Weston Carroway had always possessed a particular talent for making people feel seen, understood, and special—as if they were the only person in the room worth his attention.
That much hadn't changed since their junior competition days.
Silver remembered with uncomfortable clarity the way he'd glide into international practice facilities during major competitions, all perfectly calibrated smiles and warm, disarming laughter. He'd work the room like a seasoned politician, shaking hands with coaches as if he wasn't actively competing against their skaters for podium positions. Parents would gravitate toward him during warm-up sessions, charmed by his respectful questions about their hometowns and genuine-seeming interest in their families. Other skaters trusted him too quickly, drawn in by his apparent openness and willingness to share training tips or offer encouragement after difficult practice sessions.
And then, inevitably, they learned better.
