The stadium emptied slowly, lights dimming to a skeletal glow across the sacred pitch. But Alex wasn't ready to let the night end. Using his old player connections and a quiet word with stadium security, he pulled me through a side entrance long after midnight. The massive arena felt hauntingly empty—rows of silent seats, the pitch illuminated by a few maintenance floodlights that cast long, dramatic shadows. The air smelled of cut grass, sweat, and fading adrenaline. Every footstep echoed.
My heart hammered with the highest risk yet. This was the center of the World Cup universe. One security guard, one cleaner, or a lingering media crew could destroy everything.
Alex's hand gripped the back of my neck as he led me down to the sideline benches. "On your knees when I tell you, Bell
