#Chapter 2: Her Husband

Taylor POV

The taste of his lips still lingers when I pull back. My heart beats rapidly in my ears.

The intense noise of the crowd fades into the background as I remain fixated on him, the stranger whose steady hands kept me from collapsing just moments ago.

Except… his expression isn't good.

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek as if I've crossed a line. His eyes—gray, stormy, search mine, not with passion but with something else entirely.

Shock. Discomfort. Maybe even anger.

What have I done?

The audience moved their attention to different laughing couples after the Kiss Cam broadcast ended as well, and their roar moved away from us like an ocean wave that pulled back into the distance.

Out of the corner of my eye, Keira's jaw practically drops she stares in stunned silence, her eyes blown wide and her mouth parted just enough to betray her shock. She glances between me and him, disbelief etched across her features, as though she can't decide if she just witnessed it happen.

But I feel the heat of shame pressing into my skin as if the stadium lights are creating an intense glare that is slowly setting my body a blaze.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, words tumbling out. "I shouldn't have—"

He doesn't speak. His lips part, then press together again, and his gaze slides toward the court as if he's willing this whole thing to vanish.

I can't stand it. The combination of Dylan's betrayal and my public kiss with a stranger and his unspoken criticism has become unbearable for me.

My chest tightens as I glance at Keira. Her wide eyed disbelief hasn't faded, but when I reach for her hand, she doesn't pull away. "Let's go," I whisper.

She gives the tiniest nod, still stunned, but she doesn't argue. She never does when my voice carries that edge.

We navigate through the store while fans in the background discuss the game and then a person points at me saying "That's her!"

By the time we stumble out onto the cool night streets, I'm shaking. The city is alive around us.

It produces the sounds of car horns and streetlight hums while carrying the aroma of fried food from a street vendor. But I have this empty feeling inside.  

My banner is still crumpled in my hand, a sad reminder of the night I thought would celebrate Dylan.

Kiera loops her arm through mine. "Taylor, screw him. Screw all of it. You're better than this."

"I don't feel better," I mutter. "I feel stupid.

"I gave up an interview, Kiera. For him. And he—" My voice catches. She bumps my shoulder lightly, eyes sparkling.

"Honestly, forget Dylan, you two looked smokin out there. That kiss? Fireworks, girl. Honestly… maybe you should've asked for that stranger's number before you ran."

"Come on, Keira, stop joking around—" I start, cheeks burning, but before I can finish my sentence, y  my phone buzzes sharply, the notification tone slicing through my misery. I almost ignore it, but the screen lights up with a charge notification.

It is my monthly credit card bill. I usually know what I spent on so it shouldn't be a problem.

But my stomach drops this time when I see the extra  $2000.

It must be Dylan.

 Ever since I started working part-time during freshman year, I've had a bit more savings than him, and I've helped him out from time to time.

I didn't mind—it's not like I expected anything in return. But this… this is different.

"Dylan squandered my money this month," I mumbled to Kiera, my voice shaking. "He probably had planned to break up with me after I found out. No wonder he seemed relieved after I broke up with him."

"What-" Kiera's face darkens. " He didn't."

"Oh, he did." My fingers tremble as I dail his number

One ring. Two. Four. Straight to voicemail. I try again.

And again. On the sixth attempt, he finally answers. His voice oozes irritation.

"Taylor. Now's not a good time. I'm about to go back to the field."

"Not a good time?" My chest aches with fury. "You used up all my savings. What did you even buy this time?"

Then Dylan sighs like I'm the problem. "It's an investment."

"An investment?" My voice cracks. "In what, Dylan? Another pair of sneakers you'll wear once? Another dinner for someone who isn't me?"

"Don't be dramatic." His tone shifts, almost smug. "It's Ella, the woman I kissed earlier. You saw her."

"Ella?" The name punches the air from my lungs.

"She's wealthy, Taylor. Once I win her over, everything changes. And I'll pay you back, all of it. You just need to be patient."

The world tilts beneath me. "So you're using me—my money—to impress another woman?"

He exhales, annoyed. "It's called strategy. I saw you kissing another man too, by the way. Why don't we just both move on? "

Memories of kissing that stranger in front of everyone floods back. I can feel my cheeks heat up.

 I don't have time to be thinking about a stranger right now. I have to get my money back.

"You cheated first, Dylan." My voice steadies, icy now. "If you don't pay me back immediately, I'll go to her. I'll tell Ella exactly what you've been doing."

That gets him. His voice sharpens, ugly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"Careful, Taylor." He now speaks with such venom. I have never heard him talk to me like that before. "You don't know who-." The line goes dead.  "Oh no, he didn't just hang up on me."

I try calling back but met with the robotic voice of an automated system: "The number you are dialling has blocked you."

My knees nearly buckle. Kiera grabs me, her grip strong.

"You're seriously not letting him get away with this, right?" Her words ignite a small flame inside me, which develops into a bigger fire.

He's not just going to walk away from this. Not with my money, and certainly not with my dignity.

 I'm going backstage to find Ella  I whisper. "She deserves to know what a Prick he really is."

A forceful determination runs through me with the same intensity like a second heart.

Although the sports venue is quieter now since the second half of the game is about to start, the security personnel maintain their position with operational radios crackling in the shadows.

Kiera hisses beside me as we sneak toward the side entrance. "Taylor, you're insane. But if you're doing this, I'm with you."

I squeeze her hand. "Thank you."

The backstage area hum with the noise of distant voices, while the air carries the scent of sweat and disinfectant. The walls display shiny posters showing athletes with glossy smiles.

Then I see him. Dylan. His eyes land on me, and something hard flickers there.

To my surprise, Ella is not there with him.

"Get her out of here," Dylan says flatly, dismissing me like I'm some crazed fan. "She doesn't belong."

"What?" My voice rises, sharp and trembling. "You can't just—"

Two guards advance, broad shoulders blotting out the hallway lights.

Kiera squeezes my hand hard. "Go find Ella. I'll distract them."

"What? No—"

"Taylor, go!" she hisses, then spins toward the guards with the kind of wild, dramatic energy only she can pull off. "You want trouble? Here it is!"

She kicks over a trash bin which produces a loud metallic sound before she throws her arms into the air as if she wants to start a protest. The guards immediately turn their attention to her, shouting commands as she shrieks in exaggerated outrage.

"Don't touch me! I know my rights!" she yells, drawing every eye in the hallway.

My heart twists with gratitude.

"I owe you one" I whisper even though I know she can't hear me because her loud performance drowns out my voice.

With their focus on Kiera, I ran down the hallways as my heart races with increasing speed.  

I expect to find Ella somewhere nearby, maybe tucked into a private lounge or corner of the backstage area. But when I finally turn a corner, I freeze at the sight before me.

Ella is there, yes—draped in elegance. But she's not with Dylan.

She's speaking to him. The stranger. The man from the stands. The one I kissed.

He stands a few feet from Ella, his shoulders squared, posture rigid as though every muscle in his body is strung tight. His fists flex at his sides, slowly opening and closing, like he's fighting to stay calm.

"Unbelievable," he mutters. "We're still in the middle of a divorce process, and you're already parading around with a new boyfriend?"

"Oh, calm down, Aiden." Ella doesn't flinch. She crosses her arms over her chest, chin tilted high, her perfume drifting sharp and floral even from where I'm hiding.

Oh God.

The stranger's name is Aiden—the man whose lips I stole in a moment of reckless desperation—is Ella's husband.

She is divorcing him, he is her soon to be ex husband.