Chapter 194 : Multi-Million Dollar Penthouse.

Chapter 194 : Multi-Million Dollar Penthouse.


STEPHEN’S POV

If you had told me two months ago that I’d be standing on the floor to ceiling glass balcony of a multi million dollar penthouse in the heart of the city, looking down at a skyline that actually belonged to my future, I would have told you to go fuck yourself.

But here I was.

The air up here tasted different.

It didn't carry the suffocating, heavy humidity of our old camp or the rancid stench of the scandals that had threatened to bury us alive.

It felt sharp, clean, and expensive as hell.

Vanguard Group hadn't played around when they finalized our pre-draft corporate acquisition.

The moment Hayden and I signed those United FC tier-one affiliate contracts, the corporate handlers essentially handed us the keys to this high-rise paradise.

It was a massive, sprawling concrete-and-glass flex of a penthouse, meant to keep their new "assets" comfortable, secure, and entirely isolated from the bullshit below.

I leaned against the sleek black steel railing, taking a slow sip of my coffee, feeling the faint, familiar ache in my thighs from yesterday’s grueling double-session training.

Down on the street corner, three stories below the secure private gate of the residential complex, I could see them.

The paparazzi, reporters, and content creators. They were huddled under the awning of a coffee shop, massive telephoto lenses aimed squarely up at our building like fucking vultures.

A month ago, seeing a camera lens pointed at my face would have made my stomach turn inside out.

It would have triggered that cold, paralyzing terror of the leaked tape, the sickening dread of reading anonymous forum threads picking apart our sex life, and the agonizing weight of public shame.

But today? Those motherfuckers weren't holding printed screenshots of our private intimacy. They were holding sports magazines with our faces blasted across the front cover.

The narrative had completely flipped, and it was fucking dizzying.

The pity was entirely gone, burned to ash by the sheer, undeniable reality of our talent. The media didn't look at us like a tragic, broken scandal anymore.

The headlines were practically screaming a different tune now.

“THE GOLDEN BOYS OF THE SENIOR DRAFT.”

“FIRE AND ICE: HOW UNITED FC ACQUIRED THE FUTURE OF THE DOMESTIC STRIKER AND MIDFIELDER."

“THE UNBREAKABLE CHEMISTRY OF STEPHEN AND HAYDEN.”

They were obsessed. The whole damn sports world was collectively losing its mind waiting for our official professional debut.

We hadn't even stepped onto the pitch for a formal league match yet, and the internet had already turned us into some sort of mythic, legendary duo.

"Fucking vultures are still out there, huh?"

A pair of heavy, tattooed arms slid around my waist from behind, a broad, solid chest pressing firmly against my back.

Hayden buried his face in the crook of my neck, his morning stubble scratching against my skin, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight down my spine.

He smelled like soap, clean sweat, and that deep, grounding warmth that always managed to settle the frantic static in my head.

"Yeah," I murmured, leaning back into his embrace, letting my eyes drift shut for a second. "They've been down there since six AM. Apparently, some sports blog dropped a five-minute analysis video of our drill practice from Tuesday, and it’s already hit two million views."

Hayden let out a low, rough growl against my skin, his hands gripping my hips with a possessive, white-knuckled intensity that made me smile.

"Let the bastards watch and speculate until their fucking fingers bleed. We're getting paid seven figures to play the game we love, and they're standing in the rain trying to get a shot of us eating breakfast."

I turned around in his arms, looping my elbows around his neck. I looked up at him, really looked at him, and the breath caught in my throat.

He was smiling.

It wasn't that tight, defensive, volatile smirk he used to wear like armor when the trial was suffocating us. It was a real, radiant, unburdened smile.

Over the last week of training at the United FC facility, I had watched the dark, toxic shadows beneath his eyes completely vanish.

The raw fury that used to dictate his every movement had settled into something pure, focused, and absolutely lethal on the field.

"You're doing it again," I whispered, reaching up to run my thumb along his jawline.

"Doing what?" he asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine, burning with a calm, triumphant heat.

"Smiling. You’ve been doing it all week at the facility."

Hayden’s smile widened, a wicked, boyish charm breaking through his usual rugged demeanor.

"Because I'm happy, Steph. For the first time in a fucking year, nobody is trying to take you away from me, and nobody is trying to destroy our lives. We beat them. We beat Ryan, we beat the board of trustees, and we beat every closeted homophobic piece of shit who thought a leaked video would break us."

He was right. The chemistry we displayed on the training pitch this week had been nothing short of telepathic.

During Tuesday's scrimmage, our head coach had paired us together in the center, and we had absolutely dismantled the senior defensive line within twenty minutes.

I didn't even have to look…I knew exactly where Hayden would be running, exactly when he would drop his shoulder to create space, and exactly how hard to strike the ball to meet his explosive stride.

We were playing with a violent, beautiful freedom.

The training clips the media team posted online had gone viral within hours, with analysts calling our partnership "the most statistically symbiotic pairing in the modern draft era."

"The online feeds are calling us legendary, Hayden," I teased, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. "They're saying our chemistry can't be taught."

"Damn right it can't," Hayden growled, his hand sliding down to cup the back of my thigh, lifting it slightly to press his hard frame against mine.

"They don't know what it took to build this. They didn't see the blood, the tears, or the way we fucked the stress out of each other on the floor of that apartment."

I let out a breathless laugh, my heart swelling with a profound, unbreakable peace. The future wasn't a minefield anymore. It belonged to us.

"Come on," I said, reluctantly pushing against his chest. "We have a tactical review in an hour. If we're late, Coach will have us running suicides, golden boys or not."

Hayden caught my wrist, pulling me back for one more deep, possessive kiss that tasted like a promise.

"Let him try. We'll just run them faster."