Chapter 25
Daphne
I slammed the door behind us, hard enough to rattle the frame.
The buzz of the fundraiser crowd faded as I stormed into the empty lounge, needing air that wasn’t thick with curated charm and fake smiles. Kieren’s footsteps followed, steady and slow. Of course he followed. He always did. Like he couldn’t help himself.
I turned, arms crossed, rage simmering just under my skin. “What do you want from me, Kieren?”
He blinked, thrown for just a second. Good. Let him feel off-balance. Let him feel even half the chaos he caused me.
When he didn’t answer, something inside me snapped.
“You keep doing this—showing up like you’re some sort of constant when all you’ve ever been is the exception. I had a plan. I had rules. And then you walk in with that smile, and that charm, and those stupid eyes—” I cut myself off, chest rising and falling.
Still, he said nothing. His jaw ticked, like he was biting back words. That made me angrier.
“Say something,” I hissed.
His voice, when it finally came, was quiet. “You’re the one who ran, Daphne.”
I flinched.
“I didn’t ask for a fake relationship,” he went on. “I didn’t ask for loopholes or limits or contracts. I said yes because it meant I got to spend time with you. And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake for me.” My throat tightened. “Maybe it never was.”
God, why did his words always hit where it hurt?
I looked away, jaw clenched. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to stand there and say all the right things like I’m the one screwing it up.”
“Aren’t you?” he asked, gentle but firm. “You’re always the one with a reason to leave. A flight to catch. A boundary to draw.”
“I have a career,” I snapped. “And a life I built without anyone else’s help.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I admire the hell out of that. But are you really living it? Or are you just trying not to feel anything real because it might hurt?”
I shook my head, vision blurring. I hated this. Hated that he saw through me. Hated that I wanted him, anyway.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.
He stepped closer. “Neither do I. But I want to try.”
I backed up instinctively, but the wall was there, solid against my spine. He didn’t touch me. Just stood close enough that I could smell his cologne and the faint salt of sweat from earlier.
“This was supposed to be a business arrangement,” I said, voice shaking. “It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”
He smiled, but there was no smugness in it. Just something sad. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending it’s still just business.”
"Stop," I whispered.
Begged.
"Just… just tell me what you want."
“You,” he said, stepping closer. “I want you.”
I froze.
The words were simple, quiet—but they hit me like a slap. I stared at him, arms crossed tightly across my chest like I could somehow hold myself together.
“You want me?” I scoffed, my voice rising with every syllable. “Why? Because I’m good for your image? Because Cam said having a girl on your arm makes you look like less of a brute on the pitch?”
Kieren flinched, just slightly—but I caught it.
“Is that what you really think of me?” he asked, his voice low. Hurt.
I wanted to stop. I wanted to take it back. But the anger had cracked something open inside me, and everything I’d been holding back came pouring out.
“No,” I snapped. “But it’s hard not to wonder when you only want me in public.
When the only time you’re clear is when there’s a camera around.
You—” My throat tightened. “You kiss me like it means something and then act like it doesn’t.
You show up and make promises with your eyes but never say them out loud. ”
I took a shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough. My chest ached. My voice cracked, but I kept going.
“Because I’m clearly easy, right? Just kiss me in front of a crowd and I’ll crawl into your bed. I’ll play the part. I’ll be your fake girlfriend, your PR win, your distraction.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what this is—”
I cut him off. “Then what is it, Kieren? Because I know how you work. The second it gets serious, you're gone. It feels like I’m just a convenience to you. Something nice to look at, something soft to calm you down when the team needs you focused.”
“Daphne, stop—” His voice cracked too. I saw his jaw tighten, his fists clench at his sides.
But I couldn’t stop. Not now. “You don’t want me. Not really. You want the idea of me. The version that smiles at press conferences and makes you look like less of a threat.”
His eyes darkened. He stepped forward again—close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze.
“I want the version of you that snaps at me in hallways,” he said. “The one who challenges me at every turn. The one who looks at me like she wants to run and kiss me at the same time. I want the girl who knows who she is and doesn’t let anyone—including me—dim that.”
I blinked. The fire in me stuttered, faltered.
He was breathing hard now, like he’d been holding those words back for too long.
“I don’t want you because of Cam. I don’t want you because of what you look like on my arm.” His voice dropped. “I want you because when I’m with you, everything else stops. For once, it’s not about soccer or pressure or fixing my image. It’s just you.”
And damn him, but I believed him.
That was the scariest part.
“You’re not a contract, Daphne!” His voice rose, not cruel, but rough around the edges—desperate in a way I hadn’t heard before.
I flinched at the sound of my own name on his tongue, sharper than usual. My instinct was to run. So I turned, stepping toward the doorway, needing distance, needing air, needing anything but this.
But then his hand closed around mine. Not hard, not yanking—just enough to stop me, to anchor me in place. His palm was warm, rough, shaking faintly.
“Daphne,” he said again, quieter now, but still urgent. “I didn’t fall for your image. I fell for you.”
The words hit me harder than his grip.
“I fell for the way you talk. The way you challenge me. The way you see me.” His breath brushed my cheek as he said it. He wasn’t looking at me like a headline. Not like a problem. Not even like a solution. Just like… me.
My throat closed. I wanted to tell him to stop. To say it wasn’t true. To tell him he was only saying it because the cameras had stopped rolling and we were still playing pretend.
But his fingers stayed wrapped around mine, gentle, steady. Not pulling anymore—just holding.
And there was something in his eyes—raw, unpolished, the same look I’d glimpsed at the school when he’d been tying a kid’s shoelace. The same look I’d seen in Chicago when he thought no one was watching.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” I whispered, even though my voice shook. “We had rules. We had a line.”
“I don’t care about the line,” he said, his voice breaking, just a little.
I stared at him, trying to summon the walls back up. But my pulse was loud in my ears, my hand still caught in his.
This wasn’t the grumpy veteran. This wasn’t the headline or the contract or the fake boyfriend the league had pushed on me. This was just Kieren—standing there like a storm barely holding itself together.
And for a terrifying second, I wanted to lean into it. Into him.
But wanting and letting were two different things.
I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath past my lips. “Kieren…” I started, but no words followed.
Because for all my rules, for all my boundaries, I couldn’t remember which of us had crossed the line first.
I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was both of us giving in at the same time.
One second we were breathing in the same air, holding back like idiots. The next, my hands were in his shirt and his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t delicate.
It was fierce. Messy. Frustrated. Like everything we hadn’t said was crashing to the surface all at once.
His hands curved around my waist, pulling me in like he couldn’t stand the space between us. I didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. My fingers fisted in the fabric at his chest, like if I let go, the whole thing might break apart.
God, he kissed like he meant it as he pulled me back into that closet.
Like he didn’t care who I was or what I did for a living or how many times I’d tried to shove him away.
He kissed me like he knew I was scared. And maybe he was too.
I gasped as his teeth scraped my bottom lip, and he groaned into my mouth like he’d been holding that sound back for weeks. Maybe he had.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember why I’d been so angry. Why I’d tried to draw lines in the sand.
There were no lines in this. Just heat. And hunger. And him.
I pressed closer, caught between the wall and the weight of him, and it should’ve scared me—being pinned like that, being wrapped up in something I couldn’t control.
But instead, it felt like breathing for the first time.
His thumb brushed my cheek. The touch was almost reverent, totally at odds with the way his mouth claimed mine like a man starved. That contradiction made my chest ache.
I kissed him harder.
Like I could shut down the thoughts. The fears. The tiny voice in my head whispering that this was a mistake.
I didn’t care.
Because in that moment, I didn’t feel like a PR stunt or a placeholder or a girl pretending she wasn’t falling.
I just felt wanted.
Not for a headline. Not for an image.
For me.
And when we finally broke apart, our foreheads pressed together and breath mingling, I didn’t say a word.
His mouth crashed into mine again before I could catch my breath. No warning. No hesitation. Just teeth and tongue and the kind of hunger that made my knees weak.
I gasped against his lips, my back hitting the wall as his hands gripped my thighs.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to do this for weeks even though we had just done it ten minutes ago.
My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, the fabric of my dress riding up as he pinned me there.
“You think you can just walk away from me?” His voice was rough, his breath hot against my ear. “After that? After us?”
I should’ve pushed him off. Should’ve told him to stop. But the way his fingers dug into my skin, the way his body pressed against mine—it erased every objection I had.
“Kieren—” My voice broke.
“Say it again.” His lips trailed down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. “Say my name like that when I’m inside you.”
A whimper escaped me. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but cling to him as his mouth found mine again, harder this time, possessive. His hands slid under my dress, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear before yanking them aside.
I should’ve stopped him.
I didn’t.
The first thrust was brutal, exactly what I needed.
My nails raked down his back as he filled me, stretching me, owning me in a way that made my head spin.
The wall dug into my spine, but I didn’t care.
All I could focus on was the way he moved—deep, relentless, like he was trying to brand me from the inside out.
“You’re mine,” he growled against my lips. “No more running. No more pretending this is just for show.”
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything but take it, take him, as he fucked me like he was proving a point. Like he was punishing me for ever thinking this was fake.
His hips snapped forward, each thrust harder than the last, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Every time you run that mouth, I’ll remind you. Every time you try to leave, I’ll show you.”
My back arched as his fingers found my clit, circling with just the right pressure. Pleasure coiled tight in my stomach, sharp and overwhelming.
“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
I shattered.
My orgasm ripped through me, violent and consuming, my nails digging into his shoulders as I clung to him. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Just kept moving, kept taking, until his own release hit him with a groan, his forehead pressing against mine as he buried himself deep.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Our breath came in uneven gasps, our bodies still tangled together. His hands stayed on me, possessive even now, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
I should’ve been furious. Should’ve told him this changed nothing.
But as he finally pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his dark eyes burning with something I didn’t dare name, all I could do was stare.
Because this wasn’t pretend.
And we both knew it.
And in the darkness, pressed between a wall and the only man who’d ever made me forget how to hide, I realized the scariest part wasn’t what had just happened.
It was how badly I wanted it to happen again.
My dress strap had fallen off my shoulder. My lipstick was smeared. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Kieren took a step toward me, but I was already backing away.
“You don’t get to play with my heart just because your PR team needs a girlfriend,” I snapped, voice raw. “You can’t just fuck me whenever you need to get off–”
BAM.
The door flew open.
I froze. Kieren did too.
A voice I didn’t recognize—low, surprised. A reporter? A teammate? Someone who mattered.
Their gaze landed on us and I saw it—the flicker of understanding, of judgment. We were a mess. Disheveled. Emotional. Caught.
“Shit,” Kieren muttered under his breath.
That was all it took. I bolted.
He called after me—I think. Or maybe it was Cam. I couldn’t tell.
I ran down the hallway, heels echoing off the marble floor, heart slamming in my chest like it wanted out. My lungs burned, but it wasn’t from running.
It was from feeling too much.
Because the truth—the part I couldn’t outrun—was this:
I loved him.
And I was terrified that I wasn’t enough for him.
Not in the spotlight. Not in his world. Not when every part of me still felt like it had to fight to be chosen.
I shoved the hotel door open and waved frantically for the first cab I saw.
The second I climbed inside and the door clicked shut, the sob broke free.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face as the city lights blurred past. “I—I can’t do this.”