Chapter eighteen

Chapter 18 — After the Whistle

Derek had asked Adaeze to follow him to the match on Saturday. Not because he cared about football or wanted her support — he just wanted to show off. His words were smooth, laced with fake affection, but Adaeze didn't catch it. He wanted his friends — especially Kaid and the others — to see that he had a girl who obeyed and followed him. It was all about control. Appearance. Power.

Far from that scene, Ziora sat in her room, trying to finish a dress for a new client. Her machine whirred quietly, the fabric smooth and soft under her fingers. But her thoughts kept slipping. She paused again, letting the cloth fall onto her lap as her mind drifted to Damian. It had been days since they really spoke. Since the peace. Since the argument.

She sighed and whispered to herself, "No matter what, I have to go. Fighting or not… he needs me there." Her heart ached with uncertainty, but something told her she needed to support his dream. Even if they were broken.

She shut off her sewing machine, quickly changed into jeans and a crop jacket, tied her hair up, and rushed out of the hostel.

At the stadium, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. The state tournament had pulled a huge crowd. Damian's team was warming up on the field, and on the opposite side, the opposing team stood tall — especially Kaid, their loud captain. He was tall, broad, with dyed hair and gold chains, radiating ego from head to toe.

"Kaid! What's the prediction?" a fan called out.

Kaid scoffed, flipping his towel over his shoulder. "We're winning, as usual. Nothing new. No one's touching our crown today."

Someone laughed. "The other team looks serious though."

"Let them look," Kaid smirked. "They'll still lose. Damian or no Damian."

When the whistle blew for kickoff, the boys stormed the pitch.

Ziora slipped into the stands, hiding behind a dark hoodie, trying not to be noticed. But Damian saw her. From the middle of the field, his eyes scanned the crowd and paused when he saw her hoodie. She waved slightly.

His heart skipped. She came.

"Focus!" his teammate shouted beside him, but Damian nodded slowly, gripping the ball tighter. Her presence felt like a lifeline.

Kaid and Damian had a tense handshake before the game started. No words. No smiles. Just heat. Kaid whispered something under his breath — a sharp word that only Damian heard. He didn't react. He didn't have to. The ball would do the talking.

The match was intense — speed, tackles, near misses. Kaid scored the first goal, and his fans screamed wildly. But Damian bounced back with two stunning goals in the second half. Sweat poured down his back, muscles tense, but he played like a man on fire — like someone who had something to prove, and someone in the crowd to prove it to.

When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 2–1.

Damian's team had won.

Ziora clapped slowly, proud but silent. She didn't rush to him. She just watched.

The crowd began to clear, and Ziora left her seat, heading toward the restroom section behind the stadium. She needed to breathe, to think.

That's when she saw them.

Adaeze and Derek.

They were standing in a quiet corner. Adaeze had a small smile on her lips, trying to talk to him, but Derek's face was tight with irritation. She reached for his arm, and he suddenly slapped her. Hard.

Ziora froze.

She took a step back, hiding behind a wall, her hands trembling.

"What's your problem?" Adaeze cried, holding her cheek.

Derek grabbed her by the neck, dragging her back roughly. "You don't ever question me in front of my friends! You're nothing without me! Do you hear me?"

Adaeze whimpered, nodding quickly.

Ziora's mouth parted slightly. Her throat was dry. She wanted to scream. But she couldn't. Her body stayed rooted to the ground.

Suddenly, a presence appeared beside her. She turned — it was Damian.

His face was unreadable. But she saw it in his eyes: rage, shock, confusion.

He had seen it too.

"That guy…" Damian muttered. "How can any man treat a woman like that?"

Ziora didn't answer at first. She swallowed and looked away.

"They're all the same," she said quietly. "Only their patterns are different."

Damian flinched.

He knew those words weren't just about Derek.

They were about him, too.

There was a long silence between them. Just their breathing, and the distant sound of whistles and fans leaving.

Damian wanted to speak. To apologize again. To defend himself. But he couldn't. Because deep down… he didn't even know if she was wrong.

Ziora looked at him, pain in her eyes, and then turned away, walking off.

He stood there, alone.

And for the first time that day, he didn't feel like the man who had just won.