Shortly after I hung up, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was my wife, Sonia Cervantes.

I answered the call, my voice instinctively softening. "Hey, honey?"

Her warm, steady voice came through the line. "I heard about the slope issue. Don't worry. I've already asked my assistant to handle it. With my influence, they'll definitely give us some leeway. You can ski whenever you want."

I smiled, the frustration in my heart dissipating like smoke. "No need for that. You just finished your meeting. Don't go through the trouble. Actually, I was thinking of spending a few extra days at the summit chalet, enjoying the snow views as an early relaxation period. Postponing the skiing a bit is no big deal."

"Alright," Sonia said, her tone filled with indulgence. "Have fun! I'll join you as soon as I wrap up here."

After the call, I turned around to find Hazel eyeing me curiously.

She seemed to have caught snippets of the conversation, a smug expression crossing her face. "What? Your so-called wife couldn't even secure a ski slope?"

She deliberately emphasized the word "wife". Her childishness made me laugh. "It's unnecessary."

I picked up my ski equipment, eager to leave.

"Mr. Barton, are you heading out?" Rory suddenly stepped in front of me, handing over an entry form for a ski competition. "Next Monday is the doubles ski race that Hazel and I are entering. Right on that diamond slope. You should join us."

His eyes shone with anticipation, but my face darkened.

Hazel quickly stepped forward, stammering with guilt. "Don't misunderstand. Rory has been through trauma, and the doctor said competitive activities could help rebuild his confidence. I'm just trying to make it up to him."

She paused, pulling me aside toward the exit to avoid the crowd. Lowering her voice, she said in what she thought was a deeply affectionate tone, "The race with Rory is just for show—to help his condition. Once he's better, I'll explain everything to him. Just wait a little longer for me, okay?"

Her words instantly transported me back to the past.

When my parents passed away and I locked myself in my room, refusing food or drink, she pleaded through the door over and over, "Clyde, open the door. I swear, from now on, I'll be your safe harbor. I'll always stay by your side."

Back then, her eyes were clear, her tone sincere. But now, she used that same sincerity to spout the most hypocritical lies.

"You truly disgust me," I said, shoving her away and storming out of the ski shop without a backward glance.

Not long after, I received another call from Hans. "Mr. Barton, good news! Mr. Newman contacted me and said he admires your skiing technique. He's sincerely inviting you to participate in the race."

I furrowed my brows. That was hardly good news. I rejected it outright, "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on," Hans persisted, his tone turning mysterious. "I've looked into it, and the champion's prize for this race is something truly special."

"What is it?" I asked casually, not particularly caring.

Hans lowered his voice, brimming with excitement. "It's a one-of-a-kind antique ski pole, reportedly used by royalty in the early 20th century, with a sapphire embedded in the handle. It was restored and polished by a reclusive master craftsman. This master is notoriously grumpy, and hiring him is harder than scaling Everest."

He paused for effect and continued, "The resort owner pulled massive strings to get him involved. The best part? The master has promised to personally customize a complete set of ski gear for the winner, from the board to the suit. It'll be one-of-a-kind. You can even have your and your wife's initials engraved on it."

Hans's description made me waver a bit.

Our honeymoon stretched out ahead of us, and sticking solely to skiing might eventually feel monotonous.

Money could buy most things, but they held no appeal for me anymore. This prize, however... its value wasn't in its price. It was more than a gift; it was an irreplaceable honeymoon memento.

"I'll think about it," I replied.

On the day of the competition, I chose a blue professional ski suit and arrived at the starting line alone. The race was about to begin.

Hazel stood there in a pure white ski outfit that accentuated her athletic figure. Rory, dressed in black, was adjusting her goggles. Against the snowy backdrop, they truly resembled a couple united in tackling an extreme challenge.

I positioned myself quietly at the back of the group, focusing on my warm-up exercises while paying close attention to the gate setups on the course.

The starting gun fired, and the competitors shot out like arrows. I was navigating the turn at the second gate when Rory accelerated from behind on my side.

"You're skiing really well, Mr. Barton," he commented, his voice distorted by the rushing wind. "You're like a persistent ghost that just won't fade away. You know, Hazel orchestrated that whole bridge-jumping suicide pact, making everyone think she couldn't live without me. She promised that after the race, we'd stay abroad forever and never return."

His grin widened as he continued, "You followed us all the way here, but so what? Hazel is still by my side, partnering with me."

Alarm bells rang in my mind. Rory's trauma and vulnerability were all a façade.

My concentration faltered, causing my movements to lag.

"Oh, by the way," he slid closer to me, whispering in a suggestive tone, "Hazel was incredibly passionate last night. Said she'd completely forgotten what being with you even felt like."

My brows knitted together. Everyone in the elite circle knew that Hazel only responded to me. No one else could elicit that from her.

But it wasn't a physical defect. When we first started dating, to ward off suitors, she had deliberately spread that rumor, telling me, "Clyde, in this lifetime, I'll only open my heart to you. I want the whole world to know that I, Hazel Mullins, am yours and yours alone."

Using her fabricated condition, she had built an impenetrable wall around her. She had claimed she depended solely on me with unwavering loyalty. Yet now, she had shattered that vow without hesitation.

I glared at Rory, my hands gripping the ski poles tightly.

Seeing that he had struck a nerve, he curved his lips in satisfaction. As he turned to accelerate and brushed past me, he let out a feigned yelp of surprise, deliberately angling his ski edge to hook mine viciously.

My pupils contracted as I instinctively tried to shift my balance, but it was too late. At high speed, I lost control, tumbling through the air and crashing hard into the safety netting.

I raised my arms to shield my head, but a sharp pain shot through my shoulder and knee.

Rory stumbled before being steadied from behind by Hazel, who had rushed over just in time. Exclamations of shock erupted from the staff and spectators along the course.

"Hazel, I-I didn't mean to." Rory's face turned pale, his voice trembling as he clutched her arm.

His gaze flicked over her shoulder toward me, feigning innocence and panic. "I just wanted to say hi to Mr. Barton, but he seemed really angry. We argued a bit, and he suddenly cut me off. I lost my balance, and we collided. I'm sorry, Mr. Barton. It's all my fault. Are you okay?"

The netting's ropes had left marks on my ski suit, and the searing pain in my knee made standing impossible. I was stuck in the snow, unable to move.

Of course, I was not okay.

Hazel's face was dark with fury. But she didn't spare me a glance; instead, she anxiously checked Rory for injuries. "Are you alright? I'll call the medical team right away!"

After comforting him, she whirled on me, her cold eyes glaring daggers. "Clyde, you've gone too far!"

I looked at her coldly, the pain in my knee paling in comparison to the chill settling in my heart.

Before that bridge incident, whenever Rory pestered her, I'd always step in with a cold word or two. In her mind, I was the one who couldn't stand seeing him happy. So now, she instinctively believed his story.

"It was him. I didn't do anything," I explained.

"You didn't do anything?" Hazel pointed at me accusingly, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's a patient recovering from trauma. What malicious intent could he possibly have? But you? You've always targeted him before, and now you've followed us to this race to cause trouble! Why can't you just let him be?"

My miserable state didn't evoke her sympathy, only deep-seated revulsion.

"You brought this upon yourself!" She paused, then commanded, "Apologize to Rory immediately!"

Her words left me trembling with rage. The sheer absurdity of it all was overwhelming.

I grabbed a handful of snow and hurled it straight at her face. "You two are truly a match made in hell!"

She exploded in fury, raising her hand to strike me. Gasps of shock rippled through the onlookers.

However, her wrist was caught mid-air by another hand. A cool, composed voice rang out. "Ever considered the consequences before laying a hand on my husband?"