We're bonding

I had spent all night working on Freya's new schedule.

It was necessary.

Her old schedule was an absolute disaster—half-empty, disorganized, with random placeholders like "???" and "sponsor thing (maybe??)" shoved in between actual obligations.

If she had ever followed it, I would have been shocked.

So, I fixed it.

I structured everything to be efficient, optimized for performance, media obligations, and rest.

Training: 8:30 AM sharp every weekday. No more showing up whenever she felt like it. No more skipping entirely.

Media Obligations: Pre-approved only. No last-minute, half-assed interviews. No blowing off sponsorship events just because she didn't feel like it.

Meetings with the team: Regular. Mandatory.

Personal time: Controlled but flexible. Enough for her to live her life, but not enough to turn into a walking PR disaster.

Game Days: Full focus. No late-night bar hopping. No mysterious disappearances. No "Oops, I forgot we had a match today."

It was perfect.

And Freya was going to hate it.

I drove us to training, and for the first fifteen minutes, she was grumpy but tolerable.

Then—she became insufferable.

"You're so uptight," Freya groaned, dramatically slumping into the passenger seat, stretching her legs like she had no bones whatsoever. "Have you ever considered, I don't know, relaxing?"

I gripped the steering wheel.

Tightly.

"Have you ever considered not being annoying?"

She gasped dramatically.

"Lydia, please, I'm a delight."

I sighed sharply.

She leaned closer, her smug grin widening.

"You didn't answer my question," she teased. "When was the last time you just—" She gestured vaguely. "Let go?"

I didn't even look at her.

"I'm about to let go of you. Out of this moving vehicle."

Freya laughed loudly, throwing her head back.

"Oh my God, you're actually threatening me now. I love this. We're bonding."

"We are not bonding."

"We totally are."

I exhaled, sharply, focusing on the road.

Freya, of course, wasn't done.

"I bet you plan out everything in your life," she mused. "Like, even your coffee breaks are scheduled."

"They are," I said flatly.

She gasped. "Oh my God."

I ignored her.

She nudged my arm.

I ignored that, too.

"Lydia," she said sing-song, "when's the last time you did something impulsive?"

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

"When I took this job."

Freya let out a mock gasp.

"So, you're saying I was a bad decision?"

"Yes."

"Wow." She clutched her chest dramatically. "So cold."

"Good," I muttered.

The drive continued, with Freya testing every ounce of my patience.

At one point, she played with the radio, switching between stations at an infuriating speed until I turned it off completely.

Then she leaned against the window, sighing dramatically.

"You're so fun," she muttered, fake sadness dripping from her voice.

I didn't respond.

Instead, I focused on the blessed silence that lasted approximately forty seconds before—

"You know, you never told me where you're from."

I sighed. "New York."

"Yeah, but like—where in New York?"

"Manhattan."

"That explains so much."

I ignored her.

But she wasn't done.

"You were totally that kid with a perfect planner, weren't you?"

"Yes."

She laughed again, clearly delighted.

"I bet your notebooks were color-coded."

"Still are."

She grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes.

Finally—finally—we arrived at the training center.

The moment I parked, I exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel as if it were the only thing keeping me sane.

Freya hopped out, stretching like she had been trapped in a prison instead of sitting comfortably for half an hour.

I stepped out as well, straightening my blazer.

Freya raised a brow at me.

"You staying to watch me train?"

I shook my head.

"No. I have a meeting with Coach Rivera."

Her grin widened.

"Oh? Already running off to complain about me?"

"Already ensuring your career doesn't burn to the ground."

She mock wiped her forehead.

"Phew. You really care about me, huh?"

I gave her a sharp, unimpressed look.

"I care about getting paid," I corrected.

She smirked. "Well, sweetheart, if you wanted a raise, all you had to do was ask."

I turned on my heel and walked away.

She laughed loudly behind me.

I walked through the sleek hallways of the New York Strikers' training facility, my heels clicking against the polished floor.

The air smelled like fresh turf and faint traces of sweat, the lingering remnants of early morning drills.

Coach Rivera's office was at the end of the hall, past a row of rooms where assistant coaches, trainers, and team planners worked to keep everything running.

I stepped inside without hesitation.

Rivera looked up from his desk, rubbing his temples. He already looked exhausted.

"Lydia," he greeted. "How was the drive?"

I sat down across from him, smoothing out my blazer.

"Terrible," I said flatly. "Freya talked the entire way."

Rivera snorted. "Get used to it."

"Absolutely not," I replied.

He chuckled, shaking his head before leaning forward, his expression turning serious.

"Let's talk business," he said.

I nodded.

He gestured to the large board behind him, where match schedules, tactical breakdowns, and championship brackets were pinned in neat rows.

"This year's championship," he started, tapping a finger on the board, "is ours to take."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sound confident."

"I am," he said. "On paper, we have the best team in the league. Our defense is solid, our midfield is aggressive, and our wingers? Unstoppable."

I glanced at the list of names.

Tasha Montgomery—defender, powerhouse, unshakable on the field.

Sofia Alvarez—midfield, fast thinker, sharp strategist.

Mia Park—winger, quick as hell, ruthless in tight spaces.

Freya Vesper—star forward, unmatched talent… if she ever took things seriously.

Rivera sighed, like he could already sense my thoughts.

"We could win," he said. "If—" He shot me a pointed look. "If Freya gets her act together."

I exhaled, crossing my arms. "You think she'll take this seriously?"

"If you do your job right," he said simply.

Before I could respond, one of the assistant coaches, a tall man with gray at his temples, cut in.

"She's been a problem for years," he muttered. "Too much talent, not enough discipline."

A trainer, a woman in her forties, nodded. "When she's locked in, she's unstoppable. But when she's distracted? Liability."

I wasn't surprised.

Freya wasn't just talented. She was the best forward in the league.

But talent wasn't enough if she kept skipping games and treating training like a joke.

---

A few hours passed as we worked on finalizing some planning and everything had looked to be great.

"We need her focuse, please Lydia. We need her hungry for the win." Coach Rivera said.

I adjusted my watch. "Then I'll make sure she is."

Before anyone could respond—

A loud commotion erupted outside.

Voices shouting.

Rivera's head snapped up.

"What the hell—"

I was already moving, heels clicking sharply as I strode toward the door.

The second I stepped outside, I saw it.

Freya and Tasha —face to face, pure tension crackling in the air.

And they were fighting.