“You don’t know anything about her,” Mikel growled, fists still clenched like he was seconds away from swinging again.
Nikolai’s voice dropped, low and dangerous, as he took one step forward—just enough to send warning bells screaming in my skull. “Then tell me what makes you worthy of her,” he said. “Because all I see is a little boy who bets his girlfriend like she’s a poker chip.”
That was it.
Mikel stepped forward—so close to Nikolai now they could’ve shared a breath. His hands twitched at his sides. The line between words and violence was razor-thin.
I could feel the moment before it broke. I felt it in my bones.
And still—I stood there, frozen, caught between the man who humiliated me and the one who walked in just to stand between me and that humiliation.
Caught between fire and ice.
And I didn’t know which one would burn me worse.
“I’m going,” I said.
My voice didn’t shake.
It cut.
Cold. Sharp. Final.
The words hung between us like a blade suspended in midair, and for a second, no one moved. That was what made it worse for Mikel—that I didn’t yell. That I didn’t cry. I just… decided.
And once I did, there was no undoing it.
I didn’t say it to be dramatic. I said it because I meant it. Because I wouldn’t let him turn me into some object he could bet, rage over, and then try to win back with a half-sincere apology and blood on his jersey.
Part of me just wanted out of that locker room. Out of the air, out of the noise, out of the way his eyes made me feel like a possession with a pulse.
But another part of me—one I hated just a little—wanted him to see me go. Wanted him to lose. Even if it was petty. Even if it made me like him for a second.
Mostly, though, I just didn’t want the cleaning crew walking in on this disaster.
So I brushed past him.
Head high.
Back straight.
No pause. No second glance.
I felt the tension snap behind me like a rubber band stretched too far.
Nikolai didn’t say a word—he just moved with me, falling into step like we’d rehearsed it. Like he’d been waiting for me to decide.
His presence beside me was unnerving. And steadying. And a little bit terrifying. Like walking next to a loaded gun I wasn’t sure would protect me or explode in my hand.
Then—Mikel’s voice.
“No."
It sliced through the air behind us like a blade aimed straight at my spine.
And then—his hand.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist, sudden and tight.
