Winning the Champions League had bought Leo and Ben time, maybe even a shield, but they knew better. Somewhere under the glitter and champagne, a predator was still waiting, its teeth buried deep in the sport’s veins. The betting syndicate hadn’t gone away. It had just gone deeper underground, like a snake curling under the floorboards, waiting for the right moment to strike.Leo sat in his apartment’s small living room, the blinds drawn, a mug of coffee cooling in his hands. The place still smelled faintly of yesterday’s victory. There were flowers from fans, leather from his boots tossed in the corner.Ben was across from him, perched at the edge of the couch, the blue light from his laptop cutting across his face. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept properly in days. His eyes were fixed on something only he could see.“Alright,” Ben said finally, tapping the trackpad and spinning the laptop toward Leo. “I found something. And you’re not going to like it.”Leo leaned in. Rows of n
The flashbulbs didn’t stop. They came in bursts, like lightning in a storm, only this storm was man-made and aimed directly at Leo and Maya.The Champions League victory had been the spark. Their public confession was the detonation.Three days later, the world was still picking through the debris.They weren’t just captains anymore, they were headlines, hashtags, cover shots. Their faces were splashed across the front of sports magazines and tucked into the glossy center spreads of fashion week tabloids. Talk shows dissected their every glance. On one channel, a panel debated whether they were “the future of football branding.” On another, a former player called them “dangerous to the purity of the sport.”It didn’t matter. They’d become something bigger than either of them had ever planned. A symbol. A statement. A living, breathing love story in an age addicted to narratives.And no one understood how to weaponize a narrative better than Isabella Knight.“Look at this,” Isabella’s
The sun came up over Manchester, bright like a spotlight on a stage. The sky was still a little foggy from the fireworks last night. Down below, the streets were still full of noise, people honking horns, singing, and cheering. Some fans hadn’t even gone to bed. They were still wearing their red and black clothes, still celebrating.Up on the twelfth floor of his hotel, Leo Sterling stood by the window and watched the city wake up.Right next to him, on a table by the window, was the Champions League trophy. It shined gold in the morning light. It looked almost too perfect to be real. Leo reached out and touched it again just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.They had done it.Not just won the final. Not just beaten a football giant. They had rewritten the story.His phone buzzed. One name lit up the screen..Maya.He picked it up before the second ring.“Hey, you,” her voice came, soft and sleepy. “Did I dream it?”Leo smiled, leaning back in his chair. “If it was a dream, I’m not wakin
"If we lose, they’ll call us a fluke. If we win, we become legends."Leo stood in the tunnel, surrounded by the sound of stomping feet, deep chants, and the heavy beat of music echoing through the walls. His heart was thumping like a war drum, but his face was calm. His hands? Clenched. Steady.Maya’s voice echoed in his head:“Trust what you see, not what you’re told.”This was it. The Champions League Final. The biggest game in Europe. And Manchester United City was here to win it.He looked down the tunnel. A sea of red filled the stadium. Flags waved, voices screamed, flares burned. His team’s fans had shown up in force. This wasn’t just a football match anymore. This was a statement.He wasn't just playing for silverware.He was playing for his team.For Maya.For the truth.A deep breath. Then another.“Let’s make history,” Leo whispered to himself.“Leo!” shouted Jamie, their left winger, nudging him. “You good?”Leo turned. Gave a small smile. “More than good. You?”Jamie grin
"You still awake?"Ben's voice crackled through the team’s secure group chat like a late-night whisper in the dark.Leo blinked at the screen of his phone. He hadn't expected anyone else to be up. He typed back quickly:"Yeah. Couldn't sleep. You?""Same. Meet me in the hallway?"Leo hesitated for a second, then slid off the hotel bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet, but his nerves were hotter than ever. He threw on a hoodie and cracked his door open, peeking into the quiet corridor. Ben was already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes haunted.“Walk with me?” Ben asked softly.They didn’t say much at first. Just walked like two shadows moving down a corridor that seemed too quiet for what tomorrow held. The Champions League final. The biggest night of their lives. But it wasn’t just about football anymore.“You’re not going to like what I found,” Ben finally said, his voice low.Leo stopped walking. “Don’t do that. Don’t lead with that. Just say it.”Ben pulled ou
“You think they’ll come for us?” Leo asked quietly, staring out over the training pitch. The floodlights cast long shadows, slicing across the grass like silent blades.Ben didn’t answer right away. He was standing beside him, arms crossed, his jaw set with that calm, calculating stillness Leo had come to rely on.“They already are,” Ben said finally. “Just not with fists or bullets. They’re watching. They’re waiting.”“Then we stay ahead,” Leo muttered. “We fight without them seeing us fight.”Ben gave a half-smile. “A silent war.”With the media in a full-blown frenzy leading up to the Champions League final, Leo and Ben began their investigation quiet, calculated, and dangerously close to the shadows that had almost swallowed the club. The recent public confession had given them an unexpected advantage. The cameras that followed Leo and Maya were meant to catch scandal, passion, drama. What they didn’t catch was the investigation happening right under their noses.Leo and Maya had