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I walk her to her car, matching her slower pace. She’s quiet, arms crossed as we step outside. The sun’s low, casting her in amber light. She looks untouchable. Like the kind of woman you fuck up your life over.

“You did good in there,” she says quietly, breaking the silence. “Taking charge like that. I wasn’t expecting it.”

My chest tightens. “You thought I’d just sit there and let them tell us what to do?”

“I thought you’d care more about what looks good for your image.” She stops walking and turns to face me. “But you seemed more concerned about making it real.”

Real. The word hangs between us like a challenge.

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

She studies my face for a long moment, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Okay then.”

I say it before I can stop myself. “Be ready at six tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”

She raises a brow but doesn’t argue. “Okay.”

She’s halfway in the car when she glances at me over her shoulder. “You did good today.”

I nod once. “You too.”

She gets in, and I stand there like an idiot, watching her drive away. Watching the way her hair catches the light through the rear window. Wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I swipe half-expecting another useless practice reminder. Instead, a stranger’s number lights up the screen—and the words hit me like a puck to the face :

Keep your fucking distance from my sister, or I'll crack your damn jaw.

Then, a second later:

This isn’t a warning. It’s a promise.

Ice rips through my chest like a slapshot to the sternum. Griffin fucking Novak. Even when he’s not on the same team, the bastard finds a way to ruin my fucking day.

Let’s see who lasts longer before snapping—me... or the big brother with a God complex.

I stare at the screen, re-reading the messages. Part of me wants to text back, tell him exactly where to shove it. But the smarterpart—the part that’s learned to pick my battles—tells me to play the long game.

Griffin’s watching. Tracking my moves. Probably has been since the moment he found out his sister was working for my team.

Good fucking luck, Novak.

I don’t play soft. Never have, never will.

And I don’t back off from what I want.

Not for anyone.

I pocket the phone and stare at the road she just drove off on, already planning tomorrow night.

Especially not for fucking him.

Because whatever game Griffin thinks he’s playing, he’s already lost.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Chapter twenty

Katarina