The sky above Miami burned orange as the sun fell behind the skyline, casting long shadows across the private training grounds behind the Valerio estate. Alex stood alone on the turf, sweat dripping from his forehead, chest heaving after another failed sprint drill. The cones blurred before him, mocking him, daring him to try again even though every muscle in his body screamed.
He hated this feeling — the weakness, the slowness, the constant reminder that he wasn't good enough. Not yet.
A soft patter of footsteps approached from behind.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Alex," Lyra whispered, her voice tiny but warm. "You're doing the steps wrong."
He blinked, turning to face his ten-year-old sister — wearing a pink hoodie, oversized glasses, a soccer ball tucked under her arm, and the smirk of a child who knew WAY too much.
"What?" he asked.
Lyra rolled her eyes, walked straight through the cones, and demonstrated the footwork flawlessly — fast, precise, and sharp. Then she flicked the ball up with her heel, spun, and volleyed it smack into his chest.
"You're thinking too loud," she said. "Football is feeling. Not brain."
Alex stared at her. "You're… ten."
"I'm also smarter than you," she said cheerfully, skipping back toward the house. "Moira said dinner is ready. She also said you smell like depression and grass."
Alex sighed. Of course she did.
Before he could follow, a black Rolls-Royce pulled into the driveway. The air shifted — every time he arrived, the house changed. Power had a weight. And Alex's older brother carried it like a second skin.
Damian Valerio stepped out — sharp suit, gold watch, that cold, assessing look that made people straighten their backs. He was only twenty-six, but already a terrifying name across multiple industries.
He didn't greet anyone. Didn't smile. Just walked up to Alex and looked him up and down.
"You're limping," Damian said.
"Just tired."
"Tired is a symptom of poor planning." He straightened Alex's shoulders with a single tap. "You don't win by working hard. You win by working correctly."
Alex clenched his jaw but nodded. He wasn't stupid enough to argue.
Damian was already walking away when he added, "I heard about the match tomorrow."
Alex's chest tightened. The Miami Elite Prep semi-final — the biggest game of his life. The one he wasn't ready for.
"Don't embarrass the family name," Damian said without looking back.
The words hit harder than a punch.
Inside the mansion, chaos exploded.
Moira was live-streaming. Obviously.
"Okay besties, so like — look at this sunset, I'm obsessed, literally," she said into her camera, flipping her hair perfectly while three ring lights glowed behind her. "My brother is playing THE match tomorrow, so spam good luck in the comments or I'm cancelling all of you."
She noticed Alex entering and instantly dragged him into frame.
"Say hi, Lexy!"
"No."
"Too late." She kissed his cheek, smudging makeup on him. "Awww, look at baby's first breakdown."
Lyra appeared, holding a tablet. "Moira, stop traumatizing him. He has pre-performance anxiety."
Moira gasped. "Lyra, sweetheart, exposing your brother on livestream is MY job."
Chaos. Pure chaos.
And yet… comforting. Familiar.
But comfort didn't last.
His phone buzzed.
Lena.
His chest tightened before he even opened the message.
We need to talk before the match.
Nothing good ever followed those words.
He changed quickly and headed to the balcony where Lena usually waited when she came over. Except she wasn't smiling. She wasn't even looking at him.
She was crying.
Alex froze. "Lena?"
She shook her head, wiping tears angrily.
"Why didn't you tell me Jackson kissed you?" she whispered.
Ice. Cold ice shot through his veins.
"What? Lena, that never—"
"Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "He showed me the video."
"What video?"
She shoved her phone at him. Alex stared.
There he was — sitting on the bleachers yesterday after practice, exhausted, head down…
And Jackson — that smirking bastard — walking up and pressing a kiss to Alex's cheek while Alex flinched away.
The angle. The zoom. The edit.
It looked bad.
"Lena, I swear on everything — I didn't know he was even—"
"But why didn't you tell me something happened? Why hide it?" Her voice cracked. "Alex… I don't know what to think anymore."
He took her hands — but she pulled away.
Pain tore through his chest.
"I love you," he whispered. "That's the truth."
She shook her head slowly.
"I just… I need time. I don't want anything distracting you tomorrow."
"Lena—"
"Goodnight, Alex."
She walked away with tears streaming, disappearing into the elevator.
And Alex felt something inside him break.
He didn't know that someone was watching from below.
Jackson.
Leaning against his black Camaro, arms crossed, that smug grin plastered on his face.
"Rough night, rich boy?" Jackson called out. "Better get used to it. Tomorrow, I end your little football fantasy."
Alex's fists tightened.
"And after that?" Jackson's smile sharpened. "I take everything else. Starting with her."
Alex saw red.
Before he could react, Damian appeared behind him like a shadow. "Not tonight."
"But—"
"Not. Tonight."
Jackson smirked, got in his car, and drove off.
Damian grabbed Alex's shoulder. "You want revenge?"
Alex looked up, eyes burning.
"Yes."
"Then win tomorrow. Destroy him publicly. Ruin his career before it starts." His voice was ice. "Make him fear you."
Alex inhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
"This is your moment," Damian said. "Pain is fuel. Burn him with it."
Alex didn't sleep that night.
He trained under the moonlight until his legs shook and tears blurred the field.
Lyra brought him water when he collapsed.
Moira yelled at the house staff to bring him energy drinks "for dramatic athlete vibes."
Damian watched silently from the balcony, arms crossed, judgment sharp as always.
But Alex wasn't broken.
He was becoming something else.
Something dangerous.
The next morning the stadium roared like a beast as Elite Prep's team walked out. Alex stepped onto the field, heart pounding, eyes scanning the stands.
Lena wasn't there.
Jackson smirked at him from across the pitch.
Coach Reyes whispered, "You ready, son?"
Alex didn't blink. "More than ever."
The whistle blew.
Chaos exploded.
The game was brutal — tackles like car crashes, the ball flying like a bullet. Jackson targeted Alex mercilessly, tripping him, shoving him, whispering poison in his ear.
"You're soft, Valerio. Just like your girl."
Alex gritted his teeth.
But then
Lyra's voice echoed from the stands.
"FOCUS, ALEX! FEEL IT!"
He exhaled.
And something shifted.
The world slowed.
His steps sharpened.
The field opened in front of him.
He stole the ball from Jackson's feet so fast the crowd gasped.
Sprinted.
Cut left.
Cut right.
A defender crashed into him — he spun past.
Another lunged — Alex tunneled the ball between his legs, lightning-fast.
Coach Reyes screamed, "HE'S AWAKENED
Alex broke through the last defender.
One-on-one with the keeper.
He drew his foot back
And right as he struck…
Jackson slammed into him from behind with a brutal, illegal tackle.
Alex's body twisted mid-air.
The world vanished.
He hit the ground.
Hard.
Pain exploded through his knee.
The stadium went silent.
Coach Reyes screamed for the medics.
Moira dropped her phone.
Lyra started crying.
Damian stood frozen, jaw clenched, eyes wide for the first time in years.
Alex couldn't breathe.
He couldn't move.
And as the medics rushed to him, Jackson leaned down and whispered:
"Now you have nothing."
Alex's vision blurred.
His heartbeat slowed.
Darkness swallowed him.
The crowd shouted.
People screamed.
Someone called his name.
But the last thing Alex saw before blacking out…
Was Lena running down the stairs of the stadium—
tears streaming—
screaming his name.
And then
Nothing.