STOLEN BY THE RIVAL QUARTERBACK のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

The wind didn't just blow through the valley of Zakopane; it howled like a wounded beast, thrashing against the heavy timber beams and triple-paned glass of the mountain estate.Outside, the Tatra Mountains had completely vanished behind a white wall of blinding snow. What had started as a heavy afternoon snowfall had rapidly spiraled into an unseasonal, catastrophic blizzard by eight o'clock. I stood near the stone fireplace in the main hall, holding a steaming mug of black tea between my palms just to keep my fingers warm. Jaxson sat on the edge of the plush leather sofa across from me, his long legs stretched out toward the hearth. He wore a thick black cashmere sweater that made his broad chest look even wider, his dark hair messy from running his hands through it all evening. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, watching the signal bar flicker wildly before dying completely."No signal," he muttered, dropping the phone onto the table with a dull thud. "We're completely cut

Despite the blinding morning glare outside, the atmosphere inside remained charged with the heavy, unsaid tension of the night before. Kaja’s text message was still burnt into my retinas. DO NOT TRUST VANCE SPORTS. BRONISŁAW SABOTAGED YOUR BRACE. Jaxson had stared at the screen in silence for five long minutes in the dark, his entire body going rigid as iron, before folding his phone away and quietly walking out to the main terrace to clear his head.We hadn't spoken about the message when dawn broke. But the shift in him was unmistakable.For the first time since I had taken his case, Jaxson was already waiting inside the recovery gym before my scheduled seven-o'clock slot. He was stretched out on the blue turf, clad in a grey sleeveless compression top and dark shorts. There was no defiance in his posture today, no snide remarks about my rigid schedule or sarcastic retorts about physical therapists playing god with an athlete's life.The wall he had built between us hadn't just crac

After the long argument in the study, where Jaxson had finally stripped off his invincible CEO facade and laid bare his deepest fears, I hadn't been able to close my eyes. His quiet admission lingered in the quiet room, heavy and terrifying: If this leg doesn't work by autumn, I lose everything. I sat at the glass desk near the balcony doors, wrapped in a thick knit sweater, my laptop open in front of me. The soft white glow of the screen illuminated the dark room, displaying the detailed rehabilitation logs and biomechanical progress charts I had been meticulously updating since day one. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing my temples as a dull ache throbbed behind my forehead. Jaxson's patellar tendon was in a perilously fragile state. The micro-tears from his foolish attempt on the leg press, combined with the subsequent inflammation from the hydrotherapy wing incident, meant that one wrong step—one moment of reckless, stubborn overexertion—could end his career permanently. I rea

The silence following Jaxson’s words was so thick it felt physically heavy, pressing against my chest until every breath became a tight. Inside the study, the shadow of federal marshals and total ruin hung over us like an executioner’s blade. My mind reeled as I stared at the glowing satellite phone screen in Jaxson’s hand. Asset seizure. Emergency removal. Everything Jaxson had built the global enterprise, his standing, his sanctuary was being ripped away in a matter of minutes, all based on a forged medical document bearing my name and digital stamp. Radek didn't hesitate. His jaw tightened, his posture shifting into immediate tactical command. He snapped his fingers, signaling the two armed security guards standing by the doorway. "That changes our timeline," Radek said, his voice flat, brutal, and devoid of warmth. "If federal agents are inbound, we secure the perimeter and isolate the liability. Take Doctor Mercer into holding down in the lower vault holding room immediate

I stood paralyzed in the narrow stone corridor, my fingers clutching the metallic casing of the encrypted micro-drive so tightly my knuckles throbbed white. Beyond the heavy oak mechanism that had just sealed shut, the muted shouts of federal marshals echoed down the primary hallway, their heavy tactical boots rattling the floorboards. Jaxson was out there right now, holding off the agents, putting his body, his reputation, and his remaining freedom on the line to buy me time. My chest heaved in shallow, ragged gaps as a sudden, suffocating wave of realization crashed over my entire existence. Bronisław. My own uncle. The man who had hugged me at my father’s bedside, the man who had solemnly promised to protect our family’s legacy after my father fell ill—he was the puppet master who had orchestrating my ruin from the very beginning. Every contract, every debt notice, every tearful phone call from my relatives begging me to sign away my freedom to Jaxson Cole had been a calculat