Chapter 64: Revenge On Ice

Aveline’s pov

The funeral happened three days later.

The sky was a heavy over the cemetery, weeping a soft, relentless rain that soaked through the fabric of our black coats. Only intimate family members came to say goodbye.

The priest spoke in a quiet. The religious words blurred together in my mind. Life. Loss. Resurrection. Memory. I barely listened to a single syllable. My eyes stayed completely fixed on the polished coffin Because my brother was trapped inside it, and no amount of prayers or beautiful speeches could change that fact.

One by one, people stood up to speak at the podium. Every single eulogy sounded exactly the same.

"Asher was incredibly talented."

"Asher was so kind to everyone."

"Asher was special. A leader."

Nobody mentioned me. Not once. I sat in the very front row, listening to a crowd of people celebrate the life of my twin brother, while feeling completely, utterly invisible. It felt like I had disappeared the exact moment his heart stopped beating. I wasn't Aveline, the grieving sister. I was just the extra, unnecessary twin who had survived by mistake.

Then, the coffin began its slowly descent into the ground.

The sight shattered the last remaining piece of my heart. This was the finality of it. There would be no miracle recovery. No sudden awakening. No future where we laughed about this. Just an eternal goodbye.

My legs almost gave out I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't even begin to imagine what tomorrow looked like, because tomorrow would be my very first day in a world where Asher didn't exist.

Eventually, the crowd began to disperse. The umbrellas moved away, and the cemetery slowly emptied until only my mother and I remained by the open grave. She stood perfectly motionless, staring down at the floral arrangements, broken.

I waited quietly beside her, Minutes ticked by Then, suddenly, she reached out and blindly gripped my sleeve.

"Asher..." she whispered into the wind.

I turned my head to look at her immediately.

The moment the name left her lips, my mother froze. Her eyes widened in sudden horror as the realization hit her like a physical blow.

She hadn't been calling out for her dead son. She had been looking directly at me.

She looked at me and saw him. She saw the same facial structure, the same wet hair plastered to my forehead, the same exact eyes. A painful, suffocating silence settled between us.

"I'm sorry," she whispered quickly, dropping her hand from my arm as if I had burned her.

But somehow, that apology made it a thousand times worse. Because for one brief, unconscious second, she had completely forgotten that Aveline existed. For one brief second, she saw the son she lost instead of the daughter who was still standing right beside her.

The hurt of that mistake cut deeper than the slap. It cut deeper than any argument we had ever had. It cut deeper than anything I had ever experienced.

I looked away first, staring down at my muddy shoes. Because in that wet cemetery, I finally understood the brutal truth of my existence.

Maybe keeping Asher alive in her mind was just easier for Mom. It was easier to mourn a perfect, dead son than it was to love the broken, complicated daughter who was still standing right in front of her.

As I stared at the grave, a determination settled deep inside my chest. My brother was gone. But the monsters who had destroyed him were still walking the halls of Crestwood, breathing the air he should have been breathing.

My mother wanted revenge. I wanted a purpose.

I adjusted the collar of my black coat, my eyes hardening. I wasn't finished with them yet.

In the days following the funeral, the overwhelming grief didn't fade; it mutated. Every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see Asher’s smile anymore I saw the polished box sinking into the wet mud.

And every time I opened my eyes, I thought of Kieran Hampton.

Kieran was still walking the halls of Crestwood. He was still breathing, still laughing, and still planning his bright, glittering future. He didn't deserve any of it. He didn't deserve a single second of happiness after what he had done to my brother. Asher was rotting in the ground, and it was entirely Kieran’s fault.

My desk was covered in papers, but one specific document sat right in the center, catching the dim light of my desk lamp.

It was the latest medical report from the hospital.

I traced my fingers over the official seal at the bottom of the page. The document had been finalized just days After Asher’s death. I read the words over and over until they blurred into the paper: Patient shows complete neurological and cardiovascular stability. Cleared for high-impact physical activity. Physically fit to resume competitive sports.

A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. Now Asher is fit, cleared and ready to be in the field . The doctors finally agreed to sign off on his return.

I clutched the paper tightly, If Asher had just been allowed to play, he would still be alive. If the school hadn’t stop his funding, if Kieran hadn't sabotaged his reputation and backed him into a corner, Asher would have been on the ice. He would have been running drills, sweating, and living his life. He wouldn't have been trapped in that suffocating depression. His heart wouldn't have failed him.

Whether that was medically true or completely impossible didn't matter to me anymore. Grief had stripped away my logic, leaving behind a frantic, twisted web of blame. I needed a target for my anger, and Kieran was the perfect bullseye.

"If he hadn't taken your funding away from you, Ash, you'd still be here," I whispered into the quiet room, my voice flat and devoid of life.

The realization ignited something terrifying inside me. It gave me a clear path forward. I knew exactly how to hurt Kieran. I couldn't physical harm him, and exposing a simple high school lie wouldn't destroy a boy with his family's connections. I had to strike where it would hurt the most.

I had to take away the one thing he loved above everything else. Hockey.

Kieran lived and breathed the sport. His entire identity, his Ivy League scholarship prospects, his father’s pride, and his arrogance were all built on his status as Crestwood’s star player.

He had hurt Asher so much through lies and sabotage. He had used my brother's downfall to elevate his own career.

It was time to reverse the positions.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the crisp, white envelope containing the official Crestwood Athletic Reinstatement Forms. I had filled them out hours ago, mimicking Asher’s sharp, confident handwriting perfectly.

Beside the forms lay a framed team photograph from the beginning of last season. I stared at the image. Asher was standing near the center, with an easy, natural confidence. Standing just two inches to his left was Kieran, a smug, victorious grin plastered across his face.

I picked up a black marker from the desk. Slowly, deliberately, I drew a thick, heavy cross directly over Kieran’s face.

"You took everything from my brother," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as I stared at the ruined photograph. "Now, I'm taking everything from you."

Tomorrow morning, I would walk back into Crestwood Academy. I wouldn't be walking in as a grieving sister looking for comfort. I would be walking in as Asher Carter the rightful owner of the number 14 jersey not a mascot , and the boy who was about to reclaim his throne.

With the medical clearance report attached, the school administration would have no legal or bureaucratic choice but to reinstate "Asher" immediately. And once I was back on that ice, I would systematically dismantle Kieran's position, his playtime, and his future prospects until there was nothing left of him.

I carefully folded the medical report, sliding it into the envelope alongside the reinstatement forms. I sealed it with a firm press of my palm.

By tomorrow, Kieran Hampton's entire future would begin to burn.