𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕

Saint-Tropez felt like another world.

After the storm of Wimbledon, Milaine slipped into the calm with Aryna (and her boyfriend) and Carlos like she'd never known pressure at all. No paparazzi, no interviews, no training- just sun, sea, and slow days. Mornings were lazy, stretched out over long breakfasts and teasing banter. Afternoons melted into golden swims, quiet boat rides, and the kind of laughter that needed no spotlight.

Milaine had finally found it—peace. The kind that wrapped around her like warm sand and salty breeze. No tension in her shoulders. No ghosts in her mind.

Just her friends, the coast, and the freedom to breathe.

Having friends is fun .. That's what she realized. She had spent her whole life alone, as Max was her only friend.. Yet even he had other friends to go out with, to travel with , to have fun with ..  And Max was the best friend she could even ask for, he included her in everything, he invited her to vacations, he invited to parties and dinners and even just casual hangouts... But a feeling deep down inside of her Always won over her and she ends up refusing his invitations, not because she didn't care or because she didn't wanna be with him ... Quite the opposite really, she didn't wanna intrude, she wanted him to have fun, to not worry or babysit her ...

So she often stayed at home training, while everyone was enjoying a good vacation... She trained alone, without Willem, Without her dad or mom.. She stayed alone.. And she had somehow convinced herself that it was better that way.. That she enjoyed her own company the best..

But here, Milaine could finally hear herself think—and more importantly, feel.

And then It hit her , not regret, exactly, but a kind of mourning for all the years she spent pretending solitude was strength.

But now, watching Aryna throw her head back in laughter while Carlos bickered over something stupud, Milaine felt something loosen in her chest.

There was still a small, well-trained voice in her head. The one that warned her not to get too comfortable. Not to lean too hard on anyone. Not to be a burden.

Even now, she felt it—the instinct to pull away before someone else did it first.

But she didn't. Not this time.

She let Aryna braid her hair on the boat, she let Carlos carry her and throw her into the water..  She let herself laugh—really laugh—without checking if anyone was watching.

Because maybe, just maybe, this was the part of her life her father had always hoped she'd find. Not just the trophies. Not just the grit. But the freedom to be herself—not alone, but loved.

Monaco was a world away from Saint-Tropez.

The lazy mornings, the sunny swims were long gone.. Now, it was back to work. Milaine stood sharp and focused on the clay court carved into her Monte Carlo mansion.. her forehand hitting through the air with precision. Her footwork was crisp, the ball bouncing off the red clay like it had at Wimbledon just weeks ago. She was in shape. Olympic shape.

Willem shouted short corrections from across the net, not that she needed many. Omar sat nearby, quiet, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, watching every shoulder rotation, every recovery movement—ready to catch even the smallest flicker of pain.

So far, there was none. Milaine was flying.

Viv was off to the side, legs stretched out beside the villa pool in a swimsuit and oversized sunglasses, multitasking between a drink, emails, and her sun-kissed reflection. Everything was running smoothly—until suddenly, it wasn't.

Viv bolted upright, nearly knocking her phone into the water, then sprinted barefoot toward the court, waving the screen like it held a winning lottery ticket.