Kaya POV

The air feels charged, like static when I would work all night in labs, as Flynn's words echo over the field, his arm rests around my waist like it belongs there."Kaya and I are together." he repeats again

My heart thuds so loud it almost drowns out the stunned silence that follows.

I didn't exactly program this part, not exactly. And the fact I didn't rattle something in my chest but I'd rather pretend it isn't there.

Tom freezes,  his fingers clench so tight around his helmet that his knuckles turn pale. Riley's red lips part, her hand clutching Tom's arm like she's worried he might actually charge across the grass.

Around us, the rest of the team stares openly, helmets still in hand, sweat dripping as they look from Flynn to me and back again.

Flynn stays perfectly calm, gaze steady. "I'll repeat it," he says, voice carrying just enough. "We're together, so no one" he turns his eyes to Tom, dark and different from the dinner before, "should dare say a word to her"

The words ripple through the players, their shoulders shifts and some exchanging glances.

My pulse spikes so high it almost hurts.

Tom's jaw works, opens, then slams shut again before the words finally come out, low and sharp. "You've got to be kidding me. You think parading this guy around makes you look strong?"

Flynn leans in slightly, voice smooth but edged. "Funny," he says. "From where I'm standing, it just makes you look nervous."

Tom's breath comes faster, chest rising and falling as anger cause his muscles to tighten underneath his shirt

Before it can get worse, Coach's voice slices through. "Enough!" he barks, eyes flicking from Tom to Flynn, then landing on me with a look that feels almost curious. "Back in line. We've got work to do."

Flynn's hand drops from my waist. The brush of cold air where his warmth had been almost makes me flinch. I wonder stupidly if he felt it too.

Tom stomps back toward his squad, Riley hurrying after him, as usual,she's securing her meal ticket. Flynn stays a beat longer, gaze softening. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I say too quickly, my voice thinner than I want.

His smirk eases into something gentler. "Stay close. This part's going to be fun."

Then he jogs away, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat catching the light on his forearms. And for a moment, I almost forget he's meant to be nothing more than my codes.

The whistle blasts, and the scrimmage kicks off.

Tom charges into the first play like a man trying to crush something underfoot. He shouts too loudly, throws too hard, passes just off-target. The frustration shows in every sharp gesture, every glare tossed at his teammates who flinch back.

Flynn, by contrast, is... smooth. He calls short, calm directions, barely louder than a normal speaking voice and somehow the team moves around him like they've trained together for months. His passes arc clean and fall into waiting hands, and every small success sparks an energy that Tom can't seem to replicate.

Every time Flynn scores, Tom's gaze snaps toward me, like he blames me for every point. Riley hovers close to Tom, whispering, but he jerks away from her, sweat flying.

Near the end, the score isn't even close.

Flynn's squad huddles around him, their backslaps and helmet tapping. Even Coach's frown eases, scribbling quick notes on his clipboard like he's taking notes from Flynn. My smirk deepens at that but I hide it immediately.

On the final play, Flynn steps back, flicks his wrist, and the ball soars, spinning once, twice, before landing right in the receiver's arms at the edge of the end zone.

Cheers break from the sidelines, cheerleaders yell out forFlynn crazily, louder than they have ever cheered for Tom. Even a couple of Tom's own teammates clap quietly

Tom rips his helmet off, his hair plastered to his forehead, his glare dark as they follow Flynn cheering.

Flynn jogs back toward me, his grin relaxed, and fake sweat darkening his collar. His eyes lock on mine first, like he's waiting for something.

"You were good," I manage, words coming out softer than I'd planned.

"We were," he says, teasing back. "This is just the start."

"Just the start?" I echo, pulse still racing.

His grin sharpens. "Next time, we will go bigger."

Before I can ask what he means, Tom storms up, shoulders tight, breath ragged. "Enjoy it," he spits, voice edged with venom. "One lucky day doesn't make you captain."

Flynn tilts his head, smirks unfazed. "We'll see."

Tom turns to me then, voice dropping low. "And you really think standing beside him changes what you are?"

My throat closes, but before I can speak, Flynn shifts closer, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat of him.

"Careful," Flynn says, voice so low it feels like gravel under velvet.

Tom's eyes narrow, but Coach's voice slices in again. "Tom! Flynn! Locker room, now!"

Flynn leans down before he turns, so close the scent of turf and sweat and warm skin curls around me. "You handled that," he murmurs, something like approval in his tone.

I swallow, words sticking. "You're impossible," I manage.

"Maybe," he chuckles, soft enough that only I hear. "But it worked."

As he pulls away, his eyes catch mine a half-second longer than necessary, heat sparking down my spine.

The rest of the team drifts back toward the tunnel. Whispers fill the echoing space, some are teasing, some curious, some sharp. Riley's gaze skims over me, head tilting just slightly, as if weighing something ready to strike as usual.

Flynn starts to turn away, grin softening, but stops his expression flickers, the smirk slipping. "Kaya," he says, voice suddenly lower, his eyes spin blinking only black for a moment.

My heart sinks as I immediately think he's about to start malfunctioning and everyone will catch us on our lie.

But he blinks, his normal eye colors reload and his voice is almost uncertain. "Why does your voice sound familiar?"

My breath catches, confusion spreading through my chest. But before I can answer, Coach's shout cuts through, and Flynn jogs off, helmet swinging under his arm like nothing happened.

I stand frozen on the edge of the field, my clipboard heavy in my hands and heart pounding so loud it drowns everything else out.

"What the fuck just happened?"

Kaya POV

  Flynn's question stays with me long after he jogs off, the words circling in my mind.

  "Why does your voice sound familiar?" I didn't write that line of code. And I know every line, every carefully crafted instruction buried in his perfect design. The thought chills me as much as it makes my chest tighten.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me back. Lily's name flashes on the screen, and for a moment, relief swells. I step away from the field, tucking my clipboard under my arm, and answer.

  "I just saw it," Lily's voice bursts through before I can even say hello, the excitement bubbling over. "Kaya, you absolute witch!! who is Flynn Fetcher? Where have you been hiding him?"

  A laugh slips out before I can stop it, because only Lily can sound that delighted in the middle of my chaos. "He's new," I say carefully, voice lower than usual. "Just signed."

  Lily Evans has been my best friend since our Yale days, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying, who can charm an entire room and still catch your eye like she's only talking to you. She knows everything about my life with Tom and my life as the secret Heiress, except the part that matters most right now....Flynn

  "And that kiss," she teases, her voice dripping amusement. "I'm sorry, but my jaw actually dropped. You? With someone like him? Kaya, this is a twist no one saw coming."

  I press my fingers against my temple, my lips twitching despite myself. "You make it sound like I've never kissed anyone before."

  "Not like that," Lily says, and I can practically hear her flipping her hair. "You looked like you meant it. And the way he looked at you? Damn, Kaya. You might have finally outdone yourself.

  I swallow, the warmth her words spark mixing with guilt because Flynn isn't real at least, he shouldn't be.

  Before I can answer, Lily's voice softens, losing its teasing edge. "I'm glad, though," she says. "After what Tom did... you deserve someone who looks at you like that. Even if it's complicated."

  "It is complicated," I admit, my voice so quiet it almost cracks.

  "When has your life ever been simple?" she says, laughter returning, but gentler this time. "Listen, I have to run, but promise me you'll call later. I want details. All of them."

  "Okay," I say, and for a second, just hearing her makes it easier to breathe.

  "Good," she says, voice warm. "Remember who you are, Kaya. You're not just the girl standing behind Tom anymore."

  The call ends, leaving me staring at my reflection in the black screen. For a heartbeat, I almost believe her but here I am taking revenge on the very same man I'm trying to get over.

  When I turn back, Flynn is standing by the tunnel entrance, helmet in hand, sweat still dampening his hair. His gaze finds me instantly, like it always does. 

  Tom is farther off, shoulders rigid, Riley clinging to him like a dog in heat, whispering something that makes his jaw clench tighter.

  "You disappeared," Flynn says when I reach him, his tone easy but his eyes sharp, searching.

  "Just had to take a call," I say, swallowing the questions burning on my tongue.

  "Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head.

  "Yeah," I say, forcing a small smile. "My best friend. She saw your performance."

  His lips twitch, that teasing smirk I've come to recognize slipping back into place. "And?"

  "She's impressed," I say, and his smirk deepens.

  "Smart girl," he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear.

  Before I can say anything else, Coach Harriman's voice booms over the field. "Tom! Flynn! Locker room, now! Everyone else, stretch out."

  Flynn starts to turn but pauses, looking back at me, his expression softer, almost hesitant. "You'll be here when I get back?" he asks, voice quieter.

  "Of course," I say, though the question feels strange coming from him, Tom always wanted me out of the way.

  He nods once, then heads toward the tunnel, I watch until he disappears, my chest tightening around something I can't quite name.

  As soon as he's gone, Riley drifts closer, her heels digging into the turf, mouth curled into a polite, false smile. "Enjoying the show?" she asks, her tone light but her eyes sharp as glass.

  "Very much," I say, keeping my voice even, though my heartbeat stumbles.

  "You've been busy," she says, her gaze flickering toward the tunnel Flynn disappeared into. "Funny, isn't it? How someone can just appear out of nowhere and suddenly be everyone's favorite?"

  "Funny," I echo, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed.

  She studies me a moment longer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Tom doesn't trust him," she says, voice lower now. "He thinks there's something off."

  "Tom thinks anyone better than him is suspicious," I say, my tone flat.

  Riley's smile thins. "Maybe. Or maybe he's right." Her gaze drifts over me again, calculating, as though she's measuring what I'm hiding. "Just be careful, Kaya. This place... No.. I eat people alive."

  I want to scoff as she turns, walking back toward Tom, who's watching us with narrowed eyes, but I don't the more drama they cause, then the better for me.

  Flynn emerges a minute later, damp hair pushed back, synthetic skin so real he appears flushed from the shower. His eyes find me instantly. "All good?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

  "Better than good," he says, that easy grin returning. "Coach says next scrimmage decides who wears the Captain armband until Next week."

  "And Tom?" I lift a brow

  Flynn's smirk sharpens. "He's rattled. And that's exactly what we want."

  He steps closer, close enough that the smell of soap and turf drifts between us. My breath catches.

  "Flynn," I start, hesitating. "Earlier... what you said. About my voice."

  His gaze flickers, the grin fading just enough to reveal something softer underneath. "It feels familiar," he says quietly. "Like I've heard it before. But I don't know when."

  I swallow, the words coming out before I can stop it. "Probably just the way I talk to you," I say.

  "Probably," he says, though the doubt remains in his eyes.

  Before I can say more, Coach shouts again, calling them back to the field. Flynn's expression shifts, the charm sliding back into place. "Stay close," he murmurs. "This next part's going to be fun."

  He jogs off, leaving me standing there with my pulse racing.

  The drill starts fast. Tom charges at Flynn, every step heavy with frustration, but Flynn moves around him like water, dodging and spinning, his passes smooth and perfect. 

  The team can't help watching, and Tom sees it too. His anger boils over, twice shoving Flynn too hard, but Flynn doesn't react, only smirks back, making Tom look even more foolish.

  On the sideline, whispers ripple through the players. "Tom's cracking," someone mutters. "Flynn makes it look easy."

  Tom rips off his helmet when the whistle blows, glaring at Flynn, sweat dripping from his brow.

  Flynn walks back toward me, sweat shining on his skin, breathing lightly despite the drill. "Told you it'd be fun," he says, his grin teasing.

  "You made it look easy," I say, and he shrugs.

  "It's not," he says, his voice lowering, "but for you, I try."

  The words catch in my chest, and before I can answer, his gaze softens, his brow pulling slightly. "Kaya," he says, voice lower, almost hesitant. "Sometimes, it feels like I should know you better. Does that sound strange?"

  My breath hitches at the question, unexpected and oddly human. "A little," I admit, forcing a small laugh to hide the pinch of worry under my ribs. "Maybe it's just the programming making you say that."

  "Maybe," he echoes, but there's a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it's gone.

  The whistle sounds again, Coach announcing Flynn as the captain for next week.

  Flynn shifts the helmet under his arm, eyes lingering on mine for half a beat longer. "Don't go far," he says, voice softer now, almost teasing. "I like having you here."

  I try to answer, but the words tangle on my tongue. Before I can untangle them, he flashes that maddening half-smirk and jogs back across the field, joining the team.

  I watch him until he blends into the cluster of players, my clipboard suddenly heavier in my hand.

  A gust of wind catches the loose ends of my hair, and for a second, something tightens in my chest that has nothing to do with code or circuits.

  Then, just before Flynn disappears into the huddle, he glances back, his expression unreadable, as if he's about to say something but thinks better of it.