Page 176 of Top Shelf

“It always helps to have people who believe in the mission,” I say. “But the work stands on its own.”

“Was Viktor involved in the founding of the studio?”

“No.” The word comes out too sharp, so I soften it immediately. “The studio is mine. I developed the programming, secured the lease, hired the team, and built the clinical model myself.”

The reporter’s eyes brighten at the correction, but in the wrong way. As though I’ve just given her the impression that my ownership is now a marital anecdote.

“You two married quite quickly earlier this year. Did opening the studio bring you closer?”

Zoe murmurs my name softly from off-camera, and I hear it, but I can’t look at her.

I think of every woman who has ever built something and then been asked who held the ladder. Every credential softened by a ring on your finger and the title of ‘Mrs.’ Every hour of work turned into support from a man who loved her loudly enough for strangers to mistake his pride for authorship.

“My marriage is not the business model,” I say, smiling gently enough that no one can call me difficult. “I’m proud of my husband, and I’m also very proud of this studio. I’d love to tell you more about the work we’re doing here.”

There is a brief pause, and then, because Zoe is a wizard at negotiating with producers, the next question comes back toward the programming. I answer, then grin and bear my way through the rest of it.

By the time the crew leaves, my face hurts from holding itself together. Zoe closes the door behind the crew and turns the lock, and no one speaks for a second.

Mila is the first. “I’m gonna take Rhys’s clip into the back and cut the best version.”

Her face is calm, and her voice is soft, but her eyes are furious. Carina, who arrived halfway through and has been standing near the mirrors with her arms folded, steps toward me.

“Heidi.”

“I need to see it.”

Zoe’s mouth tightens. “Maybe not right this second.”

“Let me see it, Zoe.”

She doesn’t argue, she only opens her laptop. The clip is five minutes long, with Viktor sitting on a studio chair wearing a black shirt and his hair tied back, face serious in the way that makes sports reporters lean forward. They ask him about training camp, his old injury, and the last season. Then the interviewer asks about off-season, which appears to be Viktor’s opening.

“My wife is opening a studio next Wednesday.”

My chest twists because I can hear the pride in his voice, but then he keeps going. He talks about the gap after rehab and all the stuff I’ve repeated so many times until I’m blue in the face. About his own injury and recovery, and the athletes he knows who will use it. He says Return To Play is perfectly structured for the industry. He says my name. He uses Dr. Heidi Grant. He says I built it. He does. He says all that.

But he also says we.

“We want athletes to have somewhere to go, and I’m proud to make that happen for her.”

The words hit one by one. Maybe he meant we as in his team, or maybe his management. But when he’s speaking about my studio and this marriage, ‘we’ starts to sound a lot more like he and I built this together.

Zoe pauses the video before it ends, and my phone starts buzzing. Then Zoe’s, too. First Pulse calls, then an unknown number. Maren from Colorado Storm PR, followed by a text from one of the investors telling me Viktor’s segment was amazing, and that they’d like to discuss revised positioning before launch.

The words all blur, and Carina’s hand touches my shoulder. “Hey.”

I shrug it off. “I’m okay.”

“No you’re not.”

“I have to go home.”

Zoe steps in front of me. “Heidi, breathe for a second.”

“If I breathe here, I’m going to scream.”

Mila appears in the doorway, phone in hand. “Rhys’s clip is good. I can schedule it whenever you want.”