Chapter 11

Maya

The heavy soundproof door of the stadium press room swings shut behind us, muting the roar of journalists into a dull thunder beyond the walls. Only then do I realize Ethan is still holding my hand.

Heat lingers where his fingers wrap around mine, sending my pulse racing. "Ethan..." I whisper, trying to pull free. "Let go." His head turns sharply toward me. For a split second, surprise flashes across his face, as though he'd forgotten he was still holding on.

He releases my hand immediately. "I'm sorry." The warmth disappears, leaving my fingers strangely cold. Before I can ask what possessed him to say those things in front of the entire country, the backstage door slams open.

Chairman Alistair Vance storms into the corridor, his polished shoes striking the concrete like gunfire. Marcus rushes after him, looking as though he's aged ten years in the last five minutes. "Have you completely lost your mind?" Alistair barks. His finger shoots toward Ethan.

"I gave you one statement. One. Instead, you turned a controlled press conference into tomorrow's front-page headline." Ethan doesn't react.

Without saying a word, he shifts half a step in front of me, instinctively placing himself between the Chairman and me. "You wanted me to stand there while they destroyed her reputation?" Ethan asks quietly.

"I wanted you to follow instructions," Alistair snaps. "What you did was reckless."

"What I did," Ethan replies, his voice calm enough to make the corridor feel even quieter, "was stop them from tearing apart an innocent woman."

Alistair lets out a bitter laugh. "You think this is over? Every sports reporter in Europe is going to follow you two now. They’ll get even more interested in your personal life. Every time you leave that penthouse together..."

"They were already following us."

"You've made it worse."

"No." Ethan's voice remains calm. "I changed the narrative." For a long moment, neither man speaks. 

Then Alistair exhales slowly and turns his attention to me. "Fine. Six months."

The words land like a sentence. "For the next six months, you maintain the relationship Captain Cross just confirmed to the entire country. Public appearances. Arrivals. Departures. Whatever is necessary to make this convincing."

My stomach tightens.

"And if either of you gives the press reason to believe today's declaration was another publicity stunt," Alistair continues, "the club will consider the terms of this arrangement breached."

His eyes settle on mine. "That means every financial commitment attached to it can be withdrawn."

I already know what's coming next. Alistair doesn't blink. "Including the funding allocated for your brother's surgery and rehabilitation." My chest goes hollow. Beside him, Marcus closes his eyes briefly.

Alistair buttons his suit jacket. "I sincerely hope your little performance was worth the cost." Without another glance, he turns and strides toward the exit. Marcus lingers for a second, offering Ethan a helpless look before quietly following him. The echo of their footsteps fades, leaving only the distant hum of reporters beyond the walls.

I stare at Ethan's back. The silence between us feels heavier than everything Alistair just said. I draw in a slow breath before stepping around him. "What was that?"

Ethan doesn't answer immediately. "You know what I'm talking about." Still nothing. I let out a sharp laugh. "You stood in front of every camera in the country, took my hand. " My voice catches before I force the words out. " And practically invited the media to turn my life into tomorrow's entertainment."

Finally, he looks at me. The harsh fluorescent lights of the corridor catch the sharp edge of his jawline.

"They were already doing that," Ethan says.

"That doesn't make what you did acceptable."

"No." He steps closer. "It made it necessary."

I stare up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You don't get to decide what's necessary for me."

His jaw tightens. A muscle feathers under his skin. "If I'd followed Alistair's script, every headline tomorrow would still be questioning your integrity."

"And now?" I gesture blindly toward the double doors of the press room behind us.

"Now they'll question everything else. They'll question me."

I take a sharp breath. "No, Ethan. They'll question us."

The word hangs heavily between us.

For the first time since leaving the stage, a flicker of genuine uncertainty crosses his face. It disappears almost instantly, replaced by that stubborn, unyielding pride.

"I can handle that," he says flatly.

I let out a slow, frustrated breath. "You still don't understand. I've spent years building my reputation. One press conference doesn't just change the headlines, Ethan. It changes how every athlete, every colleague, every single patient looks at me."

The corridor feels impossibly still. My chest aches with a strange, confusing heat.

When Ethan finally speaks, his voice is quieter. "I know."

"No." I step directly into his personal space, forcing him to look down at me. “I don't think you do. You protected me without asking whether I wanted protection."

His broad shoulders rise and fall with a heavy, restrained breath. "I wasn't going to stand there and let them tear you apart, Maya."

"I never asked you to."

"No," he whispers, his gaze locking onto mine. "You wouldn't have."

Ethan rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the tension radiating off him in waves. "I made a decision. If it costs someone, it should cost me. The cameras. The sponsors. The headlines. They'll follow me now."

His expression settles into stubborn certainty. "They'll stop digging through your life."

“Is that what you think?" A bitter laugh escapes my throat. "You didn't take the attention off me, Ethan. You tied my name to yours even tighter."

He lets out a long breath. “I did what I had to do, Maya.”

"You still crossed the line," I whisper.

"I know." His answer comes so quickly it steals the next words straight from my mouth. "I'd probably do it again."

A frustrated breath escapes me. "You're impossible."

The corner of his mouth lifts, a trace of his usual dangerous arrogance breaking through. "So I've been told."

"You keep calling this strategy."

"It is."

I hold his gaze. "Keep telling yourself that." For once, Ethan has no answer.

His eyes burn into mine for one long, unreadable moment before he slips both hands into his pockets. "We should go."

He turns toward the exit. I fall into step a few paces behind him.

Neither of us speaks. But somewhere between the suffocating press room and the concrete parking garage, the space between us doesn't feel quite as wide as it did this morning.

"Ethan!"

Marcus's voice shatters the quiet. We both turn.

He's hurrying toward us, phone clenched in one hand. One look at his face wipes away whatever fragile calm had settled between us. "Coach just called."

Ethan goes still.

Marcus hesitates. "It's about Manchester."

"What about it?"

"You're not starting." Silence. Ethan's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes does.

"Who is?"

Marcus looks at him.

"Julian."