“Your composure,” Ross went on, “your refusal to engage—that’s what’s saving our image right now. You walk away from a fist in the face? That’s heroic in the eyes of sponsors. Calm. Professional. The anti-Moretti.”
My jaw tightened. I didn’t feel calm. Or professional. Or heroic.
I felt like the inside of my skull was a grenade pin pulled halfway out. If control was a currency, I was flat broke.
Mac cleared his throat, finally speaking. “We just need to understand your head-space, lad. You’re better than this. You don’t make rookie errors.”
My voice came out rougher than intended. “It won’t happen again.”
Ross stared at me long and hard. Searching for cracks.
“Good,” he said finally. “Because Seoul is a reset. I want stability. I want focus. I want you back in championship-winning form. With Rivers taking the win yesterday, he’s leading the championship too. We need to control that. It’s still early in theseason, we can recover, but we need you on form. And I swear to god, Aleks—” his voice dropped, low and lethal, “—if anything like yesterday happens again, I will sit you. I don’t care how many trophies you’ve brought through our doors.”
The room froze.
“That understood?”
“Yes,” I said.
But the truth was, I wasn’t sure I understood anything any more.
The meeting disbanded with a scatter of chair-scrapes and hushed conversations. I stayed seated for a few seconds, elbows on the table, letting the noise wash past me like static.
Terri paused by my shoulder. “You okay?”
No.
Not even close.
“I’m fine,” I said.
She gave me a look that said she knew better, but left it alone.
Mac lingered too, watching me with that steady, paternal scrutiny of his. He put a hand on my shoulder—brief, grounding.
“Sort yourself out, lad,” he murmured. “Whatever’s eating at you… don’t let it win.”
He walked out.
I stayed behind, staring at the blank projector screen. My reflection stared back—jaw bruised, eyes tired, hair still damp from the shower.
A tight ache coiled in my chest.
I didn’t know what I wanted more—to see Elena again, or to pretend none of it ever happened.
Control.
I’d built my whole life on it.
Corner by corner.
Decision by decision.
Nothing left to chance.
But Elena Archer had blown a hole straight through the armour I’d spent years constructing, and now everything felt too sharp. Too exposed.
Terrifying.
