"I’m fine," I say immediately, because that’s what I always say.
She rolls her eyes so hard it’s almost impressive. "Are you honestly going to pretend you’re happy with the way you left things with Natalia?"
My stomach tightens.
Of course, she knows.
"You heard about that?" I ask, even though the question is pointless. Seattle is a small town when it comes to hockey. News travels faster than the puck.
"There were dozens of witnesses," she says. "And Scottie tells me you aren’t skating like yourself anymore."
I stare down at the glass in my hand because the alternative is looking at her and having her see too much.
"It has nothing to do with her," I say out of reflex, and I hate myself for it because even I can hear the lie.
Katerina leans forward slightly. "If you try to deflect and tell me this has nothing to do with her, you can forget the invite to Christmas next year at Scottie’s parents’ house. All extended-family privileges will be revoked until further notice."
I glance up at her. "Is that your threat?"
"It’s a good threat," she says, completely serious. "You love his mother’s cooking and you know it."
I exhale a short laugh despite myself, and the sound of it surprises me. It feels like it came from a place inside me I haven’t visited in days.
Then the humor drains.
"She lied to me," I say quietly.
Katerina’s expression softens just a fraction. "She made a mistake."
"She promised," I correct.
"She told the wrong person," Katerina says, patient but firm. "There is a difference, Luka, even if you don’t want there to be."
My jaw clenches. "She told her after I explicitly asked her not to tell anyone."
"Yes," Katerina agrees. "And that was wrong."
Finally… acknowledgment.
But it doesn’t soothe anything.
Because the part that still burns isn’t the fact that she talked. It’s the fact that she knew what that promise meant to me. She knew why I asked. She looked me in the eye in that chalet and swore she wouldn’t use it.
And then, twelve hours later, it was everywhere.
My name.
My story.
My vulnerability turned into a headline and a loophole, and a convenient narrative shift.
My stomach turns faintly, the familiar sensation of disgust that always comes when I remember how stupid I was to believe in anything for even a second.
"It showed me I can’t trust her," I say, voice flat.
Katerina studies me. "The problem is that you’re not just punishing her," she says finally. "You’re punishing yourself too."
I scoff quietly. "I thought you came here to report back to Penelope."
