Chapter 3

The gold medal was lighter than I'd imagined.

When the ESPN host draped that gleaming piece of metal around my neck, the crowd below erupted in thunderous applause. Millions of viewers were witnessing this moment through their TV screens—Faye Riley, National Championship 200m freestyle winner, Olympic seed.

I should have been ecstatic. I should have been savoring this moment. But standing on that podium, facing countless flashing cameras and spotlights, all I felt was a strange emptiness.

Maybe it was because of the expressions on the faces of the two people I cared about most, sitting in the audience below.

Caspian sat in the front row, wearing that UCLA gymnastics jacket I'd seen a thousand times. He was clapping, but it sounded mechanical, perfunctory. His eyes didn't linger on me for more than three seconds, instead constantly drifting toward Anastasia sitting beside him.

And Anastasia—she wore that standard athlete smile, the kind of perfect curve practiced countless times before cameras. But there was something in her eyes I didn't like, like a cat eyeing its prey.

"Faye! Faye! Over here!" photographers shouted from below, flashbulbs popping in rapid succession.

I raised the gold medal, smiling for the cameras. 1:54.36—a new personal best, a full second faster than the Olympic A standard. This should have been the pinnacle of my life, the decisive moment proving I deserved that Olympic spot.

'Finally, I can make them shut up,' I thought, my gaze searching for Caspian again.

But suddenly the host stepped up to the microphone, using that familiar tone that meant he was about to announce a "special segment." A chill ran down my spine.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" his voice boomed through the sound system, "Before we conclude tonight's awards ceremony, ESPN has prepared a special segment for you!"

The crowd erupted in cheers again. I stood on the platform, gold medal still around my neck, beginning to feel an ominous premonition.

"Now let's welcome Faye's good friends to share their thoughts on her performance today! Please give a warm welcome to—Russian-American swimmer Anastasia Nova, and UCLA gymnastics star Caspian Brooks!"

What?

My heart seemed to skip a beat. This wasn't in the program. ESPN never told me there would be this segment. I looked toward the event producer below, but he only nodded at me, making a "keep going" gesture.

Anastasia stood first, gracefully waving to the audience. She wore a deep blue dress tonight, and with her signature platinum blonde hair, she looked like a Russian ballerina under the spotlights.

"I'm honored to share my professional perspective," she said, already walking toward the steps leading to the podium.

Caspian followed closely behind, his expression as serious as if he were attending a funeral.

Wait, what the hell was happening?

Two minutes ago I was the center of attention, now I felt like I was being pushed onto some battlefield I knew nothing about. They walked onto the stage, standing on either side of me, and I suddenly realized I was trapped in the center of the spotlight with no escape.

Millions of viewers were watching this through their TV screens.

The host adjusted his tie, flashing that professional smile unique to TV people. "So Anastasia, as an athlete with extensive international competition experience, how do you evaluate Faye's performance today?"

At this moment, I should have felt some warmth. After all, this was my friend—she should be proud of me, should say something supportive.

But the smile on Anastasia's face reminded me of a snake preparing to strike.

"Faye certainly swam... adequately today," she paused, and that pause was long enough for the entire national audience to notice. "But—"

Anastasia shook her head slightly, putting on an expression of reluctant truth-telling. "What I'm saying is, we need to distinguish between 'college stars' and 'Olympic champions.' Faye might be better suited returning to campus rather than wasting a precious Olympic spot."

The audience began to stir. I could hear people talking, cameras clicking. Social media must already be exploding.

'What is happening? What the hell is happening?'

I turned to Caspian, hoping—no, praying—he would say something in my defense.

The host also turned the microphone toward him. "Caspian, you've trained with Faye since childhood. You must know her abilities best. Do you agree with Anastasia's assessment?"

Caspian took a deep breath. For that instant, I saw some struggle in his eyes. Maybe, maybe he still remembered we were friends. Maybe he would...

But what happened next completely destroyed me.

"Honestly..." he began, his voice lower than usual but carrying through the microphone across the entire venue, "I've always worried Faye can't handle real pressure."

No.

"Caspian, what are you saying?" I turned to face him, but he avoided my gaze.

He didn't stop. Like a machine that had been activated, cold and precise in executing some program.

"She often gets so anxious before major competitions that she can't sleep, sometimes she even cries." His voice grew more resolute, more cruel. "How could that kind of mental toughness handle Olympic pressure? Anastasia's right—we need real warriors, not fragile girls."

Those words stabbed into my heart like knives. Those were my most private moments, vulnerabilities I'd only shared when I trusted him most. Secrets I thought would be kept forever.

Tears poured out uncontrollably. On national television, in front of millions of viewers.

"How could you..." my voice trembled, "those were things I only told you because I trusted you..."

But Caspian had already turned to the camera, his expression so cold I barely recognized him.

"Sorry Faye, but America's honor is more important than personal feelings. I support the strongest athlete, and that's not you."

The audience fell silent, then erupted in even greater commotion. Reporters frantically snapped photos, spectators whispered among themselves, social media notifications chimed continuously.

I stood there, gold medal still around my neck, but feeling completely torn apart. Not physically, but that kind of soul-deep ripping.

This person—this person I'd known since age eight, this person I'd had a crush on for ten years, this person I thought would never betray me—had just completely destroyed me in front of a national audience.

Anastasia gently patted my shoulder, putting on a sympathetic act. But when she leaned close to my ear, I heard her whisper: "Welcome to the real world, little girl."

The spotlights remained blinding, cameras still focused on us, the murmur from the audience growing louder. I knew I had to say something, do something. But I just stood there, tears flowing nonstop, feeling like a child abandoned by the entire world.

When they finally announced the ceremony's end, I mechanically walked off the stage.

Backstage, I finally found a quiet corner. I removed the gold medal, staring at its shiny surface. Hours ago, this had represented the realization of dreams. Now it felt like a prop in a cruel joke.

My phone was vibrating frantically. Social media must already be exploding. #FayeRiley #Betrayal #OlympicTrials—these hashtags were probably trending right now.

But I didn't have the courage to look. I just sat there, hugging my knees, trying to understand what had just happened.

Why had Caspian done this? What had turned someone I'd known for years into such a stranger, so cruel?