part 11 : She left without a sound

Three days passed.

No messages.

No calls.

No sign of her.

The silence became a third ghost haunting the PSG training ground.

Dominic was colder than winter rain, barking orders, snarling at teammates like they were the enemy. Every save he made was violent, every movement fueled by something darker than focus. Coaches whispered. Players avoided eye contact. No one dared ask what was wrong—because everyone knew.

Damien, for once, had nothing to say. His signature smirk was gone. The charm, the cocky remarks, the flirty winks—they vanished, leaving only hollow eyes that flicked constantly to the gates, the streets, the stands. Searching. Hoping. Failing.

But she was nowhere.

Until the photo surfaced.

A blurry snapshot posted by someone who didn't even know what they were holding—

a bomb.

Fiona.

At the airport.

Smiling.

Not alone.

Next to him—her childhood best friend.

The same guy both Damien and Dominic secretly despised.

The one who never played the game.

Who didn't compete.

Who just existed in her heart, safe and untouchable.

He held her bag like it weighed nothing. His arm draped over her shoulder—casual, intimate, familiar. And she let it rest there. She didn't flinch. She didn't move away.

Paris lost its breath that day.

Dominic's phone slipped from his hand and cracked on the locker room floor.

Damien stood frozen, his jaw tight, knuckles bone-white against the bench. "What the fuck," he muttered in Italian, voice so low it shook with restraint.

She hadn't left a note.

No warning.

Not even a damn goodbye.

She just… disappeared.

With him.

Dominic punched the locker beside him, the metal denting under his fist. He didn't feel the blood. Just the burn. "She said she needed air," he said coldly. "She didn't say she'd run."

"She's punishing us," Damien said, finally meeting Dominic's glare. "And we deserve it."

Dominic didn't argue.

Because deep down, they both knew the truth:

They pushed her too far.

Tore at her until she snapped.

Pulled so hard from either side, she unraveled just to breathe again.

But neither of them imagined this.

Her choosing silence.

Her choosing him.

Her smiling—like she hadn't just left two men dying in her wake.

"She'll come back," Damien said eventually, quieter now. "They always come back."

But Dominic didn't answer.

He just stared at the photo again.

At the softness in her smile.

The peace in her eyes.

And for the first time…

He wasn't so sure.