Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
EMILIA
The stadium roared like a beast.
Deafening. Restless. Drunk on dynasty politics.
And I couldn’t breathe.
I stood in the corridor beneath the seats, buried under layers of glass and concrete and dynasty expectations — and it felt like the walls were closing in.
The Cartier family had arrived early.
Their box was lit up like a stage.
Their champagne flutes raised.
Their eyes on me.
Because they thought they’d already won.
Because someone in my bloodline — someone who shared the same fucking last name — was finalizing a merger.
A deal. A contract that would lock me into their empire like a leveraged asset.
My chest tightened.
No. It clamped. Like an iron band wrapping around my ribs. My throat went dry. My ears started ringing. I could feel it building.
The silk dress scratched against my skin. Too tight. Too tailored. Too perfectly crafted to make me look like an Adams jewel.
I don’t want to be seen like this. I don’t want to be touched by them.
My hand trembled as I gripped the edge of a pillar, trying to steady myself. Trying to slow my breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. Control it.
But the panic didn’t listen. It rose like a tide — cold, choking, merciless.
My knees gave out.
I slumped against the wall, crouched low in the corridor as voices echoed overhead.
Legacy daughters. Cartiers. Journalists with sleek lenses whispering about alliances and heirs and the Adams–Cartier merger projected to close by the end of the season.
Close.
Like it was done.
Like I was done.
My eyes burned. My vision blurred. I curled my fists into the marble floor and shook.
This wasn’t fear. It was rage. Hot and helpless and furious.
They wanted me to sit up in that glass box — a perfect, polished daughter of dynasty, smiling for the press and sipping from crystal like I didn’t know what they were doing to me behind the scenes.
Like I didn’t know they were selling me.
No.
No.
If I had to sit there and watch the Cartiers win tonight —
If I had to watch them score points, shake hands, and act like they’d claimed me…
I’d scream. Or worse.
So I stood .
Slowly.
Steadily.
Heart still hammering. Hands still shaking. But my spine straightened.
And I turned.
Not up the stairs toward the family box.
Down the tunnel.
Toward the field. Because I needed to see them.
Not the Cartiers.
Mine.
I needed Luca and Bastion.
Not to be calmed. Not to be held.
I didn’t need comfort.
I needed to watch them hurt people.
The air shifted the moment I neared the tunnel.
It was electric — thick with sweat and adrenaline and steel.
I cut left — down the tunnel that led to the field.
The air shifted.
Thicker.
Charged.
Because I could hear them now — boots on concrete, war drums of the academy.
And then I saw him.
Bastion.
Focused. Thunder in motion.
Until he looked up.
He didn’t slow. He didn’t blink. He walked straight off course — ignoring the coach, ignoring the line of players ahead of him.
He came to me.
“Win,” I said simply, stepping closer. “And you can really claim me.”
His eyes darkened. “ Claim you? ”
I nodded. “Anything. However you want.”
“ Fuck. ”
He reached for me, lips crashing to mine with a groan.
Then he leaned back and smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Anything for our girl.”
Then Luca appeared — walking just behind him.
Confused at first when he saw Bastion off-track… until his eyes landed on me.
He stepped toward me slowly. But I didn’t wait. I knew he was keeping his distance because of the everyone watching, worried to get me in trouble with my family.
But I wanted everyone to know, while I had a choice, I was theirs.
I reached for him, fingers curling around his collar as I pulled him down by his shirt, ignoring every confused stare from passing players, coaches, and family scouts nearby.
Probably all thinking I was confused, or I had lost my mind.
“If you win tonight,” I whispered, voice low in his ear, “you can claim me. Anything you want.”
His lips didn’t move. His hands didn’t reach for me.
But his eyes?—
His eyes devoured me.
“Let us collar you?” he murmured.
The words punched the air from my lungs. His thumb brushed over my throat, right where it would sit. His voice was quiet. Lethal.
“Right here?”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Babe, I’ll let you collar me regardless.”
His breath caught. I kissed him — slow and sure.
“Please, Luca. Try and fuck them up. ”
He leaned closer, the rest of the world disappearing.
“What number?”
“Twenty-two. Five. And twelve.” I didn’t hesitate.
He tensed.
“They’re Cartiers,” I added. “The same ones who made that offer — like I was some asset they could buy.”
He grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me hard.
“You better be ready, baby,” he rasped against my lips, voice shaking with restraint. “We’re going to wear you out tonight.”
I exhaled shakily. “ Promise? ”
He smirked.
“It’s a vow, baby.”
And then he was gone.
Out onto the field with Bastion — black jerseys like armor, shadows cutting across the sunlit turf.
My blood roared with pride. Not because they were about to play for me. Suddenly the game got a lot more enjoyable.