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.

The arena shook. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floorboards of the owner's box. It was Saturday afternoon. The Fall Split opener. Midnight Wolves versus Hellfire. The stadium was completely sold out.

I stood in the dim light of the box, watching the main broadcast monitor. Elian’s face filled the screen. He was doing a live pre-match interview. The lights caught the sharp line of his jaw. Johan's jaw. But I felt nothing.

"I'm just focused on proving people wrong," Elian told the camera. He offered a cocky, practiced smile. "I'm finally free. I have space to breathe. I'm ready to play my own game today."

I watched his eyes. I watched his mouth. I waited for it. He went quiet for a beat. Just a fraction of a second. Then his chin jerked up, and his voice got louder. He overcorrected into aggression. It was his tell. He used to do it when he was losing a lane. He was doing it now. He was rattled. He was terrified.

I picked up my tablet and switched the feed to our green room.

Theo sat on a cheap folding chair in the corner. He wore his black Midnight Wolves jersey. He was eating a granola bar. His battered spiral notebook rested on his knee. He chewed slowly, flipping a page. He looked like a college kid waiting for a bus. He didn't look like a rookie about to step onto the biggest stage in North America to replace a legend.

I locked the tablet and set it down.

The games began. The noise in the arena was deafening. Fans screamed Elian's name. They held up signs mocking me. I ignored all of it. I just watched the screen.

We took game one. Hellfire scraped back game two. We crushed them in game three.

Then came game four. Match point.

Thirty-five minutes in, the tension was suffocating. The gold was dead even. Hellfire grouped around the Baron pit. Elian was playing aggressively. He wanted the spotlight. He wanted the hero play. He pushed too far forward, trying to force a fight.

I watched Theo's champion on the screen. He didn't panic. He didn't rush. He waited in the fog of war.

Elian stepped out of position by a single inch.

Theo moved. He made a split-second rotation through the jungle. It was a surgical flank. He bypassed Hellfire's frontline entirely and dropped right onto Elian. He didn't just kill him. He dismantled him. He erased Elian from the map in four seconds, then turned and broke the rest of the team.

The crowd erupted. It was a wall of pure sound.

"The play of the split!" the lead commentator screamed through the speakers, his voice cracking. "Are you kidding me? Theo Ellis just broke Hellfire!"

The screen flashed a massive, golden 'VICTORY'. 3-1.

The broadcast camera instantly panned to the owner's box. It zoomed in on my face. Millions of people were watching. They wanted to see me gloat. They wanted to see me cry. I gave them nothing. I didn't smile. I didn't cheer. I just stared blankly into the lens, my expression entirely unreadable.

The broadcast cut to the main stage. Elian ripped his headset off. His face was red. He slammed the headset onto the desk so hard the plastic shattered.

I turned around and walked out of the box.

I took the private elevator down to the ground floor. I needed to get to the press room before the post-game interviews started. The concrete corridor backstage was empty. The roar of the crowd was muffled behind thick walls. The air was cool and smelled like ozone and floor wax.

I turned the corner.

Savanna Mills was standing right in the middle of the hallway.

She wore a Hellfire jersey that was tied at the waist. She saw me approaching. Her eyes flicked past my shoulder. She was calculating. I didn't stop walking. I kept my pace steady.

As I stepped past her, Savanna suddenly threw herself backward.

She twisted her ankle on purpose and hit the concrete floor hard. She let out a loud, theatrical gasp. Her hands flew to her face. "Ember, why would you push me?" she cried out. Her voice echoed down the hall.

Before I could even blink, heavy footsteps pounded around the corner.

Tyler Marsh, Hellfire's captain. He was sweating, still in his match jersey. He saw Savanna on the floor. He saw me standing over her. His face twisted into ugly, blind rage.

He lunged at me.

He slammed his heavy forearm into my chest and shoved me backward. My spine hit the concrete wall with a sickening thud. The breath rushed out of my lungs. The back of my head cracked against the stone. Pain flared hot and bright in my skull. Tyler pinned me there, his face inches from mine. He smelled like sweat and adrenaline.

"Are you crazy?" Tyler spat, his eyes wide. "Don't you ever touch her!"

I didn't gasp. I didn't struggle. My mind went instantly, dangerously cold. I looked right into his eyes.

Then, a blur of black and gray shot past my peripheral vision.

It was fast. It was utterly violent.

Hands grabbed Tyler’s collar. He was ripped away from me so hard his boots left the floor. I heard a loud, heavy crash. Tyler hit the opposite wall.

Theo had him pinned by the throat.

Theo's jaw was clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His dark eyes were lethal. He didn't yell. He didn't say a single word. He just squeezed. Tyler gagged. His eyes bulged. He clawed frantically at Theo's arm, but Theo didn't budge. He looked like he was ready to kill him right there in the hallway.

"Theo!" Derek's voice echoed down the hall.

My head coach sprinted around the corner, followed by two of our academy players. They grabbed Theo's shoulders. They had to physically pry him off. It took all three of them. Theo stumbled back, chest heaving, but his eyes never left Tyler's face.

Tyler slid down the wall, coughing and gasping for air. Savanna was frozen on the floor, her fake tears completely gone, replaced by genuine shock.

I stood up straight. The pain in my back throbbed, but I ignored it. I took a slow, deep breath. I reached up and deliberately smoothed down the lapels of my jacket.

Theo turned his head. He looked at me. The violence in his eyes melted away instantly. He stepped toward me, his hands hovering, wanting to check if I was hurt but terrified to cross the line.

"I'm fine," I said quietly.

I looked up. In the corner of the ceiling, a small black dome blinked with a steady red light. The backstage security camera. It had a perfect angle of the entire hallway. It caught Savanna's fake fall. It caught Tyler's assault.

I stared at the red light. I felt a slow, icy smile touch the corner of my mouth. I knew exactly which journalist I was going to send the file to next week.