Chapter 34

Alexia

I sat in my car, the engine idling in a low hum that mirrored the vibration in my chest. I was parked across the street from Aurora’s apartment building—a place I had seen a thousand times, but never from this perspective. Never from the outside looking in, like a stranger waiting for a glimpse of someone who didn’t want to be found.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I am Alexia Putellas. I don’t wait in cars. I don’t sit in the shadows of residential streets hoping for a signal. I have never, in my entire life, chased anyone. If someone leaves the pitch, the game continues. If someone leaves my life, I wish them well and close the door. That was it.

But as I stared at her darkened window, this felt like a cage.

I checked my phone again. Read at 14:12. It was now 17:45. She was seeing my messages. She was watching the bubbles appear and disappear as I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. She was choosing the silence. And that silence was more painful than any tackle I’d ever taken. It was making me frantic. It was making me lose the calm, calculated composure that had defined my career.

“Pick up the phone, Ora,” I whispered to the empty car. “Just tell me you’re safe. Tell me you hate me. Just say something.”

My thumb hovered over her name for the twentieth time when a notification banner slid down from the top of my screen. It wasn’t a text. It was an Instagram alert from a prominent transfer news account I followed for league updates.

I tapped it, expecting some rumor about a backup goalkeeper or a mid-table signing.

Instead, I saw her.

The air left my lungs as if I’d been winded. I scrolled down to the caption, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

BREAKING: Reports from London suggest that Arsenal WFC has made an emergency inquiry for Barcelona’s rising star, Aurora De Luca. Sources say De Luca’s camp is seriously considering a move to the WSL. Is the #24 heading to the Emirates? 

I felt the world tilt. London? Arsenal?

It knew it was just a rumor. But it hurts. Was this why she wasn’t answering? Was she already on a flight? Was she sitting up there in that dark apartment, packing the hoodie I gave her into a suitcase labeled for London?

The thought of her in red and white—the Arsenal red—felt like a betrayal I couldn’t quantify. I had fought for her in that press conference. I had stood in front of the world and demanded they leave her alone, and all the while, she was looking for the exit.

I looked back at the apartment building, a surge of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fear replacing the frustration. I had never chased anyone, but I realized I didn’t care about my pride anymore.

I got out of the car and slammed the car door shut, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The cool evening air of Barcelona did nothing to dampen the fire rising in my throat. I didn’t care who saw me. I didn’t care about the cameras that might be hiding in the shadows of the street.

I marched into the lobby of the building, my boots clicking sharply against the marble floor. The doorman looked up, his eyes widening as he recognized the face that was currently plastered across every sports site in Europe. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I walked straight past him toward the elevators, my presence radiating a “Captain’s authority” that brooked no argument.

When I reached her floor, the hallway was silent, smelling of expensive floor wax and my own rising panic. I stood before her door—Door 4B—and pressed the buzzer.

Nothing.

I pressed it again, longer this time. “Aurora! Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

Silence.

“Ora, I’m not leaving,” I called out, my voice dropping into that low, dangerous register I used when a teammate was slacking on the pitch. “You can ignore my texts, and you can ignore the press, but you are not ignoring me. Not today.”

I heard a faint rustle from behind the wood, then a muffled, shaky voice. “Go away, Alexia.”

Something in me snapped. The frustration of the leak, the coldness of the press conference, and the sheer terror of that Arsenal rumor boiled over. I stepped closer, my shadow looming over the door.

“If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I swear to God, Aurora, I will kick it in,” I threatened, my temperament finally breaking through the professional mask. “I don’t care if the neighbors call the police. I don’t care if it’s on the front page of Marca tomorrow. Open. The. Door.”

The lock clicked.

The door swung open just a few inches, held by the security chain. Aurora looked out at me, her eyes red and swollen, her dark hair a mess around her face. She looked exhausted, but she also looked guarded.

“What do you want, Alexia? Haven’t you said enough?”

“Let me in,” I said, my voice cracking, the anger suddenly replaced by a raw, hollow desperation. “Please. I’m not here as your captain. I’m just here… as me.”

She hesitated, then slowly unlatched the chain and stepped back. I pushed inside, the door swinging shut behind me with a heavy thud. The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I didn’t give her a chance to walk away. I crossed the space between us in two strides, grabbing her arms.

“Arsenal? London?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “Is that the plan? You just leave because it got hard? You let some scout in England take you away because of the photos? Because of me?”

Aurora blinked, genuinely startled by the intensity in my eyes. She looked at me, then at the phone I was still gripping, which showed the London rumor graphic.

“I… I didn’t even know about that,” she whispered, her voice small. “My agent mentioned an inquiry, but I told him I wasn’t listening. I haven’t talked to anyone, Alexia. I’ve just been sitting here trying to figure out how to be ‘Aurora’ again without being ‘Alexia’s distraction’.”

I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding since Rome. My knees felt weak. I did something I had never done in front of a teammate, or a rival, or even my family. I let my head drop onto her shoulder, my grip on her arms loosening into a desperate embrace.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, my voice breaking completely. “Please. I’ll do the press conference again. I’ll tell them I love you. I’ll tell them I can’t breathe without you. Just… don’t go to London. Don’t leave me alone.”

Aurora froze. I could feel her heart racing against mine. She was used to me being the pillar, the untouchable 11, the woman with all the answers. Seeing me like this—begging, broken, and terrified—seemed to shatter the last of her anger.

“You’re actually scared,” she murmured, her hands slowly coming up to wrap around my waist.

“I’m terrified,” I admitted into her neck. “The rumors, the photos… they’re just noise. But the thought of you not being in the locker room, not being in my kitchen… that’s the only thing that can actually end me.”