The Billionaire's Pitchers Regret

Chapter One

Martina POV

“Martina, don’t tell me you used all your part-time money to buy flowers for your boyfriend. Aren’t you supposed to get something for your mother to cheer her up?” Vera, my friend, asked as she stared at the bouquet in my hands.

I smiled softly.

“This is worth more than you think,” I replied. “Bruno is my life, and this is just a token. I wish I could give him more. It’s not easy, especially since this is the last award before we all leave college. And besides, my mother loves him for me.”

I could see anger flash across her face.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” she snapped. “That international baseball pitcher is only playing you. He’ll dump you when it suits him.”

I rolled my eyes. “I hate how pessimistic you always are. Please, just help me with my hair already. I can’t afford to be late. I’m his number one fan,” I said, glancing down at the jersey I was wearing with his name printed boldly across the front.

A short while later, I arrived at the stadium where the award ceremony was being held. Bruno was the only thing keeping me going these days. Since my mother fell sick, he had become my world—my strength, my hope.

I wanted to give him the flowers before the game and the award presentation, like a good-luck charm. Smiling excitedly, I walked toward the dressing room I knew he always used, my heart fluttering as I imagined his reaction—how he would smile, lean in, and kiss my lips after I handed them to him.

Without knocking, I pushed the door open.

The sight before me shattered everything.

Gifts were scattered all over the room, and there was Bruno—locked in an intimate embrace with Ariana, the same woman he always claimed was chasing after him.

Tears flooded my eyes instantly. I couldn’t even find my voice. The flowers slipped from my hand and hit the floor, the sound drawing their attention.

“Bru… no,” I stammered.

“You came, Martina?” he said casually. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the hospital with your mother? Isn’t today her surgery?”

He spoke as if what I had just witnessed meant nothing—as if he never expected me to be there, so he could continue frolicking freely.

I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked out, my legs trembling beneath me, feeling like the ground should open up and swallow me whole.

I stumbled into the bathroom and broke down, crying harder than I ever had before. How could I be treated like this—after leaving my sick mother just to cheer him on?

A notification buzzed on my phone.

It was from the hospital.

The surgery was scheduled to begin in an hour.

I could still make it.

Wiping my tears, I rushed outside and hailed a taxi. When I arrived at the hospital, I went straight to my mother’s ward. She was already being prepped, and the nurse I had begged to help take care of her was standing beside her.

I hurried to her side, and she looked surprised to see me.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, “isn’t today Bruno’s match before he travels to Europe? Why aren’t you there?”

Even now—when her life was on the line—she was worried about someone else. Just like me.

I forced myself to smile. “Bruno wanted me to stay with you,” I lied. “He said he’d win for us. So you better come back alive so we can celebrate.”

She squeezed my hand. “I know how hard this is—my surgery and his game happening on the same day. This too shall pass.”

I wished she knew the truth. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I had no choice. Just then, the nurse informed us it was time.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

She nodded, smiling bravely.

“If I make it out alive, I’ll congratulate him myself,” she said softly. “But if I don’t… give this to him.”

She pressed her bracelet into my palm.

I smiled through my tears as they wheeled her toward the operating theater.

My world felt like it was collapsing as I walked into the hospital waiting area. A television screen flickered nearby, showing Bruno’s game. People around me cheered as he won—again. He always did.

But for the first time, his victory brought me nothing but pain.

For the first time, I wanted him to lose.

When he was called up to receive his award, the host asked him a question.

“Winning this gold award today, would you like to dedicate it to someone?”

He nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “To someone very close to my heart. Someone who has always cheered me on and wants the best for me. She’s an amazing soul—and she even came to support me today.”

Tears streamed down my face.

All these years, I had been his biggest cheerleader. And today—he dedicated his win to another woman.

It was too much.

As I turned to leave, I noticed a group of doctors rushing into the operating theater. My heart dropped.

No one would tell me what was happening.

When a nurse finally approached me, her expression said everything.

“Your mother has developed complications,” she said quietly. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Complications.

The same word they used when my little brother died—because he inherited the same family illness my mother carried.

“No…” I whispered.

This was too much for one day.

Too much for one heart.