Chapter 1

At 5:30 AM, my alarm hadn't even gone off yet, and I was already awake. Ten years of swim training had given me a biological clock as precise as an atomic timepiece.

The Los Angeles Olympic Training Center was eerily quiet before dawn. I slipped into my training suit, threw on my Stanford team jacket, grabbed my goggles, and headed out the door.

"Faye! Wait up!"

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Caspian Brooks, my training partner since I was eight, UCLA's gymnastics star, and the guy I'd been secretly crushing on for ten years—though that's a secret I'd take to my grave.

"You're late again," I said without looking back, though I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips.

"Only three minutes," he panted, jogging up beside me, his messy blond hair still uncombed. "Besides, I was practicing until eleven last night. This new pommel horse routine is driving me insane."

We walked toward the training area together.

"Speaking of which, isn't there some big announcement today?" Caspian asked as we walked. "I saw media vans in the parking lot."

"Who knows," I shrugged. "Probably just some new training equipment promo."

The pool area was brightly lit, with a few early swimmers already warming up. I stripped off my jacket and adjusted my goggles. The water surface was mirror-smooth, like a massive sheet of blue glass waiting to be shattered.

'Today I'm going to swim my best time,' I told myself. The Olympic trials were only two months away—every training session counted.

"Go get 'em, Faye!" Caspian gave me a thumbs up before jogging toward the gymnastics hall.

I took a deep breath and dove in.

The water enveloped me, and the world instantly went quiet. This was my favorite moment—no noise, no pressure, just me and the water having a conversation. I started with butterfly stroke, my specialty. Each stroke was precise and powerful, each breath perfectly timed.

I glanced at the timer as I touched the wall, and my heart skipped a beat. 0.3 seconds faster than last year!

"Faye! Did you see that time?" the coach yelled from poolside. "That's definitely competitive for Olympic trials!"

I swam to the edge and pulled off my goggles. Caspian had appeared in the stands at some point, probably taking a break from his own training session, sweaty but grinning from ear to ear.

He jumped down from the stands and walked to the pool edge. "That looked fast as hell. We've been saying since we were kids that we'd stand on the Olympic podium together, and now it's actually going to happen."

"Remember our pact when we were ten?" I laughed. "Double gold medals."

"Of course I remember. I'll be standing in the middle of the podium, and you'll be on the side."

"In your dreams!" I splashed water at his face. "I'm the one who'll be in the middle!"

We started splashing each other like kids, our laughter echoing through the empty pool area. Moments like this made me feel that no matter how complicated the world got, at least I still had Caspian. At least we still shared the same dream.

But good times are always fleeting.

At 10 AM, the training center's media room was packed with reporters. Caspian and I, freshly showered and changed, stood curiously at the back of the crowd.

A US Olympic Committee official stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen of the media, today we have a major announcement."

The room fell instantly silent, all cameras trained on the podium.

"Russian athlete Anastasia Nova has officially obtained US citizenship and will be joining our Olympic training camp."

Anastasia Nova? That Russian swimmer who was practically unbeatable on the international stage?

"Will this change Team USA's Olympic outlook?" a reporter shouted.

"Without question," the official smiled confidently. "With Anastasia's international experience and skill level, our Olympic prospects are very promising."

Caspian and I exchanged glances. His expression mirrored mine—shock, worry, and a hint of panic.

Walking out of the media room, my legs felt weak. Caspian looked equally serious.

"Faye, do you think..."

"I don't know," I cut him off. "I don't know anything."

But what I did know was that the beautiful Olympic dream we'd just been discussing might be facing immense challenges.

At noon, the training center cafeteria was more buzzing than usual. Everyone was discussing the same topic—Anastasia Nova.

I carried my lunch tray, trying to find a quiet corner. This kind of talk was getting on my nerves.

"Faye, over here." Caspian waved me over.

I sat down and realized I had absolutely no appetite.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look pale."

"Just tired," I forced a smile. "Probably swam too hard this morning."

"Don't overthink it." He reached over and patted my shoulder. "No matter who shows up, you're still the best. I believe in you."

Just then, the cafeteria suddenly went quiet.

I looked up to see a blonde woman walking in. She wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but her presence—elegant, confident, with an indescribable international flair—immediately made her the center of attention.

Anastasia Nova.

Her entrance was like dropping a stone into a calm lake—the entire cafeteria's atmosphere shifted. People stopped talking, stopped eating, all eyes on her.

And she seemed to enjoy the attention. She calmly got in line for food, occasionally smiling and nodding at people around her.

"Jesus," Caspian whispered, but his eyes were glued to her. "She's even more... than in photos."

"More what?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. More beautiful, more elegant, more captivating.

After getting her food, Anastasia scanned the cafeteria. Then she walked straight toward our table.

"You must be Caspian Brooks," she said in English with a slight Russian accent, her voice low and magnetic. "I've watched your competition videos. Very talented. In Europe, athletes like you would have access to much better training resources."

Caspian froze for a moment, seemingly caught off guard that the famous Anastasia Nova was talking to him directly, a slight flush creeping up his cheeks.

"Really? I've always wanted to learn about international training methods," he said, obviously flustered by her attention.

I watched Caspian's face show an expression I'd never seen before—excitement, flattery, and the joy of a little boy getting candy.

"Anastasia, welcome to the team," I tried to stay polite. "What's your specialty?"

She turned to me with an appraising look that made me uncomfortable, as if she was evaluating whether I was worth her attention.

"Swimming, obviously," she said with a dismissive glance. "Though I focus mainly on international-level competitions."

The implication was clear: you're not at that level.

"That's great," I forced myself to keep smiling. "We can train together."

"If you can keep up," she said, then turned back to Caspian. "I heard the gymnastics training here is quite innovative. Perhaps you could show me around?"

"Absolutely!" Caspian immediately stood up. "I have afternoon practice anyway, you can come with me."

And they left.

Just like that, leaving me sitting alone in the cafeteria, watching my friend of over ten years walk away, chatting and laughing with a woman he'd just met.

I stared at their retreating figures. Caspian was usually cold toward strangers, but with her he was...

A profound sense of crisis enveloped me.

Not just because of the competition for Olympic spots, but because of Caspian's reaction. He'd never shown that kind of interest in any girl before, but Anastasia had appeared for just five minutes and completely changed him.