By the time I left Beijing, I’d already cried myself empty. I didn’t even try to hold it back. I curled up in that hotel bed, the sound of the city muffled by thick curtains, and let the silence press against me.
My chest ached in a way I hadn’t expected. Alex stepping away without even letting me find the words, had cut deeper than I could have imagined. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to say what I wanted to say, to explain, to reach out. And now, all I had were regrets twisting sharp inside me.
When I woke, the world outside had turned into chaos. My feed was a battlefield. Headlines painted me and Nico as the next golden couple, the “Power duo.” Photos of us laughing, talking too close, smiling too easily… all twisted into a story I never asked for.
If only they knew. The one person who actually mattered, the one I kept pushing away when she was right there, was Alex. I’d had the chance, but instead, I shoved her away.
I fucked it up. Spectacularly.
So when the Beijing tournament wrapped, I disappeared. Just a quiet flight back to London, to the flat that finally felt too big, too still.
Now, with a rare breather before WTA Finals, laptop balanced on my knees, I was FaceTiming Bianca. She was glowing, practically bouncing as she angled the camera toward the table where she and William were in deep in the trenches of planning their engagement party.
“Okay, picture this,” Bianca said, flipping her iPad around so I could see a mood board. “Philippines. By the beach. Sunset, fairy lights strung between palm trees, everyone barefoot by the sand after dinner.” she glanced at William, who was nodding behind her.
“Of course,” I muttered with a grin. “Go big or go home, right?”
“Exactly!” Bianca beamed. “It’s not just for us, it’s about both families. His parents, his friends, my friends, our family. I want it to feel like a proper celebration. Intimate but… unforgettable, you know?”
She leaned closer to the camera, her voice softening. “We’re planning it right after the WTA Finals. That way you’ll actually be there, no excuses. All of us together. Nan, Dad, you, me, our whole family. And William’s parents, his sister, their friends. Just… complete.”
Her excitement was infectious, but it also left a lump in my throat. Everything she described sounded like a film scene.
“Well,” I said, pushing a smile, “wherever you have it, it’s going to be stunning. And I’ll be there, front row seat, clapping like a seal.”
“Good,” Bianca teased, eyes narrowing mischievously. “And maybe you’ll even bring someone as your plus-one.”
I nearly spat out my tea. “Ha-ha. Hilarious.”
She smirked knowingly, and I groaned, because Bianca was many things but subtle wasn’t one of them.
“But it would be nice, wouldn’t it? Sunset, champagne, music, and maybe you’re not standing around on your own while I’m busy being the center of attention.”
I groaned. “Bianca, please.”
She only smirked harder. “Just think about it.”
And the worst part was, I already was.
I let myself imagine it, Bianca married, our family together at the beach in the Philippines, laughter threading through the night air, the comfort of belonging to something steady. And me, maybe, finally daring to believe I could want something beyond the baseline.
ALEXANDRA
Singapore was hot enough to fry my brain cells before training even started. By the time I’d finished my first lap in the marina, the humidity had basically punched me in the throat. Great place for a debut T100, right?
But honestly, the heat wasn’t the hardest part. The hardest part was not thinking. Not letting my head drift where it wanted to, toward her.
Georgia, of course, looked like she’d just stepped out of an advert, all sun-kissed skin and easy confidence. She’d been part of the British team that more or less adopted me when I trained with them, and back then we used to compete against each other and chat after races. Somehow that rivalry turned into one of those friendships that stuck. Besides Cassandra, it was Georgia I kept closest, the one who could still rib me like no time had passed.
“Cadiz, you’re pacing like you’re being chased,” she called as I dragged myself onto the dock after a swim set. “It’s training, not a war zone.”
“It’s Singapore,” I panted, squeezing water out of my cap. “The war zone is the weather.”
She snorted and tossed me a towel. “You’ve been wired since we got here. What’s going on? First T100 jitters?”
I rolled my shoulders, pretending it was just lactic acid, not the mess of thoughts still shadowing me from Beijing. “Just want to be sharp. No half measures this time.”
That part was true.
