"Did you know about this?" Marcus spun to face me, his face turning an angry shade of red. "You're his assistant!"

"I swear to you, Marcus, I had no idea." I backed away from the television monitor.

"He's your boss!" Marcus threw his hands up, nearly knocking over a stack of media guides. "You tape his ankles. You manage his schedule. You practically live at his condo. How do you not know he's dropping a marriage bomb on national television?"

"He told me he had a surprise."

"A surprise?" Marcus barked a harsh laugh. "A surprise is a new sports car. Not a live broadcast proposal! The board is blowing up my phone. PR is in a complete tailspin. Who is he marrying?"

"I don't know." My stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot.

"Find out. Now." Marcus pointed toward the door. "Stop the press from running with rumors before they ruin our championship narrative."

"I'll handle it."

I didn't wait for him to yell again. I bolted out of the cramped broadcast room and hit the concrete tunnels of the arena.

The final buzzer ripped through the building a moment later. The crowd noise shook the floorboards beneath my sneakers. They won. Game Seven was over.

I didn't stay to watch the confetti fall. I shoved my way through the maze of hallways, dodging security guards and arena staff. My pulse hammered against my ribs.

*I want you to admit you're crazy about me.*

*Winning is guaranteed. And after that, everything changes for us.*

His words echoed in my skull. Was he going to announce us? Was that his insane, reckless plan? A public declaration to force his management's hand?

I reached the VIP locker suite.

Heavy bass rattled the walls. Champagne sprayed across the ceiling, raining down on million-dollar athletes. The smell of alcohol and sweat hung thick in the air.

Jude stood on a leather sofa in the center of the room. He hoisted the gold championship trophy above his head.

Maya Thorne clung to his waist.

She was a runway model. The woman Jude's agent hired to be his public girlfriend for the last six months. Jude told me it was just a contract. A fake relationship to boost his endorsements and keep his name in the tabloids.

Right now, it didn't look fake.

Maya kissed his stomach. She laughed, tossing her dark hair back.

"Jude!" I shouted over the pounding music.

He didn't hear me.

I pushed past the starting point guard. "Excuse me. Jude, get down here."

Maya turned. Her manicured nails dug into Jude's sweat-soaked jersey. She glared at me, her eyes sweeping over my plain polo shirt and slacks. "Who let the help in?"

"I need a word with my boss," I told her. I kept my voice steady.

Maya hopped off the sofa. She marched right up to me, blocking my path to Jude. "You don't talk to him right now. He's celebrating."

"Move, Maya."

"You have a lot of nerve." She crossed her arms, the diamonds on her wrists catching the harsh locker room lights. "Coming in here, barking orders."

"It's my job."

"Your job is fetching water."

"Jude," I called out again, ignoring her entirely. "We need to talk about the press conference."

Maya's hand swung fast.

*Crack.*

Pain exploded across my left cheek. My head snapped to the side. The sheer force of the slap sent me stumbling back a step.

The music kept playing, but the players closest to us went dead silent.

"You're just a little assistant," Maya hissed. Her voice cut through the heavy bass, sharp and vicious. "Daring to covet a big star? Know your place."

My skin burned. I tasted copper on my bottom lip.

I slowly turned my head back.

I didn't look at Maya. I found Jude.

*He'll lose his mind,* I thought. *He'll jump down here. He'll throw her out.*

Jude stepped down from the sofa. He didn't rush to my side. He didn't yell at the woman who just assaulted me.

He simply looked annoyed.

"Jude," I whispered.

He wiped a drop of champagne off his chin. "Don't cause a scene here, Lila."

The ice in his tone froze the blood in my veins.

"She hit me."

"You provoked her." He checked his diamond watch, refusing to meet my eyes. "Go back and do your job. Don't bring personal feelings into this and make a mess. The cameras are right outside."

I stared at the man I had loved in secret for two years. The man who kissed me in the trainer's room three hours ago. The man who whispered promises into my skin when no one else was looking.

"Personal feelings?" I asked. My voice trembled, but I forced it loud enough for him to hear. "You told me everything changes today."

"It did. I'm marrying Maya."

Maya smirked, wrapping her arm around Jude's bicep. He didn't pull away. He leaned into her touch.

"The press is waiting in the main hall," Jude continued. His tone was entirely business. Cold. Detached. "I need my schedule cleared for the victory parade. Fix your face and get out there."

He was protecting his brand. His public image. His fake girlfriend who was suddenly his real fiancé.

He didn't care about me at all.

Every late night. Every stolen moment. Every promise whispered in the dark. It was all a game to him. And the season was over.

Cold clarity washed over me, extinguishing whatever warmth I had left for him. My heart didn't just break. It died completely.

I reached for the back of my neck. I unclasped the heavy plastic lanyard holding my all-access arena pass.

"What are you doing?" Jude asked. His brow furrowed.

I tossed the lanyard on the floor. It clattered against his expensive sneakers.

"Pick that up, Lila."

I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the magnetic keycard to his penthouse. The one he gave me six months ago.

I dropped it on the floor right next to the badge.

Jude's jaw tightened. "Stop acting crazy. Pick up your credentials."

"I quit."

I didn't wait for his response. I didn't look at Maya's triumphant smile. I had nothing left to say to either of them.

I turned around and walked toward the exit.

"If you walk out that door, you're done!" Jude yelled over the music. "I'll make sure nobody in this league hires you!"

I kept my mouth shut. I pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped into the quiet hallway, leaving the noise behind me.

I marched down the concrete tunnel, heading straight for the player's parking lot. The cool night air hit my burning cheek as I pushed through the exterior doors.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting Marcus demanding an update.

It was an unknown number.

I swiped answer. "I'm not doing press right now."

"I don't need press, Lila," a deep, unfamiliar voice replied. "I need a new assistant. And I hear you just became available."

I stopped walking. "Who is this?"

"The man who owns the team Jude just beat."

"I'll call you back," I told the stranger on the phone.

I hung up and shoved the device into my pocket. I didn't have time to entertain rival team owners. I had a life to dismantle.

I bypassed the arena's main exits, slipping out through the loading dock to avoid the press. Thirty minutes later, I punched the emergency code into the keypad of Jude's penthouse.

The lock flashed green. I pushed the heavy oak door open.

The silence inside felt entirely different from the roar of the stadium. It was hollow.

I marched straight to the master bedroom and dragged my suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. I didn't bother folding anything. I grabbed handfuls of my clothes and threw them into the bag.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I spun around. Toby, the junior equipment manager, stood in the doorway. He held a clipboard against his chest like a shield.

"How did you get in here?" I asked.

"Marcus sent me to check on the apartment. He thought you might trash the place." Toby stepped into the room, his eyes darting around. "Are you stealing his stuff?"

"I'm packing my own clothes." I tossed a pair of jeans into the open suitcase. "Marcus can relax. I don't want anything that belongs to Jude."

"You can't just leave, Lila. The post-game presser is a disaster."

"Not my problem."

"Maya is telling the media you're an obsessed fan." Toby gestured toward the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. "She told a reporter you've been stalking him for months."

"Let her talk."

"You're not going to defend yourself?"

"Defending myself means admitting I slept with him." I zipped the suitcase closed with a sharp tug. "I'm not doing that. I want a clean break. No tabloid drama. No leaks."

I walked over to the nightstand and pulled out two massive binders. They hit the mattress with a heavy thud.

"Take these," I said.

Toby blinked. "What are they?"

"The blue one is my handwritten log of his ankle injuries and physical therapy schedule. The red one is his off-season diet plan." I shoved the heavy folders against his chest. "You're his assistant now."

"I don't know how to tape an ankle!"

"Learn." I grabbed my suitcase handle. "He likes his pre-game meals exactly three hours before tip-off. No dairy. If he complains about his knee, make him ice it for twenty minutes. Not fifteen. Twenty."

Toby stared at the binders in horror. "He's going to fire me."

"He won't even notice I'm gone until he runs out of clean jerseys."

My cell phone vibrated in my back pocket. The caller ID flashed Jude's name.

I stared at the glowing screen.

"Answer it," Toby urged. "Maybe he's calling to apologize."

I swiped the green icon and put the phone on speaker.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum?" Jude's voice filled the quiet bedroom. Background music thumped heavily behind his words.

Toby winced.

"I'm packing, Jude," I said.

"Good. Move your stuff to the guest room." A woman laughed on his end of the line. Maya. "Maya wants to stay over tonight. Make sure the sheets are changed."

My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase. "I'm not moving to the guest room. I'm leaving."

"Stop being dramatic." Ice clinked against glass. He was drinking. "You embarrassed me tonight, Lila. I'm willing to overlook it because we won the championship, but don't push your luck."

"You announced you were marrying another woman."

"It's a business move!" Jude snapped. "Maya's agent secured a massive endorsement deal for us as a couple. I told you everything would change today. This is the change. We're a power couple now."

"And where do I fit into that?"

"Right where you've always been." His tone softened, adopting that persuasive edge he used on referees. "Behind the scenes. Keeping my life together. Take three days off. Cool down. I'll have Marcus wire you a playoff bonus."

He really believed it. He thought he could publicly humiliate me, let his fake fiancée slap me, and pay me off to keep warming his bed in secret.

"Toby has your medical files," I said.

"Why does Toby have my files? Put my sheets on the bed, Lila."

"Goodbye, Jude."

"If you hang up on me, you're fired!"

"I already quit."

I tapped the red button. The line went dead.

"He's going to lose his mind," Toby whispered.

"He'll survive."

I opened my messaging app. Two years of late-night texts stared back at me. Promises. Hotel room numbers. Secrets.

I hit select all. Delete.

I navigated to my contacts. I blocked Jude. I blocked Marcus. I blocked the entire PR team.

"You're really burning it all down," Toby said.

"I'm walking away." I pulled my bag off the bed and headed for the door. "Good luck, Toby."

I didn't look back.

I drove until the city lights faded into the rearview mirror. The silence in my car felt empty, stripping away the last remnants of my old life.

I pulled into a twenty-four-hour diner on the edge of the highway.

The bell above the glass door chimed as I walked in. I slid into a cracked vinyl booth near the back.

A small television hummed above the counter. The sports network was running post-game coverage on a loop.

I didn't want to look, but the flashing championship graphic caught my eye.

The screen cut to a live feed of Jude's victory party at a downtown club. The camera zoomed in on him. He sat in a VIP booth, a cigar clamped between his teeth, one arm draped over Maya's shoulders.

A reporter thrust a microphone over the velvet rope.

"Jude! Your assistant caused quite a scene in the locker room earlier. Sources say she quit. Any comment?"

Jude removed the cigar. He flashed his signature, camera-ready smile.

"Lila is just exhausted," he said smoothly. "It’s been a long season. She gets a little emotional under pressure. Give her a few days to rest, and she'll be right back on the bench handing me towels."

Maya leaned into his side, giggling. "She's very passionate about her job."

"Exactly," Jude agreed. "She's not going anywhere."

I stared at the screen. He was so arrogant. So utterly convinced of his own gravity that he couldn't fathom a world where I didn't orbit him.

He thought I was sitting at home, crying over him, waiting for him to snap his fingers.

I picked up my phone.

I scrolled past the blocked numbers and tapped the unknown contact from earlier tonight.

The line rang twice before a deep voice answered.

"I figured you'd call back."

"You said you needed an assistant," I said.

"I need someone who knows how to handle elite athletes," the man replied. "Someone who knows Jude Rossi's weaknesses."

"I know everything about him."

"Good. I'm Victor Cross. Owner of the Seattle Knights."

"I know who you are, Mr. Cross."

"Call me Victor. My star point guard fired three assistants in two months. He's a disaster off the court. He needs a warden, not a cheerleader."

"I don't cheer for anyone anymore." I traced the edge of the diner table. "But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"Full autonomy over his schedule. Direct access to medical staff. And double what Marcus paid me."

Victor chuckled. The sound was low, rumbling through the speaker. "Done. When can you fly to Seattle?"

"Tonight."

"I'll send my private jet to the municipal airport. Be there in an hour."

"I'll be there."

I ended the call.

I looked up at the television one last time. Jude was kissing Maya's cheek for the cameras, soaking in the flashing bulbs.

Enjoy the spotlight, Jude.

Because next season, I was coming for your crown.