The Match- Fixer And The Flower Girl

Chapter 4: The Match-Fixer And The Flower Girl

I didn’t sleep. The echo of Jemima’s voice—“I’ll drop it in his water bottle… look like a sudden cardiovascular collapse”—replayed in my head like a siren.

By noon, Tolu was still in lectures, and the suffocating air of the dorm room was driving me insane. I pulled on Tolu’s oversized grey hoodie, tucked my hair into a cap, and slipped out the back door toward the athletic complex. I needed air, movement, anything to stop my hands from shaking.

The Northgate Titans’ basketball arena sat at the center of campus like a fortress of glass and steel. Through the double glass doors, the thud of basketballs against hardwood reverberated through the corridor. I slipped inside, blending into the shadowy top row of the bleachers where a few students were scattered watching team practice.

On the court below, the Titans were moving with terrifying precision. But at the center of it all was one man.

Dominic Isaiah.

Even from fifty feet away, the Titans’ captain was impossible to miss.

Broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and moving with an aggressive, predatory grace, he barked plays at his squad with absolute authority. His dark eyes were cold, scanning the floor like a general commanding a battlefield.

Then the heavy double doors at the courtside entrance slammed open.

Three men in dark suits stepped onto the floor, accompanied by two campus security guards. Practice ground to a halt. The screech of rubber shoes vanished instantly.

"Dominic Isaiah!" the lead suit called out, his voice booming across the hardwood. "Head Office needs you in the administration building. Immediately."

Murmurs rippled through the bleachers and the team. Dom didn't flinch. He bounced the ball once, caught it effortlessly in one palm, and tossed it to a teammate. "Take five, lads," he said, his voice deep and completely calm, though the tension in his shoulders tightened like a drawn bow.

As he walked off the court, two players near the bench leaned in, whispering loud enough for the lower bleachers to hear.

"It’s about the footage from the semi-final," a player with VANCE on his jersey muttered. "Word is he took thirty grand from a London bookie to throw the second half."

"Shut it, Vance," another player snapped, but the seed was planted. A leaked video. A match-fixing scandal. The captain of the Titans was under fire.

I waited until the gym cleared out before walking down the bleacher stairs. My mind was reeling. Match-fixing. Betting syndicates. Vanterpool. It was all connected—the pieces were spinning around both James and Dominic, and I was caught in the middle of a storm I hadn't built.

I stepped out into the quiet brick alley behind the arena, pulling my hoodie tight against the Leeds wind.

"Are you following me, or are you just lost?"

I gasped, spinning around.

Dominic Isaiah was leaning against the brick wall beside the equipment entrance, a black gym bag slung over his shoulder. Up close, he was intimidating—tall, muscular, his sharp features carved from marble. But his dark eyes were cold, fixed on me with intense scrutiny.

Before I could speak, his eyes drifted down to my worn trainers, my oversized jumper, and then up to my face. A sharp, cynical smile touched his lips.

"I know that face," Dominic said, taking a step toward me. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "You’re the girl from the news. The flower girl. The crazy ex who spent her life savings on James Dakas and got thrown out on live television."

A wave of heat flushed up my neck, but I stood my ground. "My name is Aima."

"I don't care what your name is," Dom said flatly, leaning down slightly so he was at eye level with me. His gaze was icy, unyielding. "I know your type. You chase the rising star, pour everything into his clout, and when he trades up, you throw a public tantrum to get a payout. A gold digger who miscalculated."

The insult hit like a slap, but after James, my heart was already numb. Anger, hot and sharp, replaced the shock in my veins.

"You don't know a single thing about me, Isaiah," I snapped, stepping directly into his space, refusing to back down. "And from what I just saw on that court, you have your own house on fire.

Match-fixing? Taking bribes? You’re in no position to judge anyone."

Dom’s jaw clenched. A muscle ticked beneath his skin, and for a second, a flash of dark, dangerous emotion broke through his cold composure. He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the open alley and into the narrow shadow of the equipment doorway, trapping me against the brick.

The sudden closeness felt heavy and suffocating between us. I could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the crisp soap and sweat of the court.

"I didn't throw that game," Dom growled, his hand tightening slightly on my sleeve, his dark eyes burning into mine.

"Someone edited that tape to ruin my scholarship. And I don't need a viral parasite making a scene around my team."

"Then let go of me," I whispered fiercely, staring right back into his eyes. "Because I don't need a disgraced captain telling me who I am."

We stood chest-to-chest, the hatred between us practically crackling in the cold air.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of light strobed against the brick wall.

A student photographer standing near the main courtyard had raised a long-lens camera, snapping a photo of us pinned against the wall together. Dom turned his head sharply, cursing under his breath.

"Great," Dom muttered, releasing my arm as if he’d been burned. "Now the sports press is going to say I’m hanging out with Dakas’s delusional ex."

"Or," I said, my heart suddenly racing as an insane, desperate idea took root in my mind, "they’ll say the Titans' captain has a new girlfriend."

Dom froze, turning back to look at me as if I’d spoken in a foreign language. "What?"

"You need to kill a scandal that’s about to destroy your scholarship and your father’s team," I said, the words tumbling out, sharp and strategic. "The press thinks you're a dirty player taking bribes. I’m the girl the whole country feels sorry for or laughs at. If we're seen together—if we pretend to date—it changes the narrative.

It cleans up your image. It makes you look like a protector, not a cheat."

Dom stared at me, a cold laugh bubbling in his throat. "And what does a 'gold digger' like you get out of pretending to be my girlfriend?"

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice turning to steel. "I need a job as the Titans' team assistant. I need campus housing.

And I need a front-row seat to James Dakas's world... so I can watch him burn."

Dom narrowed his eyes, studying my face for a long, agonizing silence. "A fake relationship," he said softly, the word dripping with cynicism. "You really are crazy."

"Are you brave enough to take the deal, Isaiah?" I challenged. "Or are you going to let them strip your captain's armband?”