The Champion Who Chose Me After My Fiancé Betrayed Me

The VIP lounge door was unlocked.

I held the silver gift box tighter against my ribs, listening to the muffled bass of the stadium speakers vibrating through the floorboards. The season finale had ended thirty minutes ago. Ryan’s team had taken the championship trophy, and I had slipped past security with my press credential to surprise him before the post-game press conference.

I pushed the heavy oak door open.

"Ryan?"

The word died in my throat.

He wasn't resting on the sofa. He was pinned against the private bar counter, his team jersey unzipped halfway down his chest, his hands gripping the waist of a woman pushed up onto the polished marble.

Her hands were tangled in his hair. Her silk dress was bunched around her thighs.

It was Emily Stone, the team owner's twenty-two-year-old daughter.

The silver gift box slipped from my fingers, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull, flat thud.

Ryan yanked his hands back like the marble had caught fire. He whipped around, chest heaving, his face instantly draining of color before anger rushed in to replace it.

"Sienna?" he barked, hastily tugging his jersey closed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I stared at him, my voice barely above a whisper. "What am I doing here?"

"You didn't say you were coming up to the lounge," he snapped, stepping in front of Emily. There was no apology in his eyes. Only panic twisted into irritation. "Press isn't allowed in this wing. You know the club rules. Why didn't you text me?"

"Why didn't I text you?" A bitter chill spread through my chest, freezing out whatever air remained in my lungs. "I wanted to congratulate you."

"By barging in without knocking?"

"You told me yesterday you were too exhausted to eat dinner with me," I said, each word feeling like crushed glass on my tongue. "You told me two-a-day practices were killing you and you needed to sleep alone at the hotel."

Emily didn't even bother jumping down from the bar. She reached into her designer clutch, pulled out a gold tube of lipstick, and uncapped it.

"Oh, please, give it a rest," Emily scoffed, tracing her bottom lip in the wall mirror behind the liquor bottles. "Don't act so shocked, Sienna."

I shifted my gaze to her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Emily capped the lipstick with a sharp snap and slid off the counter, smoothing down her designer dress. She looked me up and down, lingering on my reporter badge and practical sneakers. "You're a sports beat reporter working ninety-hour weeks for peanuts. What did you think was going to happen? Ryan's the star striker of the league. He needs someone who can actually elevate his status, not an anchor dragging him down to local cable."

"Emily, shut up," Ryan muttered, though he didn't move away from her.

"Why should I?" She crossed her arms, smirking at me. "She needs to wake up. You were his college girlfriend. A placeholder until he made the national roster. You should be thanking him for letting you stay in his penthouse this long."

My hands started to shake. The blood roared in my ears, hot and loud. Three years of waking up at five in the morning to meal-prep for his nutrition plans. Three years of editing his sponsorship statements, covering his public relations blunders, and sitting in the freezing rain to cheer for him.

"Is that what I am to you, Ryan?" I asked, staring right into his eyes. "A placeholder?"

Ryan ran a hand over his face. "Sienna, let's not make a scene here. You're overreacting. Emily and I just had a few drinks to celebrate the cup. We got carried away. The adrenaline after ninety minutes on the pitch—you don't get it because you don't play."

"I don't get it?"

"Just go home," he commanded, his voice dropping into the familiar dismissive pitch he used whenever we argued about his late nights. "We'll talk about this at the apartment tonight. After the press conference."

"No," I said. "We won't."

I reached into my blazer pocket.

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

I unlocked my phone, opened the camera, and raised it directly at them.

*Click.*

The flash bounced off the liquor bottles, illuminating Emily's smeared red lipstick and the red scratch marks running down the side of Ryan's neck.

"Delete that!" Ryan lunged forward, his hand snapping out to snatch my wrist.

I took two clean steps back, evading his grip entirely.

"Don't touch me," I warned, my tone dead level.

"Sienna, I swear to God, if those photos leak to the media, it'll ruin my contract negotiations with Madrid!" His chest heaved as he pointed a trembling finger at me. "You're an accredited journalist. You post that, and I'll make sure the league revokes your press pass by tomorrow morning!"

"You think this is about a news story?" I asked, looking at him with utter revulsion.

"Then what is it? Money? You want a payout?"

A strange, quiet calm settled over my ribs. The tears that burned behind my eyelids dried up instantly. He was a stranger. The boy who gave me his varsity jacket in college was dead, replaced by this hollow, arrogant coward.

"I don't want a dime from you," I said.

I looked down at my left hand. The two-carat diamond ring caught the harsh fluorescent light of the lounge. He had proposed during his rookie season press tour, making sure five television cameras caught the moment.

I twisted the platinum band off my knuckle. It came off easily.

"What are you doing?" Ryan's voice cracked.

I took one step forward, reached out, and set the ring down on the glass coffee table between us. It made a crisp, metallic clink.

"Sienna, stop being dramatic," Ryan said, though a sudden flash of real dread finally broke through his smug posture. "We've been together for five years. You don't throw away five years over a stupid mistake."

"You didn't make a mistake," I said, holding his terrified gaze. "You made a choice."

I didn't wait for his answer. I spun on my heel and walked out the door.

"Sienna! Get back here!" his voice echoed down the private hall, followed by Emily's sharp, annoyed whine.

I didn't stop. I marched down the carpeted corridor toward the player exit, my vision blurring slightly as the adrenaline surged through my bloodstream. The heavy bass of the arena was louder now, vibrating in my teeth. My fingers clenched around my phone.

I rounded the corner toward the service tunnel and slammed straight into a wall of solid muscle.

"Watch it," a deep, rough voice rumbled above me.

I stumbled back, my shoulder catching the concrete wall.

Standing in front of me was Damon Hayes.

Ryan's fiercest rival. The captain of the rival team that had just lost the championship match by a single goal in stoppage time.

Damon still had black athletic tape around his wrists. Sweat dampened his dark hair, clinging to his temples, and his silver-gray eyes were cold as slate. He had a reputation in the league for being ruthless, taciturn, and completely unapproachable by the press.

He stared down at me. His gaze flicked from my face down to my trembling, empty left hand, then up to the corner behind me where the VIP lounge stood.

I wiped the corner of my eye before anything could fall. "Sorry. Excuse me."

I tried to step around him, but Damon shifted his broad frame, blocking the narrow tunnel path.

He didn't offer a polite word. He didn't ask if I was okay.

"He cheated on you?" Damon asked bluntly.

The question hit like a slap. My throat tightened, but I held my chin up and gave a single, firm nod.

Damon glanced down the corridor toward Ryan's lounge, his jaw hardening into a sharp line. Then he looked back at me, his gray eyes fixing on mine with brutal clarity.

"Then don't waste another tear on a man who doesn't deserve one."

Before I could reply, Damon reached out, grabbed my wrist with calloused fingers, and pulled me in the opposite direction.