The Ice Princess Belongs to No One

Kat’s POV

"Listen carefully and remember my wisdom, Kat," a drunk Mia, senior figure skater announces, swaying dangerously close to our corner.

Her words slur together, but her eyes burn with the intensity of someone sharing sacred knowledge.

"If you want a successful graduation and a smooth ride at this school, you'll need two things: first—never, and I mean never, argue with Coach Williams. Otherwise, you can forget about our ice rink. And second," Mia continues, leaning in conspiratorially, "for stress relief, always keep someone sweet nearby with a big enough dick."

I stare at her in shock, glancing at Sophie with a look that screams ‘What the hell?’. But Sophie just gives me an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

The bass thunders through her house like a heartbeat. Bodies press against each other in controlled chaos, red solo cups raised high, laughter mixing with the pounding music.

I clutch my own untouched drink, trying to process how different this world is from the sterile halls of Wintercrest.

"Our hockey team's captain is perfect for that, by the way. Especially if you into cocky guys who don't get emotionally attached after they've fucked you senseless."

My jaw drops. Sophie's smile becomes even more strained.

Then Mia just disappears into the crowd, leaving me staring after her with one thought pounding in my head: ‘What the hell kind of school did I just walk into?’

"Don't mind her," Sophie says quickly, her cheeks flushed. "Mia gets... philosophical when she's drunk."

"Philosophical?" I manage. "She just gave me a tutorial on stress relief via some hockey dick."

Sophie laughs, but it sounds forced. "Welcome to Ridgeview, I guess?"

We settle back into our corner, catching up after years of not seeing each other since middle school. Sophie asks about my training, my family, everything except the elephant in the room.

But then, inevitably, she brings it up.

"God, I'm so glad I never had to deal with creepy coaches like some girls do," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I heard about this one girl at Wintercrest who—"

The air leaves my lungs. The party noise fades to white static as memories flood back like a tsunami.

Coach Morrison's office after evening practice. His hand sliding down my back during "technique corrections," lingering at my waist for way too long.

"You're special, Katya. Not like the others." His breath was hot against my ear as he leaned over my shoulder, pretending to check my training schedule. "I could help you reach nationals. All you have to do is trust me."

Weeks of escalating touches, grazing my thigh during stretching sessions. Comments about my body that made my skin crawl. "Your lines are so beautiful, Katya. So mature for your age."

I played dumb, pretended not to understand, desperately hoping he'd back off.

Then came that final evening, when his office door clicked shut. "You know how I feel about you, don't you?"

His hand cupped my face before I could step back. The kiss. Sudden and aggressive. My frozen shock, unable to move, unable to breathe. His daughter's scream from the doorway. The sound of her backpack hitting the floor. "Dad, what the hell?!"

After that, everything exploded. The accusations. The whispers.

"She seduced him. Little filthy whore."

"Ice Princess thinks she can buy her way to the top because of her daddy."

"Rich girl homewrecker. Thought "

The bullying that followed. Locker graffiti calling me a slut. Girls shoving me in the hallways. "Ice Princess thinks she's too good for the consequences."

Anonymous messages: "Your daddy can't buy you out of this one."

The isolation. The shame. The way even my teammates looked at me like I was poison.

Sophie sees my face and immediately stops talking. "Shit, Kat, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." My voice sounds hollow. "Everyone thinks they know what happened anyway."

"I’m sure things will be different here," Sophie says firmly. "Hardly anyone knows about the scandal. You can start fresh, Kat."

I want to believe her. I need to believe her.

"Sophie!" A voice calls from the kitchen. "Emergency! Someone's trying to make a flambé and they don't know what they're doing!"

"Shit, that's my mom's good pan.” Sophie jumps up. “I'll be right back!"

She disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the crushing weight of other people's assumptions.

I need air. Space. A bathroom.

The hallway leading to the bathroom is dimly lit, music muffled by the walls. But my path is blocked by a couple pressed, kissing wildly against the wall, hands down each other's pants, completely oblivious to the world around them.

"Excuse me," I say politely.

Nothing. God, they're practically eating each other's faces.

"Excuse me," I repeat, louder this time. Still nothing.

The guy's hand is literally down the girl's shirt, and they're moaning like they're in their own private porn film. I try to squeeze past, but the bulky guy blocks the entire hallway.

Finally, I give up on politeness and push through.

The guy pulls himself away from his make-out session, looking at me with a smug grin that makes my skin crawl.

"Wow there! There's a bunch of hockey players in the house who'd be happy to fuck you too," he says, his voice dripping with crude confidence. "If you want me specifically, you'll have to wait your turn while I'm busy here, sweetie."

I stare at him in stunned silence. The audacity. The absolute fucking audacity!

"All I want is to use the bathroom," I snapped, fury building in my chest. "But now, considering how many STDs a slut like you probably left in there, I'd rather not."

His face darkens. The girl giggles nervously.

I turn back toward the main room, planning to find Sophie and leave this disaster of a party. But as I reach the hallway opening, someone grabs my wrist. Hard.

It's the same guy. His grip is tight enough to bruise, his eyes cold with recognition.