The Football Star’s Ruined Second Chance

"Hold this," Iris commanded.

She shoved a heavy, studded leather handbag toward my chest. I stepped backward. The strap swung, nearly hitting my bandaged right hand.

She stood in the center of the club's training field, surrounded by cameras and flashing lights. She wore Kai's private practice jersey. The oversized fabric hung off one shoulder, exposing her collarbone.

"I work for the team's support staff," I told her, keeping my voice steady. "I am not your assistant."

Iris let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She turned toward the press pool.

"Aren't you Kai's caretaker?" she asked loudly.

"I manage his recovery schedule," I corrected.

"Same thing," she smirked.

Every camera pivoted toward me. The blinding flashes stung my eyes.

Kai stepped out from the locker room tunnel. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He wiped his face with a towel and stopped beside Iris.

"Kai, your staff is being terribly rude to me," Iris pouted, grabbing his arm.

He stared at me. His expression remained entirely blank.

"Do it, Sylvia," he ordered.

"I am supposed to prep your ice bath," I argued softly. "The coach asked me to hurry."

"The ice bath can wait. Iris needs her hands free."

His voice carried no warmth. No hesitation. I was his wife, yet he commanded me like a stranger in front of the world.

I reached out and took the bag. The heavy metal studs pressed into my scalded skin. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from wincing.

"Good girl," Iris purred. "Now go buy me a vanilla latte. Iced."

"Leave the coffee," a reporter interrupted, shoving a microphone toward Kai. "Kai! Are you and Iris officially dating? She's wearing your private jersey today."

Iris leaned closer to him. She tangled her fingers in his.

I stood exactly three meters away, gripping the designer purse.

Kai glanced in my direction. His eyes locked onto mine for a fraction of a second. Then, he faced the cameras.

"I'm not married," he announced into the microphone. "That's all I'll say."

My chest caved in.

Three years of hiding. Three years of cooking his meals, icing his injuries, and waiting up for him in an empty house. Erased with four words.

"Look at the caretaker," another reporter shouted, pointing a lens directly at my face. "She looks devastated. Does the pretty helper have a crush on the boss?"

Iris tossed her head back and laughed.

"Her?" Iris sneered, pointing a manicured finger at me. "How could Kai ever look at his servant?"

A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd. The journalists chuckled. The camera operators snickered.

I looked at Kai. I waited for him to speak. To tell them to stop. To defend me just once.

He adjusted his watch strap and remained completely silent.

I dropped Iris's bag onto the turf.

"Hey!" she yelled.

I turned my back on the crowd and walked toward the stadium tunnels. The laughter echoed behind me, bouncing off the concrete walls.

I pushed through the heavy double doors of the corridor. The noise faded.

I stopped near the locker room entrance to catch my breath. The door sat slightly ajar.

"That girl gives me the creeps," Iris complained from inside the room. "The way she stares at you. Does she think she's important or something?"

I froze.

"Don't worry about her," Kai replied. His tone sounded bored.

"She acts like she owns you," Iris pressed.

"She knows it's just a transaction," Kai stated.

A transaction.

I pressed my uninjured hand against the cool cinderblock wall. He was right. That was all I ever was to him. A deal. A purchased convenience.

I did not confront them. I walked out the back exit and called a cab.

Hours later, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway buzzed above my head.

Dr. Miller held a metal clipboard against his chest. His brow furrowed.

"Sylvia, the transfer didn't clear," the doctor explained. "The finance office flagged Luna's account."

"That's impossible," I said, my voice rising. "The funds are supposed to deposit on the first of every month."

"I'm sorry. Luna needs the new batch of medication tomorrow morning. If the money isn't there, we can't administer the infusion."

"Give me five minutes," I told him. "I will get it sorted."

"We need the payment confirmed by midnight, Sylvia. Otherwise, her slot goes to another patient."

"I understand. Just give me a moment."

I rushed to the end of the corridor and pulled out my phone. I dialed Kai's private number.

It rang four times.

"Speak," a gruff voice answered.

It was Mark, Kai's assistant.

"I need to talk to Kai," I demanded. "Luna's medical funds didn't arrive."

"He's walking the red carpet with Iris for a brand event," Mark replied. Music thumped loudly in the background. "He can't take calls."

"Mark, the hospital is threatening to cut off my sister's treatment. I need him to authorize the transfer right now."

"Finance is backed up," Mark said dismissively. "Give it a few days."

"Luna needs the medicine tomorrow, Mark! If she misses this dose, her cell count will drop again."

"Then you should have thought about that before upsetting Iris yesterday," Mark snapped. "Kai said you need to learn how to behave."

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen. My reflection stared back, pale and exhausted.

Kai wasn't just busy. He controlled the accounts. He approved every transfer himself. He was delaying the payment on purpose.

He was punishing me for causing a scene with the tea yesterday. He was using my sister's life to force me into submission.

A cold realization washed over me. I had traded my freedom to save Luna, but I had handed her life over to a monster.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and left the hospital.

I unlocked the door to the penthouse. The massive rooms felt like a tomb.

I walked past the pristine kitchen where I had spent hundreds of hours perfecting his favorite meals. I ignored the leather sofa where he kissed Iris.

I went straight to the hall closet.

I reached the top shelf and pulled down a dusty wooden box. I set it on the dining table and popped the brass latches.

Inside lay my paintbrushes, charcoal pencils, and palette knives. I hadn't touched them in three years. Kai hated the smell of turpentine, so I gave up my art.

I picked up a brush. The wood felt familiar against my palm.

Next, I walked into Kai's home office. I opened the bottom drawer of his mahogany desk.

I pulled out the red marriage certificate.

I carried it back to the dining table and set it next to my open laptop. The screen glowed brightly in the dark room.

I opened a blank document. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I typed the header in bold letters.

**Divorce Agreement.**

I stared at the words. A strange sense of relief washed over me. The invisible chains around my neck finally snapped.

Then, the front door's electronic lock beeped loudly from the entryway. Heavy footsteps stepped onto the hardwood floor.

"Sylvia," Kai's voice echoed through the dark hall. "Why are the lights off?"