All Chapters of OFFSIDE HEARTS: His Dr. Anchor : Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

Ethan Sixty thousand voices shake the stadium, yet the world around me has gone eerily silent.Blood beats a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs. Sweat drips from my messy dark hair, stinging my hazel eyes as I glare down at Julian Vance. The kid is twenty-one, arrogant, and standing entirely too close on the pitch.He tears the ball from my hands. "I'll take it." Before I can stop him, the referee has already blown the whistle. I am the captain, the designated penalty taker. But Julian physically shoves past me, snatches the ball from my hands, and takes the shot himself just to tie my score for the league's Golden Boot.The net ripples. The crowd explodes. Julian has scored. And instead of celebrating with the team, he walks straight over to me. He smiles, ensuring the television cameras only see his perfect, marketable profile."Your time is done, old man," Julian whispers, his voice dripping with absolute venom. "Clinging to your mother's ring won't save you. Next month, I'l

EthanThe heavy locker room door clicks open.I don’t look up from my hands. I brace myself for the storm, my fingers gripping my hair as the footsteps approach."Leave me alone, Marcus," I growl, assuming it's my agent coming to tally up the millions I just lost. "I’m not in the mood." "I'm not Marcus." A calm, unfamiliar voice replies.I drop my hands and look up. Standing in the doorway isn't my frantic agent. It’s a woman. She wears a sharp, charcoal-grey blazer and a crisp white shirt. Her dark hair is pulled back into a flawless, no-nonsense bun, and she carries a sleek digital tablet under her arm. Her dark eyes are incredibly steady. They lock onto mine with a cold, analytical precision that instantly makes my defensive walls slam up."Who the hell let you in here?" I snap. Standing up to my full height of six-foot-two. I deliberately use my size to crowd her space, stepping off the wooden bench until the clean, calming scent of her vanilla perfume cuts through the heavy smel

EthanBy the next evening, every major sports outlet in Europe had turned our photograph into headline news. The silence inside my minimalist penthouse is loud enough to make my ears ring.I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring out at the blurred London skyline. The rain streaks down the window like tears. The marble floors are freezing. The sleek, modern furniture looks immaculate because nobody ever sits on it. I spin the lucky silver ring around my neck, watching my reflection. To the world, I am Ethan Cross, the invincible striker. Inside this penthouse, I am just a guy eating a pre-cooked meal alone in a multi-million-pound cage. A sharp buzz from my phone shatters the quiet.Marcus: The car is downstairs. Alistair wants you and the doctor arm-in-arm at the Westbridge Annual Gala in thirty minutes. Julian is already there making statements. Do not mess this up. I let out a low growl, shoving the phone into my tuxedo pocket. I glance at myself in the mirror. The b

Maya The neon glow of the streetlamp flickers through the thin curtains of my tiny London apartment.I sink onto the faded velvet sofa, surrounded by towering stacks of medical journals, dog-eared books, and potted plants that somehow thrive despite my erratic schedule. The apartment is barely big enough to stretch out in, but for the first time all day, I can be myself.A sharp knock at my front door shatters the quiet.I frown, checking the time on my phone. It’s nearly midnight. I pull my cardigan tighter around my shoulders, walk over, and peer through the peephole. My stomach drops.Marcus, Ethan's agent, is standing in the hallway, looking around frantically like a man fleeing a crime scene.I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open. "Marcus? What are you doing here at this hour?""We have a massive problem, Maya," Marcus gasps. Without waiting for an answer, Marcus slipped past me and into the apartment. He runs a hand over his balding head, holding up his tablet. "The papa

MayaMarcus reaches me as I walk towards the tunnel.“The photographers are waiting outside,” he says quietly. “They’ve been there since before training started.”My grip tightens around the tablet tucked beneath my arm.“Every outlet wants photos of you leaving with Ethan,” Marcus continues. “If you walk out separately after yesterday’s apartment story, they’ll tear the relationship apart.”I close my eyes for the briefest moment before letting out a slow breath.“So we play our part,” I say flatly.Marcus nods. “Exactly.”Neither of us says another word.Minutes later, the hum of the luxury car’s engine fills the silence as we leave Westbridge United’s training ground behind. Ethan doesn't look at me once.After dismantling Julian on the pitch, he has retreated behind that familiar wall again, his arms folded tightly across his chest as the rain streaks the window beside him. Whatever passed between us during training is gone. By the time we reach the penthouse, he steps out without