Chapter 2

I watched Samantha stare at the staff member in sheer panic.

Her lips twitched like she wanted to say something, but she remained frozen in place.

Studying the micro-expressions on her face, I didn't know whether to laugh or feel bitter.

Hearing about a crash, the media went into a frenzy. Tristan’s upset victory was already huge news, but an athlete going missing was front-page material.

Under the press's relentless badgering, the staff member reluctantly revealed:

"It's still under investigation. Drone footage captured a purple glider. The missing athlete should be pilot number six."

Hearing that, Samantha let out a massive sigh of relief.

After all, everyone knew I always flew under my signature black wing.

What they didn't know was that ten minutes before launch, I discovered a tear on my black canopy. Fearing it would compromise my safety, I swapped it for my purple backup.

And when I switched it out, Tristan had seen me with his own eyes.

Right now, Tristan stood quietly on the stage, his right hand idly rubbing the gold medal on his chest, a calculating glint in his eye.

Because of the accident, the awards ceremony was cut short. Samantha led Tristan away, hurrying off the grounds.

Once inside the car, she pulled out her phone and dialed my number.

The automated voice told her my phone was turned off.

Seeing her brow furrow, an indescribable feeling welled up inside me.

I always turned my phone off during competitions, but the very second I touched down, I would power it back on and text her that I was safe.

This was the only time—two whole hours after the race—that she had heard nothing from me.

Samantha hesitated for a moment, then typed out a text.

[Where are you? I told you I had my reasons. Stop being so dramatic.]

Before she could hit send, Tristan leaned over.

He smoothly slipped the phone from her fingers, cooing softly.

"Come on, put your phone away. I booked a table to celebrate. We should have a drink together, shouldn't we?"

Samantha’s frown didn't fade.

"Where do you think Logan went?"

"I only adjusted his release mechanism. With his skills, there's no way he'd end up in last place, right?"

Tristan reached out and pinched Samantha’s cheek, his face completely innocent.

"Logan is probably just throwing a tantrum. Since he couldn't get first place, he probably forfeited midway through. Let's just give him some space."

Saying that, Tristan sighed, adopting a wounded, pitiful look.

"It's all my fault. If it weren't for my illness, you wouldn't have messed with his gear for me. How about I go apologize and explain things to him later?"

Hearing his sweet words, Samantha’s lingering worry completely vanished.

"Don't say that. This has nothing to do with you! I know that with your talent and drive, winning gold was only a matter of time!"

"Samantha, you're the only person in this whole world who truly cares about me."

Tristan wrapped his arms around Samantha, whispering nauseating sweet-nothings into her ear.

Floating outside the car window, watching them cuddle against each other, pure disgust churned in my gut.

Samantha always claimed she wasn't the affectionate type and hated saying sweet words.

She told me we weren't horny teenagers anymore and didn't need to be all over each other.

Yet here she was in front of Tristan, acting like a woman I had never seen before.

In an instant, everything became painfully clear.

The problem had never been her personality. She just didn't love me.

In the quiet car, Tristan suddenly murmured,

"Samantha, if I hadn't gone abroad three years ago... would you still have married Logan?"