After My Star Player Betrayed Me for His Mistress

Hellfire suspended Elian on Tuesday morning. The league opened a formal investigation into the lobby incident. He was benched indefinitely.

He did not take it quietly.

Nadia walked into my office. She didn't knock. She dropped her tablet onto my glass desk.

"He's live," she said. Her voice was pure ice.

I picked up the tablet. Elian was sitting in what looked like a hotel room. The lighting was harsh. He wore a wrinkled t-shirt. His hair was a mess. He leaned close to the camera.

"She's obsessed with me," Elian told the eighty thousand people watching. He let out a bitter laugh. "Ember can't let go. That's why she brought security. That's why she slapped Savanna. She's completely heartbroken. She built her whole life around me. Now she's losing her mind because I finally walked away."

I watched his face. Johan's jawline. Johan's eyes. But Johan would never look this pathetic.

Elian sounded desperate. He wanted the world to think I was a crazy ex-girlfriend. He needed to be the victim. For a few hours, the internet bought it. The clip went viral. The comments flooded my mentions. They called me bitter. They called me unhinged.

"Do we issue a cease and desist?" Nadia asked. She crossed her arms. "Legal is standing by. We can gag him by noon."

I put the tablet face down on the desk. "No."

"Ember, he's controlling the narrative. He's making you look weak."

"He's throwing a tantrum," I said. I picked up my pen. "We don't argue with tantrums. Log into the main team account."

Nadia frowned. She opened her laptop. "Okay. What's the statement?"

"No statement. Post the graphic for the Fall Split schedule. Pin it to the top of the page. Say nothing else."

Nadia paused. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she smiled. It was a sharp, dangerous smile. "Done."

It took exactly forty-eight hours. The internet is fickle, but it respects power. Elian kept posting long, emotional rants. He tweeted at me. He posted old photos of us. He begged for a public apology.

We posted nothing but match times, sponsor logos, and merchandise links. The contrast was blinding. By Thursday afternoon, the narrative flipped entirely. The fans stopped pitying him. They started mocking him.

*Bro is fighting ghosts,* one top comment read. *She literally doesn't care about you. Move on.*

I read that comment while drinking my morning coffee. I felt a dark, quiet irony settle in my chest. I was fighting ghosts, too. Just not the one they thought.

Friday night. Eleven o'clock. The eve of the Fall Split opener.

The facility was completely empty. The staff had gone home. The players were in their dorms. I sat alone in the dark observation room. The only light came from the massive monitor on the wall. It cast a cold blue glow over the empty chairs.

I was running replay footage of Hellfire's current roster. Tomorrow was the test. Tomorrow, Midnight Wolves played Hellfire. Elian wouldn't be on the stage, but it was still his team.

My eyes burned. My shoulders ached. I leaned forward in my leather chair. I rested my elbows on the desk and buried my face in my hands.

If Theo failed tomorrow, the sponsors would walk. The fans would riot. The empire I built would crack. And if Midnight Wolves cracked, the money stopped. If the money stopped, Johan's private care facility stopped getting paid.

For seven years, I had held the sky up all by myself. I paid the bills. I kept the secrets. I smiled for the cameras. I never let anyone see me sweat. I never let anyone see me bleed.

But tonight, the weight felt unbearable. I was so tired. My bones felt hollow.

The heavy acoustic door clicked open.

I didn't lift my head. I recognized the quiet, measured footsteps. They didn't echo like Elian's boots. They were soft. Deliberate.

Theo walked into the room. He wore his gray sweatpants and a black Midnight Wolves hoodie. He didn't say a word. He walked over to the row of chairs. He pulled one out and sat down right next to me.

He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask what I was watching. He just sat there.

I kept my face hidden in my hands. I felt the heat radiating from his arm. He smelled like cheap coffee and clean laundry detergent. He took up space in the dark room without demanding any attention.

We sat in silence for a long time. The only sound was the low hum of the servers and the soft clicks of the game playing on the screen.

I finally dropped my hands. I sat back and looked at the monitor. I didn't look at him.

"You should be asleep," I said. My voice was hoarse. It cracked on the last word.

"So should you," he replied smoothly.

I watched the enemy jungler clear a camp on the screen. "Tomorrow is going to be loud. The crowd will be against you. They want you to fail. They want to prove I made a mistake."

"I don't care about the crowd," Theo said. His voice was a low rumble.

I turned my head. He was already looking at me. His dark eyes were steady in the blue light. He wasn't looking at my clothes or my posture. He was looking right at my face.

He saw the exhaustion. He saw the dark circles under my eyes. He saw the deep, hidden cracks in the armor I wore every single day.

He didn't look away. He didn't look scared.

"You don't have to carry everything by yourself," Theo said softly.

The words struck my chest like a physical blow. My breath hitched. My hands tightened on the armrests of my chair.

He held my gaze. "I know you can. I'm just saying you don't have to."

I stared at him. I wanted to tell him to leave. I wanted to build my walls back up. I wanted to retreat into the cold, empty space where I kept Johan's memory. I was used to being alone. I was safe when I was alone.

But looking at Theo, I felt a strange, terrifying warmth. It was a quiet kind of devotion. He wasn't asking for my secrets. He wasn't demanding my attention like Elian always did. He was just offering his strength. He was offering to stand in the dark with me.

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. My throat was too tight.

I turned my head back to the screen. I watched the game play out.

But I didn't leave. I stayed right there, sitting in the dark beside him. I let my shoulder relax, just a fraction, leaning closer to his warmth. And for the first time in seven years, I let myself rest.