Quarter's back secret

chapter five

Sofia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her jaw tense. There was something different about her now. Something humbled. Something desperate.

“You need freedom,” she said.

“And I need a husband.”

She sat across from me in the visiting room—no mask now, just her sharp eyes and a whole new vulnerability.

“My father died last month,” she continued, voice trembling despite her steady expression. “His will says I must get married before the board officially transfers the company to me. If not, everything goes to my older brothers. They want that empire more than oxygen.”

“Your brothers?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

She nodded. “Dangerous men. Men who think a woman shouldn’t run a multi-billion-dollar empire. Men who will do anything—anything—to stop me.”

“So you pick me?” I scoffed. “A disgraced NFL star sitting in prison?”

“That’s exactly why,” she whispered.

I froze.

“If I marry someone powerful, the board will say I’m being manipulated,” she said. “If I marry a businessman, they’ll say he only wants company. If I marry someone clean and perfect, they’ll dig until they find dirt. But you…”

She leaned forward.

“You have nothing to gain from my company. Nothing to lose. No one suspects you’d marry me.”

“And because I’m behind bars,” I said quietly, “you look like the power holder.”

“Exactly.”

I rubbed my face with my hands. My life had already exploded once. Now it felt like someone was trying to glue together the shards into something unrecognizable.

“And what do I get?”

“Everything you lost,” she said simply. “Your freedom, your reputation, your daughter. I’ll help you clear your name, Ryder. I’ll give you your life back… but you must marry me.”

The room fell silent.

My mind raced with images of Ava, Rachel… Tyson’s smug smile… Victoria’s cold laughter.

Sofia extended her hand.

“So,” she whispered. “Do we have a deal?”

Slowly… painfully…

I nodded.

“Yes.”

Sofia exhaled in relief and gripped my hand.

“Good,” she said. “Because we’re going to war.”

The next 72 hours moved faster than any game winning play I’d ever executed.

Sofia’s family lawyers, some of the most powerful in the country, filed an immediate petition for my release pending a private investigation funded by the Rodriguez estate.

Her brothers tried to block it, of course,

But Sofia anticipated that.

She had secretly recorded a meeting where one of them bragged about “controlling the courts” and “removing inconvenient obstacles.”

That alone was enough for a judge to grant temporary release.

When I walked out of the prison gates, blinking into the sunlight I thought I’d never see again, Sofia was waiting.

Not as a journalist.

Not as my enemy.

As my fiancée.

She held a ring box in her hand.

“We do this now,” she whispered. “Before my brothers make a move.”

I stared at her. “You sure about this?”

Her smile was thin, scared, but determined.

“I’d rather marry a man with a broken reputation than let my brothers tear apart the company my father built.”

“And what if marrying me ruins you?”

“Then we rise from the ashes together.”

For the first time since my arrest, something warm flickered in my chest.

Hope.

We stepped into the courthouse together.

And with a few signatures, without flowers or vows, without cheering crowds or family blessings

…

Sofia Rodriguez became Sofia Jackson.

My wife.

My ally.

My only chance.

Sofia wasted no time.

Within 48 hours, she had set up a private investigation unit dedicated to proving Tyson and Victoria’s crimes.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ava. My daughter. Kidnapped. Missing.

Every lead ended in a dead end.

Late one night, I found Sofia in her father’s old office, poring over documents.

“You should rest,” I told her.

She looked up, tired but resolute.

“Your daughter is missing because of me,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t dragged you into this.

“No.” I stepped closer. “Tyson and Victoria did this. Not you.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll get her back, Ryder. I swear it.”

Her voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the pressure of everything crashing down on us.

For the first time, I reached out and touched her hand.

Not as part of our deal.

Not for show.

For real.

She looked at me in surprise.

Then she didn’t pull away.

Three days later, we got our first clue.

A security camera from a warehouse near Queens captured a blurry image:

A little girl matching Ava’s description getting dragged inside by two masked men.

I felt like vomiting.

“We go now,” I said, grabbing my coat.

Sofia grabbed my arm. “Not without backup.”

“I don’t need backup.”

“You need to come back alive,” she snapped.

We argued for a minute before she finally convinced me to take two of her father’s private guards.

When we arrived, the warehouse was dark, cold, and eerily silent.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it would crack my ribs.

Then

A faint sound.

A whimper.

“Ava,” I breathed.

I sprinted toward the noise, nearly breaking down the locked door.