Chapter 33

Alexia

I thought the “Hug of Rome” was the peak of the storm. I thought that by opening my door and letting Aurora in, we had already faced the worst of the lightning.

I was wrong.

The morning sun was hitting the kitchen counter of my apartment, casting long, peaceful shadows. Aurora was leaning against the island, wrapped in one of my oversized hoodies, staring into a cup of coffee. It was the kind of domestic silence I had dreamed of for years.

Then, her phone buzz. But it was like a barrage of notifications that sounded like a firing squad.

She picked it up, her face draining of color instantly. “Alexia…”

I walked over, wrapping my arms around her waist, trying to ground her. “What is it? Another editorial about the Italy game?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s the beach.”

She turned the screen toward me. My heart stopped.

It wasn’t a grainy, long-distance shot from a stadium. It was a high-resolution, intimate photo from three weeks ago—the night we walked along the quiet stretch of sand near Gavà. The moon was behind us. I was cupping her face, and our lips were pressed together in a kiss that was never meant for the public. The caption across the tabloid site read:

“THE BARÇA FILES: PROOF OF THE SECRET ROMANCE!”

“It’s just a photo, Ora,” I said, my voice slipping into that cold, defensive ‘Captain’ tone before I could stop it. “We knew this was a possibility. We’ll get the PR team on it. We’ll say it’s private, or we’ll just ignore it. It’s going to be okay.”

Aurora pulled away from me so fast I almost stumbled. She looked at me like I had just slapped her. “Okay? Alexia, look at the comments! They’re calling me a ‘distraction.’ They’re saying I only got my start because I’m dating the Captain. My Federation is calling my agent. They’re talking about ‘moral clauses’ in my Nike contract!”

“Aurora, breathe,” I said, trying to reach for her again. “I’ve dealt with this for ten years. People talk. Then they find a new target. It doesn’t affect what happens on the pitch, in our team. We are a family.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” she screamed, her voice cracking with a raw, jagged anger I had never seen. “You are Alexia Putellas! You are untouchable! You could burn down the stadium and they’d still build you a statue. But I’m twentytwo! I am young and I haven’t proven anything yet. My career is a glass house, and you’re acting like someone just threw a pebble when they’re actually using a sledgehammer!”

“I am trying to protect you by staying calm!” I snapped back, the pressure of the last week finally boiling over.

“No, you’re protecting yourself  by staying cold!” Aurora shouted, tears finally spilling over. “You play it down because you’re afraid to admit that this—us—actually has consequences. You’re so obsessed with you staying ‘calm’ that you’re forgetting I’m a human being who is about to lose everything I’ve worked for since I was five years old!”

She grabbed her bag from the counter, her movements frantic.

“Where are you going?” I demanded, my heart racing.

“I can’t be here right now,” she sobbed, backing toward the door. “Every time I look at you, I see the woman I love, but I also see the person whose shadow is swallowing my entire future. I can’t breathe in this apartment, Alexia. I can’t breathe right now.”

“Aurora, wait—”

The door slammed. The sound echoed through the luxury apartment, louder than the stadium roar, louder than the press cameras.

I stood in the center of the kitchen, the silence rushing back in like a flood. I looked down at my phone. The photo of our kiss was everywhere. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

And it was currently destroying the only thing that mattered more than the game…

The silence Aurora left behind was deafening. I stood in the kitchen for ten minutes, staring at the door, my phone gripped so hard my knuckles turned white. I called her once. Twice. Five times.

Voice mail.

“Dammit, Aurora,” I hissed, pacing the length of the marble floor. This wasn’t like her. She was angry, yes, but she never went dark. My worry was a physical weight in my chest, but right behind it was a sharp, jagged spark of frustration. I was trying to hold the world together, and she had just walked out into the middle of the storm without a coat.

My phone buzzed again. Not Aurora. It was the club’s Head of Communications.

Comms: Press room. 15 minutes. It’s a mandatory pre-match briefing, but they’ve moved it up. Every journalist in Spain is already in the front row. You’re going out with Mapi.

I didn’t have time to change. I threw on my official club blazer over my t-shirt, splashed cold water on my face, and drove to the Ciutat Esportiva in a blur of speed and anger.

The lights in the press room were blinding. I could hear the low, frantic murmur of the reporters before I even stepped onto the podium. Beside me, Mapi looked unusually serious. She nudged my arm as we sat down.

“You look like you’re about to punch someone,” she whispered. “Scale it back to ‘mildly annoyed’ or they’ll think you’re guilty of a crime.”

“I don’t have a script, Mapi,” I muttered back, staring at the forest of microphones. “She won’t pick up her phone.”

The moderator opened the floor, and it took exactly three seconds for the first bomb to drop.

“Alexia, regarding the images leaked this morning from Gavà—does this relationship with a teammate compromise your objectivity as Captain? And is it true the Italian Federation is investigating Aurora De Luca for a breach of contract?”

I felt the heat rise in my neck. I looked at the journalist—a man who had interviewed me a hundred times—and I felt a wave of pure, unadulterated loathing.

“I am here to talk about our upcoming match against Real Sociedad,” I said, my voice like tempered steel. “That is my job. That is why the club pays me.”

“But the fans deserve to know—”

“The fans deserve a winning team,” I cut him off, leaning forward. My pulse was drumming in my ears. I wanted to tell them everything. I wanted to scream that I loved her. But I hadn’t talked to Aurora. I didn’t know where she stood. I couldn’t breathe for her. “What I do on a private beach on my own time does not affect my play on this pitch. My private life is not a tactical analysis for your front pages.”

Another reporter jumped in. “Is it a distraction for the locker room? We saw the images of the team surrounding De Luca in Rome. Is there a divide in the squad?”

Mapi stepped in then, her voice sharp and protective. “The only ‘divide’ in the squad is between us and the people trying to ruin a young player’s career for a few clicks. Aurora de Luca is one of the most professional athletes I’ve ever worked with. If you want to talk about her, talk about her assist record.”

I nod and stood up, pushing my chair back with a harsh screech that echoed through the silent room.

“My life is not a reality show,” I said, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear for the girl who wasn’t answering her phone. “Leave her alone. Leave us alone. If you have a problem with my leadership, talk to me. But if I hear one more question about my and her private life, you will lose all access to everything in this buildings. We’re done here.”

I walked off the podium without waiting for the moderator. I didn’t stop until I was in the sanctuary of the locker room tunnel. I pulled out my phone again. Still nothing.

“She’s okay, Ale,” Mapi said, catching up to me.

“She’s not,” I said, leaning my head against the cold concrete wall. “I played it down, Mapi. Just like she said I would. I tried to be the Captain, and I think I just lost the only thing that actually makes me want to play.”