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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The night wore on, with more drinks and laughter. Francesco lost track of time, but he knew he'd remember this night for a long time.
The bass from the speakers pulsed through the nightclub like a heartbeat.
Lights flashed in waves of deep blue, purple, and crimson across the crowded dance floor. Bodies moved together in rhythm, silhouettes shifting through clouds of perfume and smoke while laughter and shouts blended with the music.
Francesco leaned back against the leather seat of the VIP booth, a glass in his hand as he watched his teammates argue loudly over something that had started as a joke and somehow turned into a full debate.
Walker had his arm draped over the back of the couch, shaking his head.
"I'm telling you," he said loudly, pointing a finger across the table, "that goal was mine."
"Mate," Robertson replied instantly, "the ball bounced off three people before it even reached you."
Walker looked offended.
"Doesn't matter. Still counts."
Giroud leaned forward dramatically, placing his hand over his chest.
"My friends," he said in an exaggerated tone, "you are all forgetting the most important thing."
Walcott wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Oh no."
Giroud pointed at himself.
"The most beautiful goal that season… was scored by me."
The table erupted in groans.
Oxlade-Chamberlain leaned back and laughed.
"You mention that goal every time we go out."
"Because," Giroud replied proudly, "it was magnificent."
Bellerin shook his head with a smile.
"You tripped over your own feet before the shot."
Giroud raised a finger.
"A calculated movement."
More laughter followed.
Francesco chuckled quietly, taking a sip from his drink.
The noise, the lights, the joking as it all created a kind of chaos that felt oddly relaxing compared to the constant pressure of training, matches, interviews, and headlines.
For once no one here cared about statistics.
Or performance ratings.
Or the next match.
Tonight they were just teammates enjoying themselves.
Sanchez leaned over from the seat beside him.
"See?" he said with a grin. "I told you it would be fun."
Francesco nodded slightly.
"You were right."
On the dance floor, the crowd cheered as the DJ switched tracks, the beat dropping harder than before.
Walker suddenly stood up.
"Right," he announced, grabbing another drink. "Who's coming to dance?"
Robertson groaned.
"Absolutely not."
Walcott immediately stood.
"I'm in."
Oxlade followed.
"Same."
Giroud stood slowly like a king rising from his throne.
"I shall demonstrate how it's done."
Bellerin laughed.
"This I need to see."
Within seconds half the group had disappeared toward the dance floor, leaving Francesco, Sanchez, and Robertson at the table.
Robertson leaned back with relief.
"Finally some quiet."
Sanchez raised an eyebrow.
"You call this quiet?"
The music thumped loudly through the room.
Robertson shrugged.
"Quieter."
Francesco smiled faintly.
But as the moment settled, movement caught his attention.
From across the club, a group of women had started walking toward the VIP area.
They moved confidently through the crowd, clearly used to the atmosphere of places like this.
They were dressed for the night out with elegant dresses, heels, styled hair, makeup that caught the flashing lights.
One of the security staff allowed them through the VIP rope after recognizing a few of the players already seated there.
Sanchez noticed first.
"Well," he said under his breath.
Robertson followed his gaze.
"Here we go."
The group approached the table with friendly smiles.
One of the women stepped forward.
"Hi," she said warmly. "We didn't mean to interrupt."
Sanchez gave a polite smile.
"Not interrupting."
She glanced around at the seats.
"We noticed you guys looked like you were having fun."
Another woman added playfully,
"And we were wondering if we could join you."
For a brief second the table went quiet.
Then Walker's voice suddenly shouted from the dance floor.
"OF COURSE!"
Everyone laughed.
Sanchez chuckled.
"Well," he said with a shrug, "seems the vote's already decided."
Robertson gestured to the empty seats.
"Go ahead."
The women smiled and began sitting around the booth.
Francesco took a slow sip of his drink, staying quiet.
If it had been up to him alone, he probably would have politely declined.
He wasn't really in the mood for random attention tonight.
But this wasn't just his night.
The team was enjoying themselves.
The last thing he wanted was to kill the mood.
So he simply stayed silent.
A few more of the players returned from the dance floor just as the group settled in.
Walker stopped mid-step.
"Oh," he said with a grin.
"Looks like the party improved."
Giroud placed a hand dramatically on his chest again.
"Ladies," he said with a charming smile, "you have excellent taste in seating."
The women laughed.
Within minutes the energy at the table doubled.
Conversations overlapped.
Drinks were refilled.
Stories grew louder and funnier.
One of the women asked Bellerin about fashion.
Another started teasing Oxlade about his "self-proclaimed goal scoring record."
Robertson was explaining Scottish slang to someone who clearly didn't understand a single word he said.
Meanwhile Francesco sat quietly, occasionally smiling, occasionally adding a comment to the conversation.
He was relaxed.
But not fully invested in the chaos.
That was when someone slid into the empty seat beside him.
He turned slightly.
The woman sitting next to him smiled.
She was strikingly beautiful — dark hair falling over her shoulders, confident eyes, and a soft perfume that lingered lightly in the air.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," Francesco replied politely.
"I'm Sofia."
"Francesco."
She laughed softly.
"Oh I know."
He smiled faintly.
That didn't surprise him.
She tilted her head slightly as she studied him.
"You're quieter than the others."
He shrugged lightly.
"Someone has to balance them."
She laughed again.
"Fair point."
For a moment she watched the others joking across the table.
Then her attention returned to him.
"So… do you come here often?"
Francesco smirked slightly.
"That sounds like a line."
"Maybe it is."
He took another sip from his drink.
"Not really."
She leaned a little closer so she could be heard over the music.
"I thought footballers were always out partying."
"Some are."
"And you?"
"Not really my thing."
She looked amused by that answer.
"Then why are you here tonight?"
"My teammate insisted."
She glanced over at Sanchez, who was currently arguing with Walker about who danced worse.
"Ah," she said.
"That one?"
Francesco nodded.
"He's persuasive."
Sofia smiled, clearly enjoying the conversation.
She rested her elbow casually on the table.
"Well I'm glad he convinced you."
Francesco didn't respond immediately.
Across the booth, Giroud had started telling another exaggerated story, complete with dramatic hand gestures and loud sound effects.
Everyone was laughing.
Sofia leaned slightly closer again.
"So tell me something," she said.
"What?"
"Are you always this mysterious?"
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"Mysterious?"
"Yes."
"You've said maybe ten words since I sat down."
He chuckled quietly.
"I didn't realize I was being evaluated."
"Oh you are."
He shook his head slightly, amused.
"Well that's pressure."
She smiled knowingly.
"You can handle pressure."
That made him laugh softly.
"Fair enough."
Another round of drinks arrived at the table.
Sanchez slid one toward Francesco.
"Here."
Francesco nodded.
"Thanks."
Sofia glanced at the drink.
"You keeping up?"
"I'm pacing myself."
"Responsible."
"Someone has to be."
She studied him again, clearly trying to read him.
"You're different from the others."
"How?"
"They're loud."
He glanced toward Walker who was currently attempting to demonstrate a dance move to Robertson.
"That's accurate."
"But you're…" she paused.
"Calmer."
He shrugged.
"Maybe."
She leaned closer again, lowering her voice slightly.
"So what do you usually do when you're not out with teammates?"
Francesco thought for a moment.
"Train."
"That can't be all."
"Spend time at home."
"With friends?"
He paused briefly.
"With someone."
Her eyes flickered with curiosity.
"Someone?"
He simply smiled and took another sip of his drink.
Sofia noticed the way he avoided answering directly.
But instead of backing off, it seemed to make her more interested.
"Well," she said playfully, "whoever she is must be very lucky."
Francesco didn't respond to that.
Across the table, Sanchez suddenly stood up again.
"Dance floor," he announced.
Walker immediately agreed.
"Yes."
Oxlade pointed at Francesco.
"You coming?"
Francesco shook his head.
"I'll sit this one out."
Walker groaned.
"You're boring."
"Someone has to be."
The group disappeared again toward the dance floor, leaving only a few people at the booth.
The music grew louder again as the crowd surged.
Sofia leaned back slightly in her seat.
"So," she said casually.
"Looks like it's just us for a minute."
Francesco glanced toward the dance floor where his teammates were already laughing again.
Then he looked back at her.
"Looks like it."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You know… you don't seem like someone who belongs in a place like this."
"Probably not."
"Then why stay?"
He thought for a second.
"Because my friends are here."
She smiled.
"Loyal."
He nodded once.
"Something like that."
Sofia studied him for another moment.
Then she moved slightly closer again, her voice softer now so only he could hear it over the music.
"Well," she said with a playful smile.
"Maybe tonight you could relax a little more."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"Relax?"
"You know," she continued lightly.
"Enjoy the night."
Her tone carried a clear hint of suggestion.
"Maybe we could do something after this."
Francesco didn't immediately answer.
He simply looked at her for a moment, calm and thoughtful.
Then he leaned back slightly against the seat again, glancing once more toward the dance floor where his teammates were still celebrating like the night had no ending.
For now, he simply smiled politely that letting the moment pass without giving the answer she might have been hoping for.
The music kept pounding through the club like a second heartbeat.
Lights flashed across the VIP section in waves of violet and deep red, reflecting off glasses and polished tables. The laughter from the booth blended with the heavy bass from the dance floor where Walker, Oxlade-Chamberlain, and Walcott were still attempting increasingly ridiculous dance moves.
Francesco leaned back against the leather seat, his elbow resting lightly on the back of the booth.
Across from him, Robertson was watching Walker attempt something that looked like a spinning kick mixed with a dance move.
"Mate," Robertson said loudly, shaking his head, "that is absolutely criminal."
Walker pointed at him mid-spin.
"You're jealous!"
"Of what?" Robertson shot back. "Your lack of rhythm?"
The table burst into laughter again.
Sanchez nearly spilled his drink.
Giroud clapped Walker on the back dramatically.
"Magnifique," he declared. "Truly a masterpiece of movement."
Walker bowed as if he had just performed on a stage.
Meanwhile, beside Francesco, Sofia had been watching him closely during the last few minutes.
She seemed relaxed.
But Francesco had already noticed something about the way she kept leaning slightly closer every time she spoke.
Not aggressive.
But deliberate.
He stayed polite.
Friendly.
But careful.
The conversation at the table slowly drifted into multiple smaller conversations.
Some of the women were talking with Bellerin about travel and fashion.
Another was teasing Oxlade-Chamberlain about his "legendary goal scoring ability."
Sanchez had somehow gotten into a debate with Robertson about which country made better food.
And Walker had returned to the booth again, still energized from dancing.
Francesco took another small sip from his drink.
He wasn't drinking heavily.
Just enough to stay social.
Nothing more.
Beside him, Sofia shifted slightly.
Then suddenly she blinked slowly and placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table.
"Whoa…"
Her voice sounded softer now.
Francesco turned his head toward her.
"You alright?"
She let out a small laugh that sounded slightly unsteady.
"Yeah… I think the drinks might be catching up with me."
Her body leaned slightly toward him as if her balance was off.
Francesco instinctively straightened in his seat.
"Maybe you should get some water."
"I might need that," she said with a small smile.
Then suddenly it happened.
She stood up from the booth.
But the moment she did, she swayed.
Her heel slipped slightly on the floor.
Her body tipped forward.
Directly toward him.
For a split second it looked like she was going to fall.
Francesco reacted instantly.
He stood up and caught her before she could collapse.
His hands instinctively supported her arms and shoulders so she wouldn't hit the floor.
"Careful," he said quickly.
The movement caught the attention of the others nearby.
Walker turned around.
"Everything good?"
Francesco nodded calmly.
"Yeah, she just lost her balance."
Sofia leaned against him slightly as if still dizzy.
"Sorry…" she said softly. "I think I stood up too fast."
Francesco helped steady her, making sure she was fully standing.
He wasn't comfortable with how close she was leaning.
But he also wasn't going to let someone fall and hurt themselves.
"Maybe you should sit back down," he suggested.
"I'm okay," she insisted, though her voice still carried the faint tone of someone pretending to be a little drunk.
She looked up at him, her eyes slightly heavy.
"Thank you for catching me."
"No problem."
But inside his mind something didn't sit right.
He had been around nightlife long enough to recognize behavior.
And the timing of her "losing balance" felt… convenient.
Still, he kept his expression neutral.
Polite.
Sofia slowly steadied herself.
"I think I just need a second."
Francesco nodded once.
Then after making sure she was fully balanced, he stepped back slightly.
The moment created a small pause around the booth.
Then Walker raised his drink.
"Well that woke everyone up."
Giroud laughed.
"Heroic reflexes!"
Sanchez nudged Francesco with his elbow.
"See? Even the night is falling for you."
Francesco shook his head with a small smile.
But something inside him had already made a quiet decision.
He reached for his jacket from the back of the booth.
Sanchez noticed immediately.
"Where you going?"
Francesco slipped his arm into the sleeve.
"I think I'm going to head out."
Walker looked shocked.
"What? Already?"
"Yeah."
Robertson frowned.
"Night's just getting started."
Francesco smiled lightly.
"I've got training tomorrow."
Walker groaned loudly.
"Boring."
Giroud raised his glass again.
"The responsible man leaves early."
Sanchez studied him for a second.
"You sure?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
He didn't say anything about Leah.
But she was absolutely part of the reason.
Not because he didn't trust himself.
But because he respected her too much to even let things drift into questionable territory.
And the moment with Sofia had already crossed close enough to that line.
He preferred to remove himself entirely.
Sofia looked up at him from beside the table.
"You're leaving?"
Her voice sounded genuinely surprised.
"Yeah," he replied calmly.
"Already?"
"Yeah."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I thought you were finally starting to relax."
Francesco gave a polite smile.
"I did."
He gestured toward the dance floor.
"Now I'll leave the rest of the night to them."
Walker raised his glass again.
"Coward!"
Robertson laughed.
"He's the smart one."
Francesco shook a few hands around the table.
He clapped Walker on the shoulder.
"Don't break anything on the dance floor."
Walker grinned.
"No promises."
He nodded to Giroud.
"Try not to flirt with the entire club."
Giroud looked offended.
"I would never."
Everyone laughed.
Then Francesco turned toward Sanchez.
"You staying?"
Sanchez shrugged.
"For a bit."
"Text me when you get home."
Sanchez nodded.
"Will do."
Francesco gave one final nod to the group.
"Goodnight boys."
"Night!" several voices replied.
He turned and began walking toward the exit of the VIP section.
Behind him, the laughter and music continued without pause.
But what Francesco didn't see, was Sofia watching him walk away.
Her slightly unsteady posture straightened almost immediately.
Her expression changed.
The playful smile slowly curled into something sharper.
Satisfied.
Then someone appeared beside her.
A man wearing dark clothing and holding a professional camera.
He stepped closer and showed her the screen.
On it was a clear photograph.
Francesco standing.
Holding her.
Supporting her while she leaned against him.
From the angle of the photo, it looked far more intimate than the moment had actually been.
Sofia's lips curved into a sly smile.
"Perfect," she said quietly.
The photographer nodded.
"Got several angles."
She looked back toward the direction Francesco had disappeared.
"Good."
Then she leaned back casually against the booth as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, Francesco was already walking toward the front of the nightclub.
The pounding music faded slightly with each step away from the main floor.
The hallway near the exit felt calmer.
Cooler.
He stepped outside into the night air.
The sudden quiet compared to the club felt refreshing.
The street outside glowed under neon lights and passing headlights.
A few people stood near the entrance talking and smoking.
Francesco slipped his phone out of his pocket.
For a moment he thought about texting Leah.
But he checked the time first.
It was late.
She might already be asleep.
He smiled faintly at the thought of her probably curled up on the couch with Cheddar or already in bed.
Instead, he decided he would just head home.
He raised a hand slightly toward the street.
A black cab rolled slowly toward the curb.
The driver lowered the window.
"Need a ride?"
Francesco nodded.
"Richmond."
The driver gave a quick nod.
"Hop in."
Francesco climbed into the back seat and closed the door.
The cab pulled away from the bright lights of the nightclub district.
The streets grew quieter as they moved farther away from the crowded nightlife.
London at night had a different rhythm.
Calmer.
Streetlights reflected softly off the wet pavement.
Shops were closed.
Only the occasional late-night café or bar remained open.
Francesco leaned his head back against the seat.
The events of the night replayed briefly in his mind.
The laughter with the boys.
Walker's ridiculous dancing.
Giroud's endless stories.
And the moment with Sofia.
He frowned slightly.
Something about it still felt strange.
But he shrugged it off.
It didn't matter anymore.
He had already removed himself from the situation.
The cab continued its quiet drive through the sleeping city.
Eventually the buildings became larger and the streets quieter as they approached Richmond.
Tall trees lined the road.
Large homes sat behind gates and gardens.
The cab slowed as it approached the familiar road leading toward his mansion.
"Just up there," Francesco said.
The driver nodded and pulled toward the gate.
Francesco paid the fare and stepped out of the car.
The night air here felt cooler and peaceful compared to the noise of downtown.
He walked toward the gate and tapped the control on his phone.
The large metal gate slowly slid open.
The driveway lights illuminated the path as he walked toward the house.
The mansion stood quietly under the soft garden lights.
Everything was calm.
Still.
Peaceful.
Exactly how he liked it.
He stepped inside the house.
The interior was dark except for a small lamp glowing softly in the living room.
Cheddar's ears perked up immediately.
Within seconds the dog came trotting down the hallway, tail wagging wildly.
"Hey," Francesco said softly, kneeling slightly to greet him.
Cheddar let out a happy bark and jumped lightly against his legs.
"Yeah yeah, I'm back."
He scratched behind the dog's ears.
"Did you take care of Leah while I was gone?"
Cheddar wagged his tail harder.
Francesco glanced toward the staircase.
The house remained quiet.
Looks like Leah had already gone to bed.
He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of a wall clock filled the silence.
After a moment he turned off the last light downstairs and headed toward the stairs.
Cheddar followed closely behind.
As Francesco reached the top step, he paused briefly.
A faint smile crossed his face.
Whatever chaos the outside world created.
This place was still his calm.
And tomorrow morning he'd wake up here again.
With Leah.
Completely unaware that somewhere across the city.
A photograph had just been taken that might soon create a storm neither of them expected.
Morning sunlight slowly crept through the tall bedroom windows of the Richmond mansion.
Soft golden light stretched across the hardwood floor and climbed the edge of the bed where Francesco and Leah were still sleeping.
Outside, the quiet neighborhood was beginning to wake up.
Birds chirped from the tall trees surrounding the property.
Somewhere down the street a car door shut.
A lawn sprinkler clicked on.
Inside the house, everything still felt peaceful.
Calm.
Cheddar was already awake.
The corgi sat patiently beside the bed, staring upward like a small furry alarm clock waiting for someone to move.
His tail wagged slowly as he watched Leah shift slightly under the blankets.
A soft groan escaped her.
She rolled onto her side.
Cheddar's ears perked up immediately.
Then he gave a small bark.
Francesco stirred.
"Mmm…"
He opened one eye slowly.
Cheddar barked again.
"Alright, alright…" Francesco muttered sleepily.
He pushed himself up slightly and rubbed his face.
"Good morning to you too."
Cheddar wagged his tail harder.
Leah groaned softly and buried her face into the pillow.
"What time is it…" she mumbled.
Francesco glanced toward the bedside clock.
"Eight."
Leah sighed dramatically.
"That's illegal."
Francesco chuckled.
"You're the one who wanted to wake up early today."
"I changed my mind."
Cheddar barked again.
This time louder.
Leah peeked out from the pillow and looked down at him.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "He's staring into my soul."
Francesco laughed softly.
"He wants breakfast."
"That dog always wants breakfast."
Cheddar barked again as if agreeing.
Leah slowly sat up and stretched her arms.
Her hair was messy from sleep.
Her eyes still half closed.
Francesco watched her with a faint smile.
"Morning."
She looked at him.
"Morning."
For a moment everything felt normal.
Comfortable.
Peaceful.
Just another quiet morning together.
They eventually climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.
Cheddar followed them excitedly.
The kitchen filled with the gentle sounds of morning again.
The coffee machine humming.
The toaster clicking.
A frying pan sizzling softly on the stove.
Leah moved around the kitchen with sleepy efficiency.
Francesco poured orange juice into two glasses.
The smell of eggs and toast filled the air.
Cheddar sat beside his food bowl like a statue.
Waiting.
Watching.
Judging.
Leah pointed at him.
"You're being dramatic."
Cheddar barked.
Francesco chuckled and poured dog food into the bowl.
The corgi attacked breakfast immediately.
Within minutes the kitchen table was set.
Two plates.
Toast.
Eggs.
Fruit.
Coffee.
Leah grabbed the TV remote from the counter and turned on the television mounted on the kitchen wall.
Morning news filled the quiet room.
Soft background chatter from the broadcast as they started eating.
Francesco leaned back slightly in his chair, sipping his coffee.
Leah took a bite of toast.
The news anchor on the screen spoke calmly about traffic and weather updates.
"Looks like rain later this afternoon across parts of London…"
Leah glanced toward the window.
"Great."
Francesco shrugged.
"Training indoors today anyway."
The broadcast moved on.
A short segment about politics.
Then sports highlights from the previous night.
Leah casually reached for her coffee.
Everything still felt completely normal.
Then suddenly the tone of the news anchor changed.
Her voice became sharper.
Urgent.
"Breaking news this morning…"
The words instantly grabbed attention.
Francesco glanced toward the screen.
Leah paused mid-bite.
The television screen changed to a large image.
And the moment the photo appeared.
The entire kitchen froze.
It was Francesco.
Standing inside the nightclub.
Holding Sofia.
His hands supporting her arms.
Her body leaning against him.
From the angle of the picture…
It looked like an intimate embrace.
The headline beneath the image flashed in bold letters.
"Football Star Francesco Caught Hugging Mystery Woman At London Nightclub."
Leah's fork slowly lowered onto the plate.
Her eyes remained locked on the television screen.
Francesco's entire body went still.
His brain needed a moment to process what he was seeing.
Then the anchor continued.
"The photo surfaced early this morning and has already begun circulating across social media platforms worldwide. Fans have long viewed the star athlete as loyal to his partner Leah, making the image particularly shocking to many."
Leah slowly turned her head.
She looked at Francesco.
Her expression wasn't loud.
It wasn't explosive yet.
It was worse.
Pure disbelief.
"What… is that?"
Francesco blinked.
"Leah…"
She looked back at the screen again.
The photo appeared again.
Zoomed in this time.
Her voice trembled slightly.
"Francesco… what is that?"
"I—"
He froze.
His brain scrambled for words.
"That's not what it looks like," he said quickly.
Leah laughed once.
But it wasn't a happy laugh.
It was sharp.
Painful.
"Really?"
The screen showed the photo again from another angle.
"Witnesses say the pair were seen together inside the VIP section of the nightclub for several hours…"
Leah's eyes widened.
"Several hours?"
Francesco immediately shook his head.
"No, that's not true."
She stood up suddenly.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"Then explain it!"
"I caught her when she almost fell," he said quickly.
"She lost her balance—"
Leah pointed at the TV.
"That looks like catching someone?"
"It happened fast!"
She stared at him.
Her breathing becoming heavier.
"You went to a nightclub."
"Yes but—"
"With other women."
"They were with the team—"
"And now there's pictures of you hugging one of them."
"I was helping her!"
Leah's voice rose sharply.
"Helping her?!"
Her emotions were now boiling over.
"I trusted you!"
"I know!"
"Do you have any idea how this looks?"
"I swear nothing happened."
But the damage was already done.
Leah grabbed the remote and turned the volume louder.
The reporter continued.
"Fans online are already reacting strongly to the image, with many questioning whether the footballer's previously clean public image may have been misleading."
Leah threw the remote onto the couch.
"Unbelievable."
"Leah listen—"
"No!"
She held up her hand.
"Don't."
Her eyes looked glossy now.
Hurt.
Angry.
"You told me you were just going out with the boys."
"I was!"
"Then why are you holding another woman in a nightclub?!"
"I told you she almost fell!"
Leah shook her head rapidly.
"No."
"No what?"
"No explanation makes this look okay!"
Francesco stepped toward her.
"Please just let me explain—"
She suddenly grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it across the room.
"Explain what?!"
Cheddar barked nervously from the corner.
Leah ran her hands through her hair.
"I can't believe this."
"Leah I would never cheat on you."
"That's what everyone says!"
Her voice cracked slightly now.
Emotion finally breaking through the anger.
"I trusted you."
"I know."
"And now the entire world is watching this!"
The TV continued showing the image repeatedly.
Francesco looked at it again.
His stomach dropped.
The angle looked horrible.
Completely misleading.
Leah suddenly turned and walked toward the staircase.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
"Leah—"
She ran upstairs.
The bedroom door slammed loudly.
A second later…
Click.
Locked.
Francesco stood frozen in the living room.
"Leah…"
He walked upstairs slowly.
Stopped outside the bedroom door.
"Please open the door."
No response.
"Leah, please listen to me."
Silence.
"I swear nothing happened."
Still nothing.
Inside the room he could hear quiet movement.
But she refused to answer.
He leaned his forehead briefly against the door.
Then suddenly his phone started ringing.
The screen showed a familiar name.
Jorge Mendes
Francesco sighed and answered.
"Hello?"
Jorge's voice came through immediately.
Sharp.
Concerned.
"What the hell is going on?"
Francesco rubbed his face.
"I just saw the news."
"You're trending worldwide."
"I know."
"Tell me that photo is fake."
"It's real."
There was a pause.
"Explain."
"She almost fell," Francesco said quickly. "I caught her."
"Who is she?"
"I don't know her. She was with some people at the table."
Jorge sighed heavily.
"You realize how bad this looks?"
"I didn't do anything."
"That doesn't matter. The media doesn't care about context."
Francesco glanced toward the locked bedroom door.
"Leah saw it."
Another pause.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"She locked herself in the bedroom."
Jorge muttered something under his breath.
"Listen carefully. Do not talk to any reporters. Do not post anything yet."
"I wasn't planning to."
"We need to control the narrative."
Francesco nodded even though Jorge couldn't see him.
"Okay."
"I'll call the club's media team and start working on a statement."
"Alright."
"And Francesco…"
"Yeah?"
"If there's anything else about last night I need to know… tell me now."
"There isn't."
"You're sure?"
"I left early."
Jorge sighed again.
"Okay. I'll call you back."
The call ended.
Francesco slowly lowered the phone.
Then he walked back downstairs.
The television was still on.
The story had already escalated.
A reporter now stood outside the nightclub entrance.
"And just moments ago, the woman seen in the photo has come forward…"
Francesco's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What?"
The screen changed.
And suddenly Sofia appeared on camera.
Perfectly styled.
Perfectly calm.
The reporter held a microphone toward her.
"Sofia, can you tell us what happened last night between you and Francesco?"
Francesco's stomach dropped.
Sofia sighed softly.
"Well… we spent quite a lot of time together."
His eyes widened.
"What?"
"We talked… we danced… we had drinks."
Francesco stepped closer to the TV.
"That's not true."
"And yes," she continued with a small smile, "we got very close."
The reporter leaned in.
"Are you saying you two were involved romantically?"
Sofia looked down briefly as if shy.
Then she nodded slightly.
Francesco's heart slammed in his chest.
"That's a lie."
The reporter continued.
"Sources inside the club claim the pair appeared extremely affectionate throughout the night."
Francesco grabbed the remote and turned the volume louder.
"No."
Sofia continued.
"I didn't realize he had someone waiting for him at home…"
Francesco felt anger rising rapidly.
"That's enough."
"But if he did," she added softly, "I hope she understands that sometimes these things just happen."
Francesco's jaw clenched.
Social media reactions began appearing on screen.
"Francesco exposed."
"Another football playboy."
"Feel bad for Leah."
"Typical athlete behavior."
Francesco stared at the television in disbelief.
The story had already turned against him.
Completely.
Upstairs the bedroom remained locked.
Leah inside.
Hurt.
Angry.
And now the entire world believed something that never happened.
Francesco ran his hands through his hair.
The quiet peaceful morning from an hour ago felt like it belonged to another lifetime, and the storm had only just begun.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9