The Football King’s Secret Heir

Problem shared

MATEO’s POV

The heavy mahogany doors of my dad’s study swing open, and Liam steps out into the warm, chandelier-lit foyer alongside my father. Oliver looks considerably calmer than he did a few minutes ago, adjusting his silk tie, while Liam simply gives me a quiet, reassuring nod.

Edna reaches up, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief before gently pulling away from my arms. She looks at me closely, her dark eyes narrowing as she studies my face under the bright hallway lights.

"I don't like the way you look, Mateo," she says softly, her voice laced with sudden concern.

I blink, thrown off. "What do you mean?"

"You have that look again," she whispers, searching my eyes. "The dark, quiet shadow in your expression... it’s the exact same look you had years ago when everything fell apart. I thought you were getting better, Matt, but this look is coming back."

Before I can answer, Liam walks over, resting a hand on his hip with a casual smirk. "Oh, don't worry too much, Mrs. Moretti. That’s just his new obsession talking. There’s this little kid he met at a school event who looks suspiciously like him, and Mateo’s already developed a full-blown crush on the boy."

I shoot Liam a warning glare, but he completely ignores me.

"Honestly," Liam continues, amused, "I’ve never seen Mateo act like that with any child before. He bought him custom boots, jerseys, and couldn't stop talking about the kid's touch on the ball all afternoon."

Edna’s interest is instantly piqued. The sadness in her posture shifts into genuine curiosity. "Really? Tell me about this boy, Matt."

I let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. "His name is Kess. He’s five years old. I met him at the elementary school publicity event earlier this week, and then bumped into him again at the Galleria today. He’s sharp, Mom... unnaturally sharp for his age. And when you look at him, the way he holds himself, his eyes, his smile... there’s an uncanny resemblance."

My father snorts softly from the doorway, waving a dismissive hand as he walks toward us. "Oh, please. Mateo is a global icon. A big star. Thousands of parents across the country guide their kids to look like him. They style their hair like Mateo, buy them the same boots, and teach them to imitate his movement on the pitch. Some parents even go as far as naming their sons Mateo or Moretti. It’s just fan culture."

Edna’s face hardens instantly as she turns toward my father. "You see your problem, Oliver? You are always dismissing things. You're always looking for a way to shrug off details or sweep them under the rug. You never try to actually investigate or look deeper like other men your age do."

I glance between them, a dry chuckle escaping my chest. "Mom, you think so too, right?"

"I'm not saying the child is yours or anything, Mateo," Edna clarifies, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I'm just saying your father knows how to dismiss important details, and that’s the exact same way he has been dismissing my claims and my feelings for years!"

Oliver throws his hands in the air, his tone turning defensive. "See? Now you're making this about you again! We were just talking about Mateo's fan interaction, and suddenly you turn it into an attack on me! You know I care about your feelings, Edna…"

"Oh, please stop being so defensive with me, Oliver!" she snaps back.

I raise both hands, stepping between them with a weary sigh. "Alright, both of you stop. You're starting your couple trouble again, and I really don't have the stomach for this today."

Edna takes a deep breath, smoothing down her coat. The tense air settles slightly, though the lingering friction between my parents is still palpable. She turns to me, her expression softening. "Don't leave yet, Matt. Let's eat dinner together as a family."

Twenty minutes later, we are seated around the grand marble dining table. Silverware clinks softly against fine china as the domestic staff serves dinner. Despite the delicious food, my mind remains stubbornly glued to the events at the mall.

I swirl the wine in my glass, leaning back in my chair, and look across the table at my mother.

"Mom," I start, throwing the question out casually. "Hypothetically... if you were standing with a young child, and the mother comes rushing over, acting completely frantic, trying desperately to hide her face from you, and then literally snatches the child away and runs... what would you think? Am I just overthinking, or being paranoid?"

Edna pauses, setting her fork down gently. She considers my question from a mother's perspective.

"Matt, she’s the child's mother," Edna says calmly, offering me a gentle smile. "Mothers can be extremely protective and strict when it comes to their children—especially in public places around famous people. If she saw a crowd forming or felt overwhelmed, her only instinct was to grab her son and protect him. It’s completely normal."

My father nods in agreement from the head of the table, sipping his water. "Your mother is right. You're reading way too much into a simple interaction, son."

I look down at my plate, letting their words sink in. Maybe they’re right. Maybe my mind is just playing tricks on me, searching for deep mysteries in a world where everything is just a simple, mundane coincidence.

Yet... the knot in my gut remains.

I slice into my steak, making a quiet, binding promise to myself in the silence of my own mind.

If I cross paths with that boy a third time, it’s not a coincidence.

Two encounters in a city of millions could be luck. But a third time? If I see Kess again, I won't just stand there and let her run. I will stop them. I will sit down with that boy, I will ask him real questions, and I will find out who his mother is—and why she was so terrified of letting me see her face.