Chapter 10

Ethan

The rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso fills the kitchen, but the mug cooling on the marble counter remains untouched—07:00 AM. I haven't slept.

Every time I close my eyes, I'm back on that gym floor, struggling for air. I still feel Maya's cool fingers resting over my trembling fist, anchoring me to reality while the panic threatens to drag me under.

My phone vibrates violently across the countertop. Marcus. A knot tightens in my chest as I answer. "Ethan!" His voice is ragged with panic. "Turn on Channel Five. Or any sports network. Right now." Without a word, I swipe the wall-mounted control panel. The giant television flickers to life. A breaking-news banner stretches across the screen in bold red letters.

EXCLUSIVE: Sources inside Westbridge United claim Dr. Maya Bennett received a secret payment tied to Ethan Cross's "relationship rehabilitation."

The anchor continues speaking while images from last night's gala flash across the screen. My kiss with Maya, her entering her apartment, the headlines multiplying by the second.

"They're turning anonymous claims into fact," Marcus says through the phone. "Every outlet is picking it up." Heat surges through my veins.

"Julian," I mutter, my grip tightening around the phone. "The board has called an emergency press conference for eight-thirty," Marcus continues. "Alistair wants both of you there. The PR team has prepared a statement. Read it exactly as written, Ethan. Don't improvise."

"I'll be there." I end the call. When I turn around, Maya is standing silently in the kitchen doorway. She's already dressed for work in a tailored grey pantsuit, every strand of her hair pinned neatly into place. Usually, that composed expression never slips. Today, it has.

Her face is pale. Her eyes remain fixed on the television as another commentator repeats the accusation. She doesn't move. "They're calling me an escort," she whispers. The words barely leave her lips. "If the licensing board believes even a fraction of this…" Her voice falters. "Everything I've worked for is gone. My career, Leo's surgery..."

Something twists painfully inside my chest. This isn't about football anymore. This isn't even about me. Someone has aimed at the one person who never asked to be in the middle of this war. 

I close the distance between us. Carefully, I take her wrist, remembering the bruised marks my panic left on her skin only hours ago. "Look at me, Maya. "She slowly raises her eyes to mine. "They don't decide who you are." My voice is calm now. Certain.

"You've spent your life helping people. One headline doesn't erase that." I hold her gaze. "We are going to that press conference." A slow breath fills my lungs. "And before this day is over, someone is going to regret dragging your name into this."

The media briefing room at Westbridge United Stadium is already overflowing by the time we step onto the stage. The media briefing room is already overflowing. Camera shutters fire in rapid bursts, and a wall of microphones points toward us like weapons.

The moment Maya appears beside me, the room erupts. "Dr. Bennett! Were you paid to date Ethan Cross?"

"Captain Cross! Is this relationship fake?"

"Is the club covering up your mental health problems?" I ignore them. Keeping one step ahead of Maya, I guide her to the chair beside mine before taking my own seat. At the center of the table, Chairman Alistair Vance watches us with practiced confidence. A neatly printed statement waits in front of my microphone exactly where he wants it.

Alistair leans toward the cameras with a polished smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Captain Ethan Cross has prepared a brief statement addressing the recent rumors surrounding his personal life and Dr. Maya Bennett." His eyes meet mine. Read it. Or deal with the consequences.

I lower my gaze to the paper, three carefully written paragraphs. Every sentence is designed to protect the club. Not Maya. Slowly, I fold the pages once. Then again. "No."

The paper tears cleanly in half. The sharp rip cuts through the room, louder than the camera shutters. For one heartbeat. No one moves. Marcus closes his eyes from the front row. Alistair's confident expression cracks.

I pull the microphone closer. "I'm not reading that." My voice carries through the silent room. "You've spent the last twelve hours tearing apart the reputation of a woman whose only mistake was getting caught in the middle of my mess."

No one interrupts. Not even Alistair.

"Dr. Maya Bennett is a licensed sports psychologist employed by Westbridge United. She works with this club. She has a career she built long before any of you decided to turn her into today's headline." I pause, scanning the wall of cameras.

"And as for this so-called secret payment; anonymous sources making a claim doesn't make it a fact. Unless someone in this room has actual evidence, stop reporting speculation like it's the truth." 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maya sitting perfectly still, holding herself together beneath the weight of two hundred pairs of eyes.

I reach across the table. My hand finds hers. She startles, her fingers tensing beneath mine, but she doesn't pull away.

Camera shutters erupt.

I ignore them and look directly into the nearest lens. "You want to know whether this relationship is real?" The room goes still.

A faint, humorless smile touches my mouth. "Here's your answer. Nobody at this club tells me who to care about. They don't tell me who to love."

My fingers tighten around Maya's. "I'm standing beside Maya because she's seen me when I wasn't Captain Cross. Not the striker. Not the headlines. Just me." I glance at her. "And she stayed."

For one suspended second, the room is silent. Then chaos erupts.

"Captain Cross, are you confirming the relationship?"

"Dr. Bennett, is that true?"

"When did this begin?"

"Are you saying the club didn't arrange this?"

I raise one hand. The questions gradually die. "You can question my football. You can question my performances. You can question every stupid decision I've ever made."

My voice hardens. "But you don't get to destroy an innocent woman's reputation because an anonymous accusation makes a better headline." 

I turn toward Alistair. His expression hasn't moved, but his eyes have. "If this club expects me to sit quietly while one of its own staff is publicly humiliated..." I let the silence stretch. "...then we have a much bigger problem than today's headlines."

Without further words, I push the microphone away and stand. Maya rises beside me. This time, I don't take her hand. I place a steady arm around her back, shielding her from the crush of reporters as security rushes forward to clear a path.

Questions chase us all the way to the exit. Neither of us answers. As the doors swing shut behind us, Maya's fingers close around the sleeve of my jacket. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to.

For the first time since this nightmare began, she isn't facing it alone.

"Cross." Alistair's voice cuts through the corridor behind us.

I stop.

Maya's fingers tighten around my sleeve.

When I turn, Alistair is standing outside the press-room doors, Marcus beside him. Whatever polished calm he'd worn in front of the cameras is gone.

"What the hell did you just do?"