The replay wouldn't stop.
Not just the game footage,he'd watched that a hundred times. Not just the club surveillance,what was left of it after the cameras conveniently "glitched." Not even just the night in the hotel room, though that, too, returned to him in flashes that left him breathless.
What wouldn't stop was the question.
Who wanted him out?
He sat on the balcony of his penthouse in London, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He rarely smoked anymore,too dangerous for his lungs, his fitness. But right now, it was the only thing steady in his shaking hands.
The blood. The bottle. The sudden blackouts.
And then,Eliana.
Her name lived under his skin now.
She had whispered it like a promise when she told him he was safe. And though he left before she could say more, her voice still echoed in his mind. Gentle. Familiar. Like a thread connecting past to present.
She wasn't just a girl he slept with.
She couldn't be.
He was sure of it now.
But finding her again wasn't easy. There was no full name. No number. Just that one syllable,Eliana and a memory that made his pulse trip every time he tried to forget.
He wanted to focus on the sabotage.
Someone had drugged him, set him up, tried to get him arrested or worse.
But she,she lingered just beneath every suspicion.
Why did he feel like she mattered to that night more than anything else?
She tried to paint.
It used to help her breathe again,her safe place. Watercolors and oils, quiet classical music playing in the background, the smell of turpentine and canvas thick in the air.
But now all her brushes refused to obey her.
Everything she painted turned into fragments of him.
His mouth. His fingers. His eyes in the dark.
She hated it.
Or maybe she just hated how much she missed him even now, even after the silence.
She told him her name. She gave him everything.
And he left.
She'd seen his interviews since. He looked fine. Better than fine,he smiled like nothing had happened. Gave goals, lifted trophies, laughed with teammates.
She was foolish to believe she could matter in a life like his.
A phone buzz interrupted her spiral.
It was her cousin Valeria, texting from Milan.
"Elia… you won't believe this. My gallery's hosting a charity auction next month,guess who's sponsoring the event? Kai freaking Allard. I nearly dropped my espresso."
Eliana's chest seized.
Coincidence?
No. This was fate. Again.
Trying to tie them together with thread she didn't have the strength to pull.
She stared at the message, hands trembling.
Then she typed back:
"I'm not going. Don't even ask."
But even as she sent it, she knew she'd show up.
Because if fate insisted… maybe she wasn't done with him either.
His agent had just left.
They'd gone over PR strategy, injury risk assessments, and the charity event in Milan next month.
Kai barely heard a word.
Because as soon as the venue was mentioned, something flickered in his mind.
Italy.
He remembered a girl from Italy. Not just in the hotel. Long before that. A child.
A name.
Eliana.
His heart beat like it had found something important.
Maybe Milan would offer more than just cameras and donations.
Maybe Milan would bring her back to him.