Ethan
The 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 smell of grass and adrenaline.
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't take a single step backward.
"The board let me in," she says, her voice smooth, level, and entirely unimpressed by my size. "I'm Dr. Maya Bennett. I'm the new head of sports psychology for Westbridge United." I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, running a hand through my messy hair. "I don't need a shrink. Get out."
"The punch you just threw on live television says otherwise, Mr. Cross." She taps her tablet, turning the screen toward me. A video loop plays the exact moment my fist collided with Julian Vance's jaw."You don't need a public relations apology. You need to learn how to breathe before you tank this club's valuation and ruin your own career."
My chest tightens. The familiar, burning arrogance that usually protects me from the outside world flares up, masking the sharp spike of panic in my throat. I step even closer, invading her personal space until she has to tilt her chin up to look into my eyes. "You don't know anything about me, Doctor," I hiss, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You see a clip on a screen. You don't know what happens on that pitch."
Maya doesn't back down. Her gaze tracks the tight line of my jaw, then moves down to my hands, which are still trembling slightly. Her eyes narrow, seeing straight through my anger to the hollow, terrifying fear underneath. "Maybe I don't exactly know what you are, Ethan," she says softly, using my first name like a scalpel. "But right now, you act like a man who's forgotten who he is without a scoreboard telling him."
The truth of her words hits me like a physical blow. Before I can find a way to strike back, the door flies open again with a loud bang. Marcus bursts into the room, his face pale and his forehead slick with sweat. His phone is clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles have turned white. "Ethan!" he gasps. "Thank God. The Chairman just called." Marcus swallows hard."He's got a solution."I let out a humorless laugh. "A fine? A suspension?" Marcus slowly shakes his head.
"Worse. They want you in a relationship." I stare at him. "What?"
"A fake one," he continues. I bark out a disbelieving laugh. "You've lost your mind."
"I am serious." Marcus takes a ragged breath, his eyes darting frantically between the psychologist and me. "With Dr. Maya Bennett." I turn to her so quickly my neck protests.
She doesn't deny it. She meets my gaze. "I have already signed the agreement." For a moment, I forget how to breathe. "You did what?"
"I accepted the club's offer." She says, lowering her gaze and nervously tapping her fingertips together.
"No. this is not possible," I shake my head. "Call the Chairman back." I point at Marcus. Tell him I'd rather take the suspension. I am not parading around London with a shrink to protect a corporate image. I don't do fake relationships." Marcus doesn't move. "Ethan..."
"I said call him back. "I cut in, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His face tightens. "If you refuse..." He hesitates. "They are activating the morality clause. They'll bench you for the rest of the season."Marcus says, stepping closer. "They'll take the captain's armband from you. And when the transfer window opens, Julian Vance will take your place, your Number 9 jersey for good."
The words hit harder than the punch I threw. My breath hitches. The room suddenly feels devoid of oxygen. Julian. Wearing my shirt, leading my team, and replacing me. The aggressive mask slips entirely, replaced by utter disbelief. My gaze snaps back to Dr. Maya.
She stands perfectly still, watching me in complete silence. Her professional composure masks whatever she's feeling. Her dark eyes are calculating my every micro-expression. But I notice her knuckles are completely white where she grips her tablet. "I am trying to save your career, Mr. Cross," Maya finally speaks, her chin lifting defiantly. "Now, you will help me by doing your part."
"Fine," I spit out, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. I step up to her, erasing the distance between us. I narrow my eyes, making my voice ice-cold. "Let's get one thing straight, Doctor. This is strictly professional. I don't want you thinking you have some actual rights over my life, and I definitely don't want you catching feelings. We do this for the cameras, and nothing more."
Maya doesn't blink. A small, mocking smile touches her lips, completely unfazed by my warning.
"You don't have to worry about that, Mr. Cross," she replies smoothly, her voice cutting like glass. "You are completely safe from my feelings. "Fortunately for both of us, you are not my type."
