Chapter 3

The next morning, I was still savoring last night's "forbidden feast" when Frank's call came through.

"Baby, it got too late last night, so I stayed over at the base," Frank's voice sounded exhausted. "We have an emergency situation now."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"The Olympic sponsor has an important contract that needs my signature—worth five million dollars. But I can't get away right now. Could you deliver it for me?"

I frowned. Frank never involved me in company business. Why today...?

"The contract's in the safe in my study. The password is your birthday," Frank continued. "This project absolutely cannot go wrong. Drive carefully—the roads might be icy."

"I..." I hesitated.

"Please, baby. You're the only one who can help me," Frank's tone carried an unusual note of pleading.

After hanging up, I fell into deep thought.

Was this really just a simple contract delivery? Or was Frank testing me? Seeing if I would be "disobedient" again like last night?

I thought about the chili and chocolate from yesterday, then glanced at the monitoring device on my wrist.

Either way, this was my chance to leave this snow cabin. Frank never let me visit the training base, saying it was "unsuitable for pregnant women."

But today, I wanted to see his work environment with my own eyes. To discover what secrets lay hidden in that world that so captivated him.

I walked to the study and entered the password to open the safe.

Inside lay a thick contract with the cover reading: Thompson Sports Management Company - Olympic Sponsorship Project Exclusive Agency Agreement.

I picked up the contract, but Madison's sweet voice from last night echoed in my mind: "Frank, we need you. Only you can handle this..."

Why did Frank never let me visit the training base? Why did he always say it was "unsuitable for pregnant women"?

I touched the bottle of "Memory Snowflake" pills in my bag and took a deep breath.

Today, I would see for myself what Frank's world truly contained.

---

At 10,000 feet elevation, the mountain training base was lashed by winds sharp as knives against my face.

I gripped the steering wheel as the SUV bounced along the winding mountain road. The five-million-dollar Olympic partnership contract sat on the back seat, while in my passenger-side bag, that bottle of "Memory Snowflake" pills lay quietly like a secret waiting to be activated.

"Damn you, Frank." I cursed under my breath. The baby in my belly seemed to sense my emotions and gave a little kick.

The training base gates came into view, with two burly security guards in heavy uniforms standing in the guardhouse. I rolled down my window, and the freezing wind instantly rushed into the car.

"I'm here to see Frank Thompson. Is he inside?"

The guard scanned me expressionlessly, his gaze lingering on my protruding belly for a few seconds. "Sorry, ma'am. Can't let you through without Mr. Thompson's confirmation."

"I'm his wife." I suppressed my anger. "Carrying his child. Isn't that enough?"

The other guard leaned over with a cold smile: "Ma'am, Mr. Thompson has never mentioned having a wife. Are you sure you have the right person?"

Blood rushed to my head. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm: "Please contact him. Tell him Riley is here."

"We need Mr. Thompson's confirmation before we can let you through. That's the rule."

I dialed Frank's number. It rang seven or eight times before going to voicemail. I tried again—still no answer.

"He might be training and can't take calls right now," I told the guards, a pleading note creeping into my voice. "Could I just wait in my car?"

The guard waved dismissively: "Whatever."

An hour passed.

I shivered in the car, the heater on full blast but unable to dispel the chill in my heart. I kept calling Frank's number, each attempt met with the mechanical response of his voicemail. My stomach began to growl, and the baby moved restlessly inside me.

After another twenty minutes, a guard finally approached and tapped on my window: "Mr. Thompson says you can come in, but you'll need to go through security screening."

I nearly broke down in tears, fumbling to turn off the engine and get out of the car. Clutching the contract, I stumbled after the guard toward the base entrance.

Pushing open the doors to the training base's luxurious lobby, warm air enveloped me. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed magnificent snow-capped mountains, while the interior boasted lavish décor with displays of top-tier skiing equipment everywhere.

Then I saw the scene.

In the luxury lounge area at the center of the lobby, seven or eight young female athletes with stunning figures sat in a circle, engaged in animated conversation. Each wore form-fitting professional ski suits that showed off their curves perfectly. Golden-haired Madison sat in the center like a queen, blue eyes sparkling.

But Frank wasn't there.

My seven-months-pregnant figure stood out glaringly among these female athletes. I stood awkwardly by the entrance, unsure where to go.

"Oh my God, look at that figure." A red-haired athlete deliberately lowered her voice, but loud enough for me to hear. "Like a penguin, and wearing a hat to hide her face. Is she afraid of being recognized?"

Madison picked up the thread, her voice sweet but malicious: "Some people really let themselves go. Even family members of professional athletes should maintain basic physical standards, don't you think?"

The other female athletes giggled and agreed, stealing glances at me. "After all, it represents the company's image."

I clenched my fists, rubbing my belly for comfort. These little bitches.

"Enough!" A stern male voice rang out from the office area. A middle-aged man in a suit strode quickly toward us. "What are you doing?"

Madison remained unfazed: "David, we were just discussing the importance of physical fitness management."

"Shut up!" The man called David glared at Madison, then turned to me, his expression instantly becoming respectful. "Ms. Blair, I'm terribly sorry. They didn't know who you were."

The entire lounge fell into dead silence.

David introduced me to the female athletes: "This is Riley Blair, Mr. Thompson's fiancée."

Madison's face turned deathly pale, and the other athletes' mouths dropped open in shock.

I took a deep breath and slowly walked toward the center of the group. Each step was steady and deliberate.

"Madison," my voice was terrifyingly calm, "please go to the kitchen and get me a cup of hot chocolate. Thank you."

Madison's face changed, instinctively wanting to refuse, but when she met my steady gaze, she didn't dare object. "I... I thought..."

"Go. Now." I added.