chest, he veers sideways and plants himself across our path, arms spread to block us physically, breath ragged, eyes wild.
We slam to a halt to avoid plowing into him.
“Move, Joe!” I shout, trying to get around him—but he mirrors me, cutting me off.
“This doesn’t end like this, Sloane,” he pants, soaked in sweat. “I’m not letting you win. Not after everything you did to make me look like an idiot.”
Cohen steps forward, threatening—but I stop him with a gesture.
I need to understand. I need to look Joe in the face and see what’s really behind that mask.
“Me?” I ask, incredulous, anger rising fast. “I made you look like an idiot? You cheated on me, Joe! You destroyed everything! Why are you so obsessed with me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Joe laughs—a harsh, ugly sound.
“Because you were supposed to know your place!” he shouts, spitting the words. “You were supposed to shut up, forgive me, and stay with me, like they all do! But no—you had to think you were better. You had to walk away.”
He steps closer, ignoring Cohen’s size, blinded by resentment.
“And now what?” He jerks his chin toward Cohen with contempt. “You think you fixed everything by ending up with him? Wake up, Sloane. He’s a man. He’s an athlete. Of course he’ll cheat on you. That’s what we do. It’s our nature.”
His gaze turns slick, cruel.
“Don’t kid yourself. The moment these lights go off, he’ll go looking for someone less… demanding than you. And you’ll end up alone again, wondering what you did wrong.”
His words hang in the frozen air.
And for a moment—just a moment—I’m afraid he might be right.
That I’m the problem. Thetoo muchone. The woman who doesn’t deserve loyalty.
But looking at him now, I see nothing but a pathetic man trying to drag others down into his own filth.
“You’re the one who’s broken, Joe,” I say calmly. “And I pity you.”
