Jealousy didn’t suit me. I knew that. I hated how it felt, petty, irrational and embarrassing. But knowing that didn’t stop the sting. Didn’t stop the thought, quiet and poisonous:Who the hell was he to make her smile like that?
I locked my phone, shoved it face-down on the tray table, and forced myself to exhale.
I hadn’t flown halfway across the world to obsess over a photograph. I was here for one reason.
Her final. Her championship match.
By the time we reached the stadium, the air buzzed with heat and noise. China did finals differently, lights brighter, crowds louder, everything amplified until it felt like standing inside a living storm.
I slipped into a seat tucked far enough from the cameras, cap pulled low. Just another face in the crowd, no box, no spotlight.
My eyes kept straying, not to the court, but to her box. Maddie was there, her coach Dani, a couple of her team and thenhim.
He sat comfortably leaning forward, clapping after every good point. I caught the easy smile he tossed Maddie, the way Olivia glanced up once and found him in the stands.
It burned, hot and stupid, somewhere deep in my gut. I told myself I was being ridiculous. And watching him in her box, inthatseat, was like being benched from my own life.
And what kept twisting the knife was her words, echoing from weeks ago:I can’t afford distractions right now.
Right. No distractions. Not me. But him sitting front row? What the hell was that, then? Because if I’m a distraction, wasn’t he too? Or did the rules change when it wasn’t me?
By the second set, I wasn’t watching the score line as much as I was watching him. Laughing, cheering, living every point like it was his win too.
When Olivia closed it out in straight sets, the roar of the crowd nearly rattled my bones. She’d done it. And I should’ve been nothing but proud. But all I felt was hollow jealousy wrapped around pride so tight it choked.
The ceremony started, all glitter and confetti and camera flashes. Olivia stood at the center of it, flushed and brilliant under the lights, trophy gleaming in her hands. And then my gaze snagged onhim.
He’s still in that smug VIP box seat, grinning like he’d known all along she’d win.
By the time Olivia finished her championship speech, the applause crashing around her, I couldn’t stand still anymore. I stepped into the aisle, just far enough to slip out quietly, before I did something pathetic like stare at Nico again.
I’d barely taken two steps when someone called my name.
“Alex?”
I turned, startled, and found Maddie standing at the aisle, half-smiling like she’d caught me red-handed.
“You’re not as invisible as you think.” She nodded toward the tunnel. “Come after. Congratulate her. She’ll want to see you.”
My throat went dry. A dozen answers spun in my head, none of them making it out. Maddie tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, like she already knew the storm brewing in me.
“She deserves you in her corner, Alex. Don’t let some picture mess that up.”
Before I could answer, she was already gone, weaving down toward the players’ lounge. And I was left standing in the noise, heart hammering, trying to decide if I had the courage or the right to show up.
•••••
The players’ lounge hummed with post-match chaos, reporters waiting for quotes, staff buzzing around with towels and water bottles, camera flashes bleeding through every open door. I slipped past the crowd, head low.
And then I saw Olivia. Fresh from her win, sweat still slick at her temples, smile dazzling even under the harshfluorescent lights. And right beside her, Nico holding a bouquet of white roses.
He leaned in close, saying something that made her laugh, and for a moment I froze at the doorway, every insecurity I’d been trying to bury clawing up my throat.
“Alex?” Her eyes landed on me, surprise flashing across her face. The laughter faltered, replaced by something softer, something unreadable.
Nico followed her gaze, turning to glance at me with that easy, camera-ready grin. “Ah, you’re Alex,” he said, voice smooth, offering his hand like we were meeting at some gala instead of her post-match warzone. “I’ve heard plenty.”
I didn’t take it. Olivia’s eyes had shifted, not to the roses, not to him, but to me. To the ugly scabs across my knuckles, the fresh scratch on my cheekbone, the angry red marks up my forearm from a crash. I’d tried to cover them under sleeves, under shadows, but she saw through it in an instant.
