The Striker's Forbidden Love

Chapter Seventeen: Sofia's Terms

Sofia's apartment was smaller than Mia expected, tidy in the specific way of someone who didn't spend much time there: a single shelf of trophies from youth soccer, a couch that still had the tags cut off but folded neatly beside it, like she'd meant to donate them and never gotten around to it.

"You came." Sofia said, opening the door, arms crossed, not quite an invitation.

"You asked me to." Mia said, stepping inside anyway.

"I half expected you to send Daniel instead. Or a lawyer." Sofia said, closing the door behind her, gesturing vaguely toward the couch without actually offering a seat.

"I don't need a lawyer for a conversation with a teammate." Mia said, though her pulse was doing something entirely unhelpful, hammering hard enough that she could feel it in her throat.

"That depends what kind of conversation this turns out to be." Sofia said, dropping into the single armchair across from the couch, studying Mia with an expression that gave away nothing. "So. Let's start simple. Are you and Daniel together?"

The question landed exactly as bluntly as Mia had braced for, and somehow it still knocked the wind out of her a little.

"No." Mia said, and the word came out steadier than she expected, because it was, in fact, true whatever they were, whatever careful, charged, unresolved thing sat between them, it wasn't that. Not yet. Not officially.

"That's not a no with any conviction behind it." Sofia said, unimpressed.

"It's the truth, Sofia. We're not together." Mia said, meeting her eyes directly. "That doesn't mean nothing exists. I'm not going to insult either of us by pretending there's nothing at all. But we're not together, and we haven't crossed any line that would justify what people are accusing us of."

Something in Sofia's posture shifted slightly not relief exactly, but a small easing, like she'd been braced for a bigger lie and gotten something smaller instead.

"Why tell me the truth now?" Sofia asked. "You've spent two weeks denying everything to everyone."

"Because you're not everyone." Mia said. "You're someone I've shared a locker room with for two years. Someone who deserves better than being lied to by a teammate she's trying to be honest with, even when that honesty is uncomfortable."

Sofia was quiet for a long moment, studying her hands, the trophy shelf, anywhere but Mia's face.

"I sent Elena the tip about the conduct review." Sofia said finally, voice low.

Mia's stomach dropped straight through the floor. "You what?"

"Not the photos. I didn't send those, I don't know who did." Sofia said quickly. "But I mentioned to someone on the board that things seemed off between you two. I didn't think it would turn into a formal inquiry. I just wanted someone to actually look, instead of everyone pretending not to notice."

"Sofia." Mia said, voice shaking now, betrayal and understanding tangled together so tightly she couldn't separate them. "That could have ended his career."

"I know." Sofia said, and for the first time, genuine guilt crossed her face. "I've thought about it every day since. I didn't do it to hurt you specifically. I did it because watching you two dance around each other while I sat on the bench felt like the last straw on something I've been carrying for two years. That's not an excuse. I know it's not."

Mia sat down on the couch at last, legs no longer entirely trustworthy, processing the fact that the person who'd nearly ended everything wasn't some anonymous stranger with a burner account, but someone who'd shared a locker room with her the entire time.

"Are you going to do it again?" Mia asked quietly.

"I don't know." Sofia admitted, and the honesty of it was somehow worse than if she'd simply lied. "I want to say no. But I meant what I said earlier, Mia, it's not going to stay hidden forever. And I don't know how I'll feel the next time it surfaces, whether I'll still have the restraint to stay quiet."

Mia left twenty minutes later with no promises exchanged, no resolution reached, just a raw, uneasy honesty sitting between them that felt more dangerous than the secrecy it replaced.

She was three blocks from home when her phone buzzed. She checked it out of habit now, bracing without even thinking about it anymore.

Not Sofia. Not the burner account.

A link. Sent by an unknown number, no message attached, just a URL to a fan forum thread with a preview thumbnail already loading.

The thumbnail showed a new photo. Different angles this time clearer, closer, unmistakably the two of them standing together outside Daniel's office, closer than any coaching relationship could reasonably explain.

The thread already had forty-three replies.