Cassidy Humphrey's POV:

My consciousness drifted in and out.

"She's here! We found her!" A man's voice broke through the endless darkness. "Mr. Hoover, we've found her!"

Hoover... Case Hoover?

I wanted to open my eyes, but my body felt heavy, trapped somewhere between life and death.

Why was he here? Why was the man I had pushed away the one searching for me?

A strange sound echoed deep within my fading consciousness. A sharp, unfamiliar beep drifted through the darkness as my thoughts slowly disappeared.

Then everything went quiet.

When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I felt was the cold.

It wasn't the cold floor of that ruined apartment. It was the familiar chill of the ice rink. The smell of freshly cut ice, sweat, and hockey equipment filled my lungs, pulling me back to a place I had buried deep in my memory.

The bright lights above the rink blurred my vision. I looked down and froze when I saw my hands gripping the edge of the bleachers.

They were the same hands I remembered. Young, uninjured, untouched by the years of suffering that had followed.

I touched my face, almost afraid that everything would disappear the moment I realized it.

But my skin was warm. My heartbeat was steady. I was alive.

The elite hockey training center appeared exactly as I remembered it. My senior year. Before everything changed—before I walked away from my family, rejected Case, and chose Boyce as my future.

A loud bang pulled me back. A hockey glove hit the plexiglass in front of me.

Boyce stood behind the barrier, his helmet pushed back, his expression filled with the same confidence that had once made me admire him.

Back then, I thought that confidence meant he was someone worth following. Now, I could only see the arrogance hidden beneath it.

I remembered this practice clearly.

Beryl had been sitting a few rows above me, pretending to have stomach cramps, while Boyce casually asked me to leave the arena and get food for her.

Back then, I never thought it was humiliating. I believed it was something I should do for the man I loved.

But that was the moment I slowly became someone who existed only around his needs.

The players on the ice had noticed it too. Their drills slowed as whispers spread across the rink.

"Look, Boyce is ordering his maid around again."

"She does everything he asks. Does she even have a life outside of him?"

Those words had embarrassed me in my previous life. Now, hearing them again, all I felt was regret.

My father, Robert Humphrey, had given me everything. I had been born into one of the most powerful hockey families in America, yet I threw away that life for Boyce.

At that time, I never questioned him.

I thought taking care of him and the people around him was what someone who loved him was supposed to do.

I had forgotten that I was Cassidy Humphrey, the daughter of the Humphrey family, not someone who existed only to fulfill his every request.

Boyce tapped his stick against the glass. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

He stepped out from the rink entrance, his skates clicking against the rubber floor as he walked toward me.

In the past, I would have answered immediately. I would have smiled, apologized, and done whatever he asked without hesitation.

This time, I simply moved away from his hand. His glove stopped in the air.

Boyce looked at me in surprise. Around us, the players slowly stopped their practice. The sound of skates cutting across the ice faded, leaving only the silence between us.

I met his eyes.

The confusion on his face grew.

I stood up and picked up my bag. Without saying a word, I turned and walked toward the exit.

My boots struck against the concrete floor as I left behind the place where I had once lost myself.

This time, I would not let anyone take control of my life again.

Cassidy Humphrey's POV:

I pushed through the heavy doors leading into the arena concourse. The cold air from the rink slowly faded, replaced by the familiar smell of fried food and coffee from the training center cafeteria.

I bypassed the exit leading to the off-campus pharmacy. I walked straight into the training center's athlete cafeteria.

The room was packed with players in half-gear and figure skaters in tracksuits.

My stomach cramped—not from the illness, but from hunger. In my past life, I had starved myself to fit the fragile image Boyce liked.

I stepped up to the hot food counter.

The server, wiping down the glass, looked up. "For Boyce? The usual protein bowl?"

I planted my hands on the metal rail. "No. For me. I'll have two."

The woman blinked, startled by my request.

"Two double cheeseburgers, two large fries, with extra gravy," I pointed at the heavy-duty menu meant for the defensemen. "And two Cokes."

I slapped my ID card on the scanner. It beeped, draining funds my father had provided—funds I used to waste on Boyce’s post-practice meals.

I grabbed the two loaded trays, the heat of the food warming my palms.

Every head in the cafeteria turned. Their eyes tracked the mountain of food, then darted to my face.

"See? She still went to get him food. A double portion, even," a girl in a figure skating jacket whispered.

"Pathetic," a guy in a hockey jersey muttered.

The words buzzed around me like flies, but for the first time, they didn't sting.

I ignored the "king's table" near the windows where Boyce's teammates usually held court. I walked to a quiet corner booth, set the trays down with a heavy thud, and slid into the seat.

Under the weight of a hundred stares, I picked up the burger.

I took a massive bite. The hot grease and rich meat flooded my mouth. I closed my eyes, chewing slowly, letting the sheer, grounding weight of the food anchor me to the living world.

I devoured the first tray, my movements precise but relentless.

I pulled the second tray closer. The whispers in the room escalated into an audible buzz.

Through the glass doors, I saw Boyce storming into the cafeteria, still in his under-gear, his face dark with impatience. He scanned the room, clearly expecting me to bring his meal over like I always did.

But when his eyes landed on me, he stopped. The empty wrappers, the second burger in my hand, and the gravy on my fries were not what he expected to see.

For years, I had been the person who followed his every request without hesitation. Seeing me sit there, ignoring him completely, seemed impossible for him to accept. The surprise on his face quickly turned into anger.

I met his furious gaze, dipped a fry into the gravy, and popped it into my mouth.

I finished the last drop of Coke, set the cup down, and let out a quiet, satisfied breath.

It was the most satisfying meal I had eaten in two lifetimes.

I stacked the greasy trays, stood up, and carried them to the trash bin. The entire cafeteria watched in silence as I threw everything away and walked out.