“Next question.”
Another reporter asked about scoring trends and the room moved on.
I didn’t.
I kept my eyes on the moderator and resisted the urge to look at Mila. By the time the press conference ended, my shoulders ached from holding tension in place.
The hallway outside the media room felt strangely quiet after the barrage of lights and voices. The door swung shut behind us with a soft thud, muting the chaos instantly.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke, then Mila exhaled long and slow.
“Well, that was inevitable.”
I walked several steps ahead before stopping. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”
Her footsteps slowed behind me. “Like what?”
“On and off the ice.”
She studied me calmly, unruffled. “It’s true.”
I turned toward her. “They’re building something. You see that.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re helping them.”
Her expression sharpened. “I’m protecting you.”
“By letting them think?—”
“By giving them exactly enough,” she interjected.
Farther down the corridor, volunteers moved equipment past another media room, their footsteps echoing across the polished floor.
“You could have denied it,” I said.
“And forced them to look harder?” She arched her eyebrows. “Forced them to askwhy?”
I had no answer for that.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“If I say we’re only professional partners, they start searching for what’s missing. If I laugh it off, they become suspicious. If I hesitate, they speculate even more.” Her gaze held mine. “This way, they feel satisfied.”
The word sat badly inside me.
Mila tilted her head to one side. “You’re not angry. You’re afraid.”
I let out a breath. “Yes.”
“Of what?”
The answer came too quickly to stop. “Losing control of the story.”
Her expression was almost sad. “You never had control of it.”
My stomach clenched, and it ached to breath.
