Chapter 34

Amelia's POV

"Why bring this up all of a sudden?"

"Because," he smiled, "I never would have had the chance to participate in any sports if I hadn't stumbled upon that small factory."

"My dad, you know, a worthless drunk. He stopped giving me living expenses in high school, just waved his bottle around and ordered me to go anywhere I could get money so he could buy more booze."

"That small factory—I went there at first only because I had nowhere else to go. The workers there just let me stay."

"Later, when they were short-handed, they'd call me in to help out—not official work, just helping. They never mentioned payment, but when I left there was always an envelope on the table. The boss wouldn't look at me, and I wouldn't ask. The money wasn't much, but my dad stopped bothering me."

I thought about my high school's steep fees. "I remember we met at the same high school."

"That was sophomore year," Samuel said. "Freshman year I was still at public school. Whenever I had free time, I'd go to that factory. I had no friends at school, so those workers would play ball with me during their breaks."

"They said I had talent, told me I had to try out for football."

His eyes filled with deep nostalgia.

"They taught me the basics. I learned well. They cobbled together a set of their old equipment for me—helmet, pads, gloves, everything—and told me to try out for the school team."

"Then, as you probably know, I transferred to your elite high school sophomore year."

I nodded.

"Elite" was comprehensive—my high school welcomed talent in all directions and offered tuition reductions, as long as you were exceptional enough.

Clearly, Samuel's football talent had impressed the administration.

"But competitions were still too expensive for me." He shook his head in frustration. "If it weren't for you... well, you know the rest."

I nodded. Of course I remembered.

It was a very special investment in my life, or rather, a transaction.

And the object of that transaction was simultaneously its content.

"It's still shocking to think about," I murmured. "How did you even think to propose that deal to me?"

Samuel's face turned bright red again.

Once more, he buried his face in my chest, burning hot even through my clothes.

"I don't remember anything!"

I dug out his buried head and cupped it in both hands, examining him carefully.

"Hey, speaking of which, do you remember that photo? Someone actually asked me today if I had any pictures of you from high school, the more innocent kind."

Samuel's eyes widened, clearly realizing what I was thinking about.

I showed a reminiscent smile.

"They'd never believe you were ever like that. Lifting your own shirt and biting it, showing your abs, looking so... obedient."

He closed his eyes in despair, his voice weak.

"I'm going to sleep!"

"Fine."

I'd already seen the expression I most wanted to see. Satisfied, I released him and prepared to leave.

But I didn't succeed.

He grabbed the hem of my dress.

"Stay," he hummed in a wheedling tone. "I asked—the nurse won't do rounds until morning. You can stay overnight tonight... will you keep me company?"

I looked at him disapprovingly. "You're still injured."

"It's okay, I mean, we can... just sleep?" He gestured.

"Just hold each other? Darling, you were originally thinking..."

This time, it was my turn to blush.

"Shut up," I pressed a pillow over his face.

"I wasn't thinking anything. Sleep!"

Samuel's POV

After Amelia declared it was bedtime.

She fell asleep quickly.

I could tell she was exhausted from today.

So was I, but I had a particular kind of excitement. Whenever I thought about that moment on the field today, I had no desire to sleep at all.

I slid my arm under her head, listening to her quiet breathing.

Amelia slept the same way she did everything—neat, elegant, hands properly folded on her stomach.

Only her hair was a mess from everything we'd been through tonight.

How could I ever forget, I gazed at her sleeping face, thinking: I'll never forget, not for the rest of my life, our "transaction."

Seventeen was the most complicated year of my life.

Back then I grabbed every possible moment to work, spending the rest of my time at school and dodging my father's swinging bottles.

My football talent got me invited to Hargrove Academy—that elite private school with long-standing ties to the Grey family, where you wore blazers on Tuesdays and spoke a language I had to learn at lightning speed.

I learned it, because I had no other choice.

The coach pointed out a path for me: Recruiting Camp.

Better coaching there, more opportunities.

But registration cost money.

I emptied my wallet, including every cent I'd saved from factory shifts and every crumpled bill the workshop workers had pooled together and pressed into my hands—go show them what you're made of, kid.

I didn't let that money down. I won some scholarships at Recruiting Camp, enough to cover my training expenses.

Even more surprising, someone—an authoritative scout—saw me at Camp.

The All-American Bowl invitation arrived on a Tuesday. I stood in the kitchen of the apartment I shared with my father, who'd already had three beers by noon. I read the letter twice before truly understanding what it meant.

This was my most hopeful moment, and also my most desperate.

A life-changing opportunity, right in front of me.

Real, legitimate.

But I had no way to get there.

I needed travel expenses, accommodation, better equipment... none of it cheap.

The factory owner had already done more than he should. I couldn't ask again. I briefly and seriously considered taking out a high-interest loan, then I looked at my father.

He lived on borrowed money, one day at a time, debt collectors banging on our door every few days.

I couldn't become like him.

I abandoned that idea.

As I sat on a bench outside a café near Hargrove Academy, calculating the impossible math of my situation, two girls walked past me.

I wasn't paying attention until I heard one of them—the shorter one, gesticulating, walking quickly—giggling as she egged on the other girl.

"Amelia, honey, can't you secretly take me to a bar? I want to find some eye candy! My brother won't let me go, but I want to! It's just a few dozen bucks in tips!"

The other one laughed and said no.

"I'm not taking you. Joseph already gives me enough dirty looks. Besides, we like different types. I like obedient ones, good boys, preferably blond..."

They walked away.

I looked up.

The bodyguard walking six feet behind them told me these were no ordinary girls.

But since coming to this school, I'd only studied and played ball. My extracurricular life was pathetically barren. I didn't know who they were.

I asked someone at the next table. He looked at me like I'd just landed from another planet.

"That's Amelia Grey," he said. "The jewel of the Grey family. Her family donated an entire building to the school this semester. Are you serious?"

For the rest of that day, I watched her, trying to find an opportunity to talk.

Finally, I found a window—after the last class that afternoon, she didn't rush off but spread out a large book in a corner.

I walked over and stood across from her table.

"I have a business proposition," I said.

She looked up, studying me for a moment, as if making a quiet calculation.

"Alright," she said with a composure that didn't quite match our age.

"Set a time. Bring your materials prepared."