Dumped by the Star, Loved by the Legend

I didn't press the broadcast button. Not yet.

Before I blew up Dennis's life, I needed my silver pendant. He gave it to me on our first date. I had left it on the console table in his hotel suite before going to the training facility.

I took a cab to the Four Seasons.

When I reached room 412, the heavy oak door stood slightly ajar. Dennis must have been in a rush to get back, leaving the latch caught on the security guard.

I reached for the handle, but a high-pitched giggle stopped me.

"So why haven't you dumped her yet?" Amy asked.

Her voice drifted from the living area, muffled but clear enough.

"I just told you at the gym," Dennis replied. "She runs my PR. She works for free."

"But how did you even start dating her?" Amy whined. "She's so plain. You're a star."

Ice flooded my veins. I pressed my palm flat against the wood, listening.

Dennis barked a harsh laugh. "You really want to know? It was a bet."

"A bet?"

"Three years ago, at Brad's draft party. We played a drinking game. I lost." Ice clinked against glass. "The punishment was to romance the most boring girl in the room and keep her around for a month."

My stomach plummeted.

"You're joking," Amy gasped, though she sounded delighted.

"I'm dead serious," Dennis said. "I bought her cheap flowers. Wrote some fake poetry. The stupid girl ate it up like a starving dog. By the end of the month, she was managing my schedule and doing my laundry. Why would I throw away free labor?"

"That is hilarious," Amy giggled. "Did she ever suspect?"

"Laura? Suspect me?" He scoffed. "She thinks we're soulmates. It’s pathetic."

The silver pendant sat right there on the entryway table, inches from my fingertips.

My grand romance. My three years of loyalty. It was all a frat boy’s punchline.

I didn't cry. Instead, a strange, hollow smile stretched across my face.

I slipped my hand through the gap in the door, my fingers closing over the cold silver chain. I yanked it off the table and shoved it into my pocket.

I turned my back on room 412 and walked toward the elevator.

By the time I hit the street, the sky had broken open. Rain poured down in thick, gray sheets, soaking my clothes instantly.

I didn't care. I just needed to walk. I needed to get away from the stench of his lies.

"Watch out!" a gruff voice yelled.

A motorcycle engine roared right behind me.

Before I could turn, a gloved hand grabbed the strap of my leather shoulder bag.

"Hey!" I shouted.

The biker yanked hard. The strap tore from my shoulder, taking my wallet, my ID, and my apartment keys with it.

"Give that back!" I screamed, lunging forward.

My wet sneakers lost traction on the slick pavement. I slammed hard onto the concrete, the rough gravel tearing the skin off my palms and knees.

The motorcycle sped around the corner, its taillights bleeding into the rainy dark.

I sat up slowly, rain dripping from my eyelashes.

Blood mixed with the puddle beneath my hands. I stared at the empty street. No one was coming to help me. I was completely alone.

I dug into my jeans pocket. My phone was still there. The screen was cracked, but it turned on.

I opened my messages.

*Dennis: Miss you, babe. Can't wait to see you tonight.*

*Dennis: You're my rock, Laura.*

*Dennis: Forever.*

I hit delete. I wiped the entire thread. Three years of fake affection, gone in a single swipe.

I curled my knees to my chest, shivering against the biting wind. Where could I go? I had no money for a cab. My brother Adam wouldn't answer his phone during team dinners.

A pair of headlights cut through the gloom, blinding me for a second.

A sleek black Maybach glided to a stop right in front of the curb, its engine a low, powerful purr.

The rear door swung open.

A man stepped out into the storm. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, holding a large black umbrella over his head. He didn't rush. He walked around the hood of the car and stopped right in front of me.

Water splashed against his polished leather shoes.

"Miss," a deep, resonant voice cut through the sound of the rain. "Are you sure you still want to return to the man who hurt you?"

I blinked, wiping the water from my eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice raw.

He tilted the umbrella forward, shielding me from the downpour. The streetlights caught the sharp angles of his jaw and his piercing, dark eyes.

My chest seized.

I knew that face. Every player in the league knew that face.

"You're Gerald Thorne," I whispered.

The billionaire owner of Dennis's soccer club. The sole heir to the Thorne family empire. The one man Dennis feared more than a career-ending injury.

"You're bleeding," Gerald noted, his gaze dropping to my scraped palms.

"I got mugged," I muttered, trying to stand up. My knee buckled.

He caught my elbow, his grip firm and steady. "Get in the car, Laura."

"You know my name?" I asked, pulling my arm back slightly.

"I know everything about my players," he said, his tone utterly flat. "Including the messes they make."

"I'm not his mess," I snapped.

"Prove it." Gerald opened the rear door wider. "You have no money. You have nowhere to go. You can sit in the gutter and freeze, or you can get in."

I stared at the luxurious leather interior, then back at his impassive face.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked.

"I don't like waste," Gerald replied. "And Dennis Miller has wasted enough of your time."

A shiver ran down my spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

Gerald stepped closer, the edge of his umbrella brushing my shoulder.

"I want to offer you a new job," he murmured. "One that will destroy him."

I didn't hesitate. I slid into the back seat of the Maybach.

Gerald closed the door, sealing me inside the quiet, leather-scented cabin. He rounded the car and slid in beside me, tapping the glass divider.

The driver pulled away from the curb.

"So," Gerald said, turning his dark eyes toward me. "How exactly do you plan to ruin my star captain?"

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and a dangerous smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

"Speak of the devil," Gerald said, holding the screen up for me to see.

It was a call from Dennis.

"Answer it," I said, my voice turning to ice. "Put him on speaker."

Gerald pressed the green button.

"Mr. Thorne," Dennis's voice echoed through the car, laced with panic. "I need your help. Someone just hacked my social media."

I smiled. I hadn't pressed broadcast, but I had scheduled a post.

"What seems to be the problem, Dennis?" Gerald asked smoothly.

"A video," Dennis stammered. "A video of me and my assistant in the locker room just went live to five million people."

Gerald's eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with dark amusement.

"Well, Dennis," Gerald said softly. "It sounds like you need a new PR manager."

He ended the call, plunging the car into silence.

"You work fast," Gerald noted.

"I'm just getting started," I replied.

"Good," he said, leaning back against the leather seat. "Because tomorrow, you're going to become my wife."

I froze, staring at him in absolute shock.

Wife?

What the hell was he talking about?