Chapter Text
Chapter I
June, 2019 – Moscow, Rússia
"So you think of what to say
Then save it for another day
'Cause you just never had the heart
Now they just drift further apart
Extra, extra, read all about it
Malcolm's in his feelings and he can't get out of it"
— Malcolm Todd, Earrings
ALIONA KOSTORNAIA had an uncanny knack for raising Alexandra’s stress levels without even trying; she had mastered a triple Axel—a real triple Axel, not one of those that only worked once every ten tries. It was the kind she could land in competition, earning positive GOE and even drawing applause from the stands. The blonde skater had nearly won the Junior Grand Prix Final with it, and honestly? She deserved it.
Aliona had beautiful programs; she skated as if the music were a part of her and smiled right through her footwork sequences—on top of having that damn triple Axel. It was infuriating. Alexandra had her quads, and for the moment, they were still enough—but "still" was a dangerous word. What if, one day, they weren't enough anymore? She didn't like thinking about that, so she usually didn't. It worked well enough—until someone as annoying as Aliona came along to remind her that the rest of the world was evolving, too.
After all, no one was standing still, waiting for Alexandra Trusova to keep winning—not Aliona, not Anna, not anyone else in the world. The funny thing was, Aliona was actually a nice person—annoying, sure, but everyone annoyed Sasha a little. Did she talk too much? She did. Did Sasha sometimes wish for five minutes of silence? Absolutely. But training with her was fun, and so was competing against her.
They both wanted exactly the same thing, and that created a strangely comfortable rivalry; there was no fakeness to it. They would step onto the ice wanting to beat each other, and five minutes later, they’d be discussing which piece of music was best for the free skate. Alexandra understood that; she, too, would do whatever it took to be the best.
Perhaps that was the reason she was standing there, staring at an open cardboard box for nearly ten minutes without putting anything else inside. She couldn't go on like that anymore; she loved Sambo-70—truly loved it—having learned practically everything there. She had grown up listening to Eteri’s voice from across the rink, fallen countless times on that ice, and picked herself up every single time. Anyone claiming Eteri Tutberidze hadn't turned her into a champion would be lying, yet lately, Alexandra felt she was training hard but progressing little.
It was a hard feeling to explain: the quads were there, the results were there, but something was missing. She wanted more attention to detail; she wanted to work on components, interpretation, transitions... She wanted people to look at the program as a whole, not just the list of jumps; she wanted to be remembered as a skater, not just the girl who landed quads—though she did love being called "the rocket."
Maybe Plushenko could offer that—a sense of individuality—or maybe not, but she needed to find out; staying put simply because it was comfortable had never seemed like a good idea. Alexandra took a deep breath and closed another box.
Khrustalny was Russia’s most coveted skating school—renowned even on the world stage—but it also cast a massive shadow. She remembered watching the Olympics when she was younger; she remembered Yulia, then Evgenia—two practically perfect skaters. Yet, one finished fourth and the other came home with silver, despite an incredible program.
Alexandra didn’t want to find out what her own chapter in this story would look like; if she was going to make a mistake, she’d rather make it while trying to do things differently. Her eyes landed, almost involuntarily, on a framed photo atop the desk. It showed her and Anna—both still very young—holding medals that looked bigger than their faces, and Sasha let out a soft, amused snort.
What a terrible photo. Anna hated it because she said her hair looked weird in that style; Alexandra hated it because she’d lost a tooth just days before. Yet, neither of them ever threw it away. They had known each other for ten years—a long time, long enough to forget what life was like without Anna Shcherbakova around. Training without Anna, competing without Anna, coming home without finding Anna sprawled on the floor watching some stupid documentary while claiming she was "resting for afternoon practice."
She pressed her lips together. It was for the sake of skating—she needed to be absolutely clear on that—the move was for skating. Not because she was running away from anyone, least of all Anna; she just needed to discover who she was when Anna wasn't constantly by her side. It was a strange thought, Sasha admitted. They weren't joined at the hip—well, actually, they kind of were; they were like two peas in a pod—but that didn't mean anything. Now, even her own thoughts were a jumble; the blonde would much rather deal with Kumon worksheets than try to make sense of feelings—that was infinitely easier.
The transfer request had been submitted months ago—right after the World Junior gold—she had simply gone ahead and done it; in fact, she was basically already registered with the other club. She had spoken to her parents, her older brother, and Ilia—who remained her brother no matter what—letting them all know she was moving to St. Petersburg for figure skating. She had made the decision, plain and simple; the only person who still didn't know was the very one who mattered most, and that was ridiculous.
Sasha had managed to put off that conversation for nearly two months. First because she was tired, then because Anna was busy, then because there was a competition, then because... well, something more important always came up. It was amazing how many excuses a person could come up with when they didn't want to speak up. Left to her own devices, she wouldn't have mentioned it at all—the other girl surely must have noticed something was different and wondered about it—but Alexandra knew the transfer would be seen as one of the biggest stories in Russian skating that year, given the rivalry between Evgeni Plushenko and Eteri Tutberidze.
She glanced at the time on her phone screen. Anna was due to arrive any moment, and her stomach did a funny flip; she hated that feeling—it was exactly like the one she got before stepping onto the ice for a competition. The back door slammed—the route the other girl always took—and Alexandra heard the noise before even hearing the footsteps, closing her eyes for a second.
"Sasha?" Anna’s voice came from the hallway as she spotted the blonde. "Have you been here long?"
She gave a vague answer without really paying attention. When Anna appeared in the kitchen doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder and phone in hand, Alexandra simply grabbed her wrist.
"Come here."
"You're acting weird."
"Just come." She didn't wait for an answer; she walked down the hallway still holding the other girl's hand—Anna followed more out of habit than desire. Alexandra had done that since childhood; whenever she wanted to show something to someone, she would simply pull Anna along.
But this time, something was different; as soon as she entered the room, Alexandra closed the door. Anna looked around, taking in the boxes, the open suitcase on the bed, and the empty shelves. She frowned, locking eyes with Sasha after scanning the room.
"What the hell? Are you reorganizing the room?" Good question; Alexandra actually wished that was all it was. She took a deep breath, thinking about what she had written; she had rehearsed this conversation so many times that it was impossible to forget the words—yet, when the moment came, they simply vanished.
"I... I’m changing clubs." She spoke directly, her tone firm, and a heavy silence filled the room. Anna blinked once, then again, as if waiting for the rest of the sentence. "I’m moving to St. Petersburg."
Another silence followed—longer, much longer.
"...What do you mean?" The question came out quietly because she truly hadn't understood—as if she hadn't heard right. She was standing there, and it felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. She almost dropped the phone she was holding—silly as that was—and for a moment, she thought she’d lost her mind; it had to be the painkillers kicking in. A transfer? St. Petersburg? As far as she knew, Eteri Tutberidze was the best coach in Russia. Alexandra took another breath.
"I’m transferring to St. Petersburg to train with Plushenko."
It was strange; she had actually expected questions—maybe a "why?" or even an "are you crazy?"—given that the other girl was usually quiet. But Anna simply stared at her, motionless, as if her brain had hit pause. Her phone slowly slipped from her hand and dropped onto the bed, yet she didn't seem to notice.
"I’ve already sent the documents," Alexandra said, her voice quieter than she’d intended. "Everything’s all set." Anna just kept staring. "I’m moving when training starts there."
That was it—there was no turning back now; she’d said it, and it was done. Yet the feeling was completely different from what she’d imagined; there was no relief, only a strange emptiness. Anna finally blinked. Alexandra was transferring—moving to another city—and it was a done deal. She was leaving; that was the reality. Sasha was actually leaving her behind just when they were supposed to be together for their senior debut.
"You..." She stopped, searching for the right words, then tried again. "Are you serious?" Alexandra nodded; she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. Anna looked at the boxes. Then at Alexandra. Then back at the boxes, as if they might vanish if she stared at them long enough. "But... since when?"
"Since the World Juniors."
Anna frowned and did the math. It took a few seconds, and then her eyes widened.
"Wait, that was three months ago?"
"About two months, actually..."
Two months—two months of sharing training sessions, lunches, a car, and a couch—and absolutely nothing of that conversation had slipped out; two months of silence, only for her to find out just now. Anna laughed—a small, joyless laugh.
“Anya...”
“No, you’re going to listen to me now. You had two months to tell me—TWO MONTHS, Alexandra! Where’s the consideration for our friendship?! Damn it, I spent ten years by your side—skating alongside you, giving you massages when you were in pain, listening to you complain about the coaches—and then, just when things are finally working out for us in skating, when we’re doing it together, you decide to leave overnight. And to Saint Petersburg, of all places, Alexandra! What’s in Saint Petersburg?! Just snow and those wretched Angels of Plushenko!” She raised a hand. She needed to gather her thoughts before hearing any answer, because, at that moment, every possible response seemed bad.
Was it because of Eteri Georgievna? It couldn't be. She was the best coach; she did everything for them. She was demanding, sure, but she did everything for them—and sometimes she’d smile and hug them, which was great. So why would she transfer? Why? What the hell happened? What could it be? Shcherbakova was pretty sure she wasn't such a bad friend that Alexandra would need to move away—even if she could be a bit annoying sometimes.
But had she actually done something all those months ago? Anna didn't know—she didn't know a thing—because Alexandra hadn't told her a damn thing about skating lately. She had no idea why she and Sasha had suddenly stopped being the best of friends. Now, after this transfer, they’d probably never be friends again—but why was this happening?
Alexandra, taken aback by this outburst from Anna—something that had never happened before coming from the brunette—simply remained silent.
“So, tell me: did I do something? Or are you just going to stay quiet for the rest of your life now that you're leaving?" The question slipped out before she could hold it back, making Alexandra’s eyes widen.
“What?"
“Did I do something?" She shrugged, trying to calm herself down, but failed miserably. "I don't know—you tell me. Did I piss you off? Did I say something stupid? Did you just get tired of me?"
“Anna..."
“Because I'm trying to understand you, and I really just can't."
“This has nothing to do with you."
"Are you sure? It sure looks like it does."
“I am. I just... I think I need to try something different. A change of scenery."
Anna lowered her eyes; it was an answer, just not the one she wanted to hear. Shcherbakova bowed her head for a few seconds; she wanted to believe it—she really did—but it was hard. The way she saw it, people didn't move to another city for "something different"; they moved because something stopped working—like when she left Ryazan for better conditions—she just didn't know what was behind Sasha's move.
She didn't even notice when the tears started to fall—first a solitary one, followed by another. Damn it, she hated crying in front of others, especially in front of Sasha. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her Nike jacket, as if that would solve anything. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard she was certain she might have a heart attack at any moment; it was a mix of anger and sadness, and she felt dizzy—and Alexandra didn't know what to do.
It was strange; she had seen Anna cry before, obviously—since the dark-haired girl wasn't made of iron—but never because of *her*. And, honestly, she much preferred it when the problem was a sprain or a fall on the ice; at least those things could be fixed in most cases.
“Are you still going to talk to me?"
“What?"
“Texting...” It was a stupid question; Anna was kind of an idiot. The dark-haired girl sniffled, looking a bit annoyed with herself for crying like that. “Are you still going to send messages?”
“Sure, every day, if you want.”
Anna let out a muffled laugh.
“ You usually take three hours to reply.”
“Because I forget.”
“Exactly.”
They fell silent. Anna looked up, and Alexandra was still there—at least for the moment, she was the same old Sasha. Her hair was tied back haphazardly, and she was wearing an old workout tee; she probably had no idea how much the situation hurt—or maybe it hurt her too, only Alexandra showed those things differently.
“It’ll be as if nothing had changed,” she added, almost in a whisper. Anna took a deep breath.
“Everything is going to change,” she murmured. How could it not?
It was the first time since the conversation began that Alexandra had no reply, because Anna was right. Training would change, the routine would change; birthdays and competitions would no longer be trips taken together but would instead find them on opposite sides of the same rink. She hated admitting it, but things would change—a lot.
Alexandra walked over to her without really thinking; she had never been good with words, so she did the only thing she knew how to do: she wrapped Anna in a hug. At first, the dark-haired girl stood motionless, as if still processing everything, but then she hugged Alexandra back tightly. Alexandra felt Anna’s face pressed against her shoulder, tears wetting her T-shirt, and a single tear rolled down her own cheek. They stayed like that for a few seconds—or maybe minutes; neither could have said for sure. Both were losing their best friend—their first best friend.
“You can still visit me," Alexandra said almost automatically. "During the holidays... or..." She stopped, realizing how stupid that sounded.
“Sasha."
“Hm?"
“Do you really think I’m going to take a train to St. Petersburg every weekend?" Alexandra grimaced.
“Not every weekend..."
“I have practice."
“Me too."
Silence fell again; Anna wiped her face—she was still crying, but now she seemed less desperate.
“So, that’s it?" Alexandra took a few seconds to answer.
“I guess so."
guess. She had never hated that word so much, because it implied there was still a chance to turn back—and there wasn't. Anna took one last look at the boxes scattered around the room; it was funny—that morning, they had just been boxes, but now they seemed like a final sign that it was all over. She took a deep breath, catching the scent of Sasha’s perfume.
“Good luck in St. Petersburg." Alexandra gave a faint smile.
“Thanks."
“But I’m still going to beat you one day."
“In your dreams."
“You’ll see."
“You’re the one who will."
They both smiled—a small smile, the kind that appears when the only alternative is to start crying again.
Then Anna left the room, closing the door slowly, while Alexandra remained standing where she was. The silence seemed vast—bigger than the entire mansion. She looked at the photo still sitting on the desk—the two of them as little girls, holding medals that were far too big—and carefully placed the frame into the last box. Only then did she realize she was truly crying, too, and it really sucked.
They had to part ways; it was for the best—for both Anna and Alexandra.
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July de 2009– Moscow, Russia
THE EARLY MORNING SUN bathed Moscow in a golden glow that made it obvious summer had arrived, accompanied by a cool breeze. Or maybe that was just Anna Shcherbakova’s impression as she clutched the hem of her mother’s uniform so tightly that her small fingers were already starting to ache. It was only Irina’s third week working at the Trusov mansion, but it was the first time she had brought Anna along, and that alone was enough to fill her stomach with nervousness, even if, at six years old, she couldn’t quite understand why it felt so serious. Until then, she had just been a little girl from Ryazan.
“Calm down, sweetheart. Just behave.” Her mother gently stroked her freshly combed brown hair.
The Trusov residence was enormous—not enormous like the buildings in Moscow, but enormous in a different way, like the castles from those darn books her teacher used to show in her old school. The white walls gleamed beneath the sunlight, the golden details looked as if they had been made from real gold (maybe they actually were), and the enormous windows draped with burgundy curtains convinced Anna that there had to be at least fifty people living inside, maybe even more. Rich people probably needed lots of space and lots of people to take care of all their rich people things.
She was so busy taking everything in that she barely noticed when the glass doors opened. A very tall man appeared before them, dressed in an impeccable suit. Anna had to tilt her head way back just to see his face, framed by a thick beard and a few missing strands of hair on the top of his head.
“Good morning, Mrs. Irina. The masters are waiting for you in the living room.”
“Good morning, Vlad. Thank you.” The woman nodded as she stepped inside, Anna following close behind. Crossing the entrance was almost as frightening as standing outside it. Even the paintings looked too expensive. Anna was certain she would accidentally step on something valuable and end up locked away in some secret dungeon beneath the mansion. “Don’t stare at everything.”
“But it’s so big.”
“Anna.”
“Okay, okay.”
Only a few more steps brought them to the main sitting room. A large burgundy sofa occupied most of the space, with four people seated upon it. Svetlana and Aleksandr Trusov sat together at one end. The man wore a neutral expression made even sterner by his blue eyes, unlike his wife’s green ones, which matched her calm demeanor. Still, Anna’s attention was stolen by their two children. The boy looked normal enough, with a friendly smile and the same blond hair as his parents. The girl, on the other hand… she looked as though she were attending a business meeting, carrying her father’s eyes in her mother’s color.
Sitting perfectly straight, hands resting on her lap and wearing an expression far too serious for someone who was probably Anna’s age, Alexandra Trusova stared into space as if contemplating matters of the utmost importance. Anna didn’t know exactly why, but she found herself more afraid of the girl than of any of the adults present. She hid a little farther behind her mother’s legs.
It made sense. If this house was a castle, then Alexandra had to be some kind of princess.
A very strange princess.
Her mother gently guided her forward before she could think about it any longer, offering a subtle bow. All four stood to greet them, but Mr. Trusov’s phone suddenly rang. After exchanging a few quick words with his wife, he disappeared down a hallway with the device in hand. The effect was immediate: the blond boy sighed in relief, while the girl remained exactly the same.
“Good morning, Irina. I’m so glad you came.” Svetlana smiled.
“Thank you for receiving my daughter and me, Mrs. Trusova.”
“There’s no need for that.” She offered a gentle smile before turning toward her children, prompting them to wave. “Those are Ilia, whom you’ve probably already met, and Alexandra. I assume this is Anna.”
Feeling everyone’s eyes on her, Anna slowly stepped out from behind her mother and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Just ‘yes’?” Svetlana asked, amused.
“Yeah. Anna. Uh-huh.”
“Anna what?”
“You asked who I was.” For a brief moment, the room fell silent. Then the boy let out a muffled laugh. Even Mrs. Trusova seemed surprised by the little girl’s honesty.
“Fair enough.”
Anna didn’t understand what she’d said that was funny. Adults were weird.
That was when she noticed Alexandra looking at her. It wasn’t an angry look, but it didn’t seem friendly either. It was more like she was studying something, trying to decide whether Anna was interesting or not. It made her deeply uncomfortable.
“Sasha, sweetheart, could you take Anna to the playroom?” The blonde frowned ever so slightly.
“But you said I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” she asked quietly, earning a reproachful glance from her mother while Ilia immediately burst into laughter.
“She’s not a stranger.”
“She still is.”
“Sasha.”
“Just go already, shorty. Mom needs to sort some things out in private. You can show her your dolls while you’re at it.” Her brother ruffled her long hair before gently nudging her toward Anna. Judging by the blonde’s expression, she clearly still disagreed.
“Come.”
Anna cast one last glance at her mother, who gave her an encouraging nod. She didn’t have much choice except to follow Alexandra upstairs. The other girl’s little hands were strangely cold compared to Anna’s warm ones, and that immediately set her imagination racing.
Could she be an ice princess?
The theory seemed even more believable when the playroom door opened.
Anna simply stopped.
The room was gigantic. There were dolls, stuffed animals, shelves packed with toys, books, games, and even a tiny toy kitchen. At the back, a section with mirrors and ballet barres reminded her of the dance studios she’d only ever seen on television. For several seconds, she completely forgot how to speak.
Alexandra watched her quietly. The night before, Ilia had tried to explain why this girl would be coming to the mansion. Honestly, Sasha hadn’t understood much of it. Apparently, the adults wanted her to make friends with someone. It seemed like a strange idea, considering she already had siblings. Even so, this girl seemed fascinated by things Alexandra saw every single day.
It was… interesting. It almost felt addictive to watch the brunette, and she knew Anna was probably thinking the same thing about staring at her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t keep looking.
“Hi,” Anna finally said.
“Hi.” The answer was followed by silence, as though the blonde expected Anna to say something else.
“You’re not going to say anything more?”
“I already said ‘hi.’”
“Oh.” Another silence. “I’m Anna.”
“I know. My mom told me.” Alexandra walked over to a shelf and rose onto the tips of her toes to reach one of the higher drawers. A few seconds later, she pulled out a plastic dinosaur.
“What kind of dinosaur is that?”
“A Velociraptor.” The brunette studied the toy carefully.
“It looks like a chicken. Really weird.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does. Uh-huh.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It really does.”
“You’ve never seen a Velociraptor.”
“And have you?” Alexandra opened her mouth to argue back. She thought for a second. Then closed it again.
“No.”
“Then maybe it does look like a chicken. Bears are way better than green chickens.”
The blonde narrowed her eyes.
“You’re annoying.”
“My mom says that too.”
For the first time in their relationship, Sasha smiled. Maybe the ice princess wasn’t all that scary after all. Alexandra was a reclusive and very serious child, as though she were trying to become an adult before her time, as though she copied the mannerisms of Alexsei, the eldest son of the family, or of her parents. But perhaps, with Anna, she would finally let the mask slip.
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June, 2019 – Moscow, Russia
“— HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.” Aliona’s voice cut through the locker room in three sharp bursts, making Anna lift her eyes from her skates, blinking slowly.
She had never really noticed how loud Kostornaia could be, maybe because it was usually funny, but today it only made her headache throb even harder. After two hours of listening to Eteri repeat that a bad Lutz was still a bad Lutz, no matter how many times you insisted on it, any sound louder than a whisper felt like an assault.
“Look at this.” The phone was practically shoved into her face, and it took the brunette a few seconds to focus on the screen.
Alexandra Trusova is leaving Team Tutberidze and will join Angels of Plushenko: End of contract with Eteri Tutberidze… or something more?
She blinked again, not exactly out of surprise, but because it was strange to see something that had already been part of her life become a headline for the rest of the country, officially.
Sometimes Anna wondered how she’d ended up there—not at Team Tutberidze, long before that. How the hell had some random girl from Ryazan ended up sharing hallways, schools, family parties, and practically half her childhood with one of the richest families in Moscow—and even in Russia? Of course she knew. She recognized her mother’s effort in all of it. Irina had worked for the Trusovas for years. She worked until her body simply stopped keeping up with her determination, then came the cancer and the leave of absence.
Still, she couldn’t lie. Without a doubt, she owed part of all that—or at least some gratitude—to Mr. and Mrs. Trusova. She owed them more than she liked to admit, and even worse… she owed part of it all to Alexandra Trusova herself. It was still strange to think that, despite being the daughter of a housekeeper born in Ryazan, Anna had grown up with access to the best places alongside Sasha, visiting places she never would have imagined alongside Sasha, and studying at one of the best schools in Russia alongside Sasha. All because she was Sasha’s entertainment. Damn, that was a lot of Sashas.
But then again… what could she have done? Sasha liked her. She simply liked having her around and let herself be a child. While the rest of the world saw an absurdly serious and withdrawn little girl, as if she were trying to become an adult before her time, as if she copied every mannerism of Alexsei Trusova, the family’s eldest son, or of her father, Anna knew the other version. Around the brunette, Alexandra ran through the hallways, laughed louder, smiled more, invented stupid games, and did the kinds of things that, apparently, normal children did. That somehow made Svetlana’s eyes light up, and she started seeing Anna like a little pet for her daughter, so she was kind of bought (not literally).
Anna could never say when she stopped being “the employee’s daughter” and became almost a permanent fixture in the house. Aleksandr Trusova and Svetlana Trusova had nearly taken her away from her own mother, even after Irina had been forced to leave work because of her cancer. Even so, Anna slept there, ate there, traveled with them, and received birthday presents her mother could never have afforded. All under the promise that Anna would have a good future because they liked her, that she would make valuable connections—a promise they kept.
They just forgot to tell her that, despite being among them, Shcherbakova wasn’t and never would be one of them. She would always be one step behind. She was part of the family… until she wasn’t anymore. She remained the girl who appeared in memories, a shadow always lingering in the background, never showing up in the official family photos. And it was precisely because of that certainty, and because of the phone being held up in front of her, that the brunette came to one conclusion:
Alexandra Trusova had fucked up her life.
“Wow…” Her voice came out quietly, trying to keep an expression of surprise. “So it’s really true, huh?”
Aliona dropped onto the bench beside her.
“That explains Eteri’s mood this week.” She made a face. “I mean… leaving Eteri, especially for Plushenko? Who does that? Does the guy still skate or does he coach? I can never remember.”
“But that’s just how it is, Aliona. Let her stay with her new club. Everyone knows what’s best for themselves.”
“Oh, come on.” Aliona crossed her arms. “You’re talking like you’re commenting on the weather forecast.”
“And what did you want me to say?”
“Anything.” Anna shrugged.
“Oh, look what she posted on her Instagram.” She lifted the phone again, showing several pictures of Alexandra with her coaches, along with a caption.
“This decision was not easy for me. I am leaving my coaching team in search of a new environment. A huge thank you to Eteri Georgievna, Daniil Markovich, and Sergey Viktorovich for the journey we shared together. Thank you for the incredible programs, for all our victories, and for the tremendous experience I gained by your side. I deeply respect and endlessly appreciate everything that was done for me. I wish you and your athletes nothing but the best.”
“Then good luck to her.”
It was a good answer. Aliona stared at her face for a few seconds. Then she sighed.
“Since Sashulya won’t be giving you rides anymore… my mom can stop by your house.”
“No need.” No need, especially because I don’t want to set foot in that place… She went back to putting away her skate guards. “I’ll walk.”
“Are you sure?” Aliona knew something was wrong—not everything, but enough to notice when Anna was lying. She just didn’t want the hard part of it. In the end, people always settled for the easy part.
“I am.”
“Alright.” Kostornaia stood up. “Text me when you get home, gorgeous.”
“I will.” She wouldn’t.
She waited for the door to close, and the locker room fell silent again—too silent.
“It’ll be like nothing ever changed.”
Anna let out a weak laugh. Alexandra was a lying bitch. She was terrible at lying. Everything had changed, not necessarily because she’d decided to switch clubs, but because, for the first time in ten years, Anna realized she no longer had a place to return to when practice was over. She couldn’t blame Alexandra for the fact that she’d have to sleep now, after another brutal day of training, on the fucking benches of a locker room.
Maybe the Trusovas wouldn’t even mind if she stayed. Maybe they’d even insist that she keep coming around. But she didn’t want to stay there after that argument. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. That house had never been hers. It wasn’t her place. It had taken her ten years to understand that, but she’d figure something out.
She ran a hand over her aching ankle. It throbbed so much, but it wasn’t that bad. Pain meant it was still intact. Eteri said that all the time. If it hurt, you could still work.
Anna took a deep breath. She was a good skater, wasn’t she? She needed to believe that now. She had to be good enough to earn a scholarship, good enough to get into that sports boarding school, good enough to secure a dorm room, a routine, a life that depended only on her. No favors. No living off a surname that wasn’t hers. And she didn’t want to be a burden to her mother.
Alexandra had chosen a different path to become the best skater in Russia, and that was fine. Anna would choose hers. She just had to win. She just had to become the best. And this time, she would. The rest… the rest she’d learn later, in her new beginning. And honestly? Compared to all of that, what was a sprained ankle if not a small problem?
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Same week, 2019 – Saint Petesburg, Russia
THE SKY OVER ST. PETERSBURG was different from Moscow’s for some reason. Maybe it was the low clouds that seemed to swallow the buildings, maybe the constant humidity, the wind coming from the Gulf of Finland, or simply the fact that the city still meant nothing to Alexandra. All she knew was that something was missing.
It had been a little over a week since the move, and her days had become an exhausting sequence of assembling furniture, organizing boxes, and figuring out where her mother had decided to put every single utensil in the enormous apartment she’d insisted on buying. She still wasn’t used to waking up without hearing the staff moving around the house, without any of the dogs barging into her room to annoy her first thing in the morning, without the familiar noise of her entire family. And, as much as she tried to ignore that specific detail… she missed Anna Shcherbakova.
That was actually pretty irritating, more irritating than admitting she missed Moscow, more irritating than living alone for the first time at sixteen. Because Anna was exactly the person she needed to forget. The two of them had to stop mixing things together. They had ambitions that were far too big to keep living for each other. Champion skaters couldn’t depend on a friendship like that. Sooner or later, this was bound to happen, so it was better if it happened now.
Anna was always surrounded by people, talking to every athlete, laughing with everyone, seeming to make friends within five minutes. She was far too extroverted. She had probably already completely forgotten Alexandra’s absence, and honestly… maybe that was for the best.
Sasha wasn’t helping herself get over it either. Every day she opened their chat, typed something, then erased it just to type something else. Sometimes it was just a “Hi.” Other times it was an entire paragraph complaining about St. Petersburg, the empty apartment, the terrible food she made for herself—because she hated cooking and missed the housekeepers—or about how much she hated assembling wardrobes, but she never sent anything. It was ridiculous, the biggest stupidity to keep thinking about that dark-haired girl as if she were still part of her routine. Ridiculous to imagine Anna might miss her just as much.
She had probably already found other company, other girls. The thought made her stomach sink before she even realized where her mind was going. It was impossible not to remember the exact day she’d found out Anna liked girls, and how strange that had been.
She remembered it perfectly. It was after the Junior Grand Prix Final gala exhibition, when Alexandra had wanted nothing more than to disappear from that arena. There were too many lights, too many people, too many athletes, and everyone talked as though it were the most natural thing in the world while she remained leaning against a wall, pretending to be interested in something. Without Anna nearby, she didn’t really know what to do. She never had. So she was nothing more than an observer in that shitty place.
“Wait for me five minutes, Sashulya.”
Anna had said that before leaving, but five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. When Alexandra got tired of waiting, she decided to go look for her, but halfway there she gave up. She simply needed to breathe.
She walked through the back hallways until she found the exit leading to the parking lot, where the cold night air finally muffled the noise of the arena, and took a deep breath. That was when her eyes found Anna, kissing Anastasia—practically swallowing her whole. For a second, Alexandra simply froze, recognizing Shcherbakova first, then recognizing Anastasia, another skater, someone she’d competed against at the Russian Championships months earlier.
Only then did everything else hit. Her fingers went stiff, her chest tightened, the ground felt strange beneath her feet, as though she’d forgotten how to stand, her knees turning to jelly. She should’ve left immediately. She should have. But she simply kept staring until Anna was the one who noticed her presence, her brown eyes widening .
“Sasha…”
Nothing came out. She couldn’t answer. Alexandra even tried, but her throat locked up. She simply couldn’t speak. Her fists clenched automatically, unable to hide the slight tremor running through her arms, and she turned away, beginning to walk aimlessly through the parking lot. The freezing air burned her lungs, and her throat felt too tight to let her feelings out.
“Sasha! Wait!”
She pretended not to hear. The footsteps behind her sped up. A few seconds later, Anna grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Her face was still red, maybe because of the cold, maybe because of something else.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”
Alexandra stared at her for a few seconds, seeing the tense expression, the furrowed eyebrows, and the slightly parted pink lips.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I said I needed to take care of something here and…”
“Not that!”
She pointed behind them, where Anastasia had already disappeared. Anna followed the gesture. Then she looked back at her.
“That!”
“Oh…”
“You kissed Anastasia.”
Anna stayed silent for a moment, then a small smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
“Because I… think I like girls. Is that a problem?”
Alexandra swallowed hard.
“I… didn’t like seeing that.”
The smile grew.
“No?”
Anna tilted her head slightly.
“Why? Want me to kiss you too?”
Alexandra took an entire step back.
“What?!”
The heat rushed to her face so quickly it seemed impossible for it to be that cold, and Anna burst into laughter. What the fuck was that?
“Relax, I’m joking, Sasha. I’m not going to kiss you.”
Of course she kept laughing while Alexandra tried to remember how breathing normally worked. Then Anna took a deep breath and asked again, this time with a much calmer voice.
“So why didn’t you like seeing me with Anastasia?”
Because I don’t want to see you kissing anyone.
The answer came immediately, but she didn’t want to repeat that she didn’t want to see Anna with anyone, because that would sound strange, and she was afraid that kind of honesty would hurt the brunette.
“Because you’re just like Ilia. And Ilia is a problem. You know that.”
Anna’s smile faded, though her expression remained gentle. She didn’t seem to care much about it, about any possible consequences of kissing girls. But Alexandra worried about both of them, and she didn’t like it.
“Well, I think your brother’s a really great person, and people like him. You like him too. So what’s the problem?”
Anna watched Alexandra for a few seconds before slowly reaching out, taking her hand and gently holding her fingers. Her touch was light, almost careful.
“Sasha…”
“I just think it’s dangerous.” Her voice came out quietly. “People talk.”
“They’ll always talk. I don’t care about that.”
“You could get hurt.”
“Are you worried about me?” Anna smiled again, this time without a trace of irony.
Alexandra looked away. Of course she was worried, but this was different, very different. Because whenever Anna greeted some boy from Sambo-70 with a kiss on the cheek, Alexandra never cared. Not once. With Anastasia… it had felt like being punched.
The pieces started falling into place right then, even if she still refused to look at the whole picture. Anna noticed the silence, and, as she almost always did, decided not to pressure her. She simply stepped forward and hugged Alexandra without asking for an explanation, without insisting, just hugged her, and then took her hand again.
“Shall we?”
Alexandra simply nodded, and the two of them walked back to the rink as though nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
The persistent vibration of her phone pulled Alexandra out of the memory. She blinked a few times before returning to the empty apartment. The conversation with Anna disappeared from her mind, replaced by her mother’s messages.
Svetlana Trusova Mom ♥
Hey, sweetheart?
Everything okay???
Let me know if anything happens.
Alexandra took a deep breath before replying.
Everything’s great here.
The apartment really is huge.
Tomorrow I’ll see the rink.
Everything’s under control.
Svetlana Trusova Mom ♥
Okay ♥ )
That was it.
Sasha smiled faintly. It was so like her mother.
She left the conversation without thinking much about it. Her finger slid across the screen out of pure habit, stopping on “Annushka 🧸♥︎.” It had been weeks since the last message. She stared at the contact photo for a few seconds, long enough for her brain to come up with dozens of reasons to send something. “I got here safely.” “The rink here is huge.” “You’d hate this minimalist apartment.”
She took a deep breath.
“Stop being an idiot, Sasha.” Her voice sounded quiet in the empty apartment. “Just do what needs to be done already.”
Before she could change her mind, she blocked the number, then deleted the contact, opened every social media app and unfollowed her everywhere. When she was done, she tossed her phone onto the couch and remained staring at the ceiling. Her chest still felt heavy. None of those actions made Anna disappear from her mind, but champions couldn’t afford the luxury of living distracted.
If that was the price of winning…
Then she would learn to pay it.
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THE ANGELS OF PLUSHENKO RINK had absolutely nothing fucking special about it. It was just ice, ice scarred by hundreds of skate blade marks, surrounded by the smell of rubber skate guards and the constant echo of jumps being landed. Even so… Alexandra stood at the entrance for a few seconds, her eyes wandering across the entire rink.
The younger skaters practiced simple sequences, some fell, while others worked on spins. Farther back, a pairs team repeated lifts while a coach shouted corrections in Russian. It was different, not worse, just… different from what she was used to, while at the same time feeling so much the same.
For a moment, her mind drifted back to Khrustalny. She could almost see Anna gliding along the other side of the rink while Eteri watched everything in dissatisfied silence. She could even picture Aliona saying something stupid to break the tension, like that time she put glitter on Georgievna’s whistle, a memory that came easily and disappeared just as quickly. She wasn’t there anymore.
She took a deep breath. If she’d already chosen to leave, then she would make that choice worth it. Even if she had to destroy her own body training, like she’d done countless times before. It was part of the sport.
“Your training plans.” Plushenko’s voice made everyone turn toward the blond man as he walked between the athletes, handing out several sheets of paper. “Most of you will start together, then I’ll separate you. I want to see who really learns here.” Alexandra took the sheet but didn’t even finish looking at it before he kept walking. “You should’ve already received your diet plans, and from what I’ve heard and seen, you’re all in great shape…”
Alexandra glanced at the other skaters beside her, standing in a loose semicircle around the coach. She knew exactly what she had to do: practice, practice, and practice until she became even better. She needed to train, so she had no time for pleasantries or motivation. She stared at the ice almost involuntarily, only half-listening to the instructions. A few minutes later, she headed out to begin practice.
“More speed!” Plushenko’s voice carried across the entire rink. “Don’t jump upward! Go forward! Again.” She tried once more. “No, watch your shoulders.” Again. “Still not.”
Alexandra watched as she tightened her skates. How many times was that girl going to repeat it? She knew the answer: however many it took until it was flawless, and that made sense. Once she finally stepped onto the ice, it didn’t take long before she reached the jumps.
“Sasha! More pressure on the entry.” She tried again. “No, you’ve got more than that.” Again. “Better, again.”
There was no room for pride. The medals she had already won had already been earned. Now she had to earn new ones. Time for repetition. Then another. Another. Another. Sweat ran down her body despite the cold rink, and her legs were beginning to feel heavy. For the first time in weeks without being able to focus or really train… she felt like she was actually learning something.
Plushenko talked a lot about Sambo’s technique, about height, economy of movement, using less strength and more efficiency, but sometimes it almost seemed like he simply wanted to criticize Eteri’s work. Alexandra hated admitting it whenever someone criticized the place where she’d grown up.
But… some of the corrections really did make a difference. Her axis felt steadier, the landings on her Lutz no longer seemed so violent, even her quads came more naturally, with less desperation. It was strange to realize she still had so much left to learn. It was good. If there was still something left to learn… she could still become much better than Anna. The unpleasant thought appeared on its own, making her bite her lower lip.
The first two weeks passed almost exactly the same: endless hours of training, the gym, analyzing videos, sleeping those few hours that always felt insufficient, studying, then training all over again. She watched recordings of her own jumps during lunch, watched old competitions, watched Nathan, Yuzuru, Kaori, and even kept up with news about Anna… not that she liked admitting it. Whenever she caught herself doing it, she’d close the video while cursing under her breath. She didn’t need that, she didn’t miss her, and she didn’t give a single fuck about how Shcherbakova was doing. That was a lie. The truth was, she did care.
She missed their stupid arguments about music, Anna complaining whenever she insisted on playing Genshin late into the night, hearing someone tell her to slow down before she ended up breaking a bone, something. Now… there was only silence in the apartment, and ice. Maybe it was better that way. Champions didn’t need distractions. That’s what Alexei said. That’s what her father said. So she believed it.
“Ah, Zhenya.” Plushenko raised a hand. “Come here.”
Alexandra lifted her head when she noticed the interaction. A dark-haired young man skated over to the group: Evgeni Semenenko. She knew him from competitions. She watched practically every championship she could; figure skating was the only sport she truly followed. It was her life. She breathed it. She knew who he was, she knew his results, and she knew he skated extremely well.
And… unfortunately… he smiled with that same easy smile Anna gave every stranger, his canines clearly visible. Alexandra looked away immediately, feeling her stomach twist.
She’d managed to spend nearly two whole weeks speaking only to Plushenko and his assistants. It had been perfect. Alexandra arrived, trained until everything hurt, and then left. Until that idiot Semenenko decided to ruin it.
“Hey, Sasha!” She skated away, but the boy skated right alongside her, all smiles and bright eyes. Sasha rolled her eyes. “Are you liking it here so far?”
“I’m training.”
“So that’s a yes?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she went into the setup for her Lutz. It was already easy enough, but she wanted it to be flawless in every aspect. She took a breath, gathered speed, and landed it cleanly, better every single time.
When she turned to repeat the jump… he was still there, smiling as if he hadn’t just been brushed off. What a strange guy. She wasn’t going to talk to Zhenya about anything beyond what was necessary. Besides, why would he care what she thought of the place? It was definitely none of his business.
She finished practice and looked at Zhenya. Every hour she had to spend around him irritated her. She didn’t like talking to boys who landed their stupid jumps while refusing to believe women were just as capable. Semenenko smiled at her, showing his white teeth, and waved. Sasha rolled her eyes and headed to the gym.
The next day, out of nowhere, the young man asked: “Do you have a favorite book?” Sasha looked at Evgeni, sighed, and put on her headphones. His smile never faltered, not even a little, not even when Sasha simply skated away without saying a word. He really was a lot like Anna, always talking. It was probably because of that that he’d finished second at the Russian Cup.
Another day.
“Favorite movie?” Silence.
Another one.
“Sashenka! Wait!” Sasha rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice but didn’t slow down on the ice. Evgeni was beside her in a second. Sometimes Sasha wasn’t even sure whether Semenenko actually trained at the same hours she did. “You must have a favorite game!” he exclaimed, skating ahead of her, spinning before gliding right in front of her with a grin. “Tell me!”
Sasha had a few movies she liked. She liked playing Genshin Impact with Anna, and she liked it when Ilia invited her to play a match of Fortnite. But Evgeni was simply annoying, so annoying that Sasha rolled her eyes once again and skated away.
She finally answered: “We’re training.”
“I’ve never heard of that game,” he said after thinking for two seconds. Alexandra closed her eyes, took a breath, and counted to three. Then she threw a Quad Toe so high she even heard Plushenko shout, “That’s it!” from the other side of the rink. Much better than talking.
She didn’t like meaningless conversations.
Even so… as the days passed, she started noticing something. Semenenko didn’t keep insisting because he wanted to bother her. He simply… was like that. He talked to everyone, greeted the younger skaters, helped people when they fell, and chatted while warming up.
He was annoyingly friendly, almost enough to make her wonder how anyone could have that much energy at five in the morning. Almost, but only almost. She still preferred the sharp sound of blades cutting through the ice to the sound of any conversation. Because as long as she was training, exhausted, and aching from head to toe… it was impossible to miss anyone, and in that moment, forgetting Anna for a few minutes already felt like a small victory. Sometimes she wished with all her strength that she had never, ever met Anna Shcherbakova.