STERLING
Up here among the clouds, my executive office was far removed from the noise down on the streets.
It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against my eardrums. My phone buzzed against the glass tabletop of my desk, the sound breaking the silence.
I picked it up and my stomach tightened at the number on the display.
It was the football association president.
I didn’t want to answer, but I had no choice. Ignoring him wasn’t an option.
“Sterling Nightfang.”
“Sterling.” The strain in his voice was evident even through the tinny phone speaker. “We need to talk.”
I leaned against my desk, letting the edge of the glass dig into my hip. The pain was a welcome distraction from the dread pooling in my stomach. “Talk, then.”
He paused. “It’s about your family,” he said carefully. “There are rumors circulating. Ones that don’t reflect well on the association or the sport.”
I froze. “What rumors?”
The pause stretched for an eternity. “Your family’s name has come up in association with some damning accusations.”
My blood ran cold. “My family,” I repeated.
“Rumors about their business dealings. Human trafficking, arms smuggling, ties to the mob.” I could practically see him choosing his next words like he was stepping across a minefield.
“If any of these allegations gain traction, the association cannot afford to be connected to that kind of scrutiny and scandal.”
The edges of my vision turned red, slowly the room faded away in the crimson haze. Despite the rage in my veins, I kept my voice steady. “Is that a threat?”
“I’m giving you a heads-up, Sterling. You know the association’s stance on this. If your family’s connections become public knowledge, we’ll have no choice but to reevaluate your suitability as an owner.”
My jaw clenched so hard it ached, and I could feel my wolf stirring beneath the surface, ready to lash out. “Reevaluate meaning what, exactly?”
A heavy sigh came through the line. “Meaning you’d be forced to divest. I’m sorry, Sterling, but the association’s reputation is on the line.”
The threat in his words was undeniable. I felt my carefully constructed world begin to fall around me like a house of cards.
I forced a slow breath through my nose. “Those rumors are baseless,” I said, though the words tasted bitter on my tongue.
“My family’s business has nothing to do with me.
I’ve spent my entire career distancing myself from that. ”
“I understand that,” the president replied, his tone softening slightly. “But perception is everything. If the media gets hold of this, it won’t matter what’s true. It’ll be a scandal, and the association can’t afford that kind of fallout,” he said. The resignation in his voice made my teeth grind.
“Then control it.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “You’ve buried stories before.”
The phone went quiet, and I could hear the faint sound of his breathing. When he spoke again, it was quieter. “Not like this. Not when it’s your blood tied to organized crime. The association won’t risk the fallout.”
“So that’s it?” I asked. “After everything I’ve built, after all the revenue I’ve brought in and the team I’ve turned around, you’ll throw me out over rumors of my family?”
“It’s not personal,” he said, but the words were hollow.
“The hell it isn’t,” I shot back, my grip tightening on the phone. “You’re telling me my blood is a liability. That’s as personal as it gets.”
“I’m saying you need to get ahead of this, Sterling. Control the narrative before it controls you. If you don’t, the committee will have no choice but to act.”
The line went dead, and I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, the silence louder than any words. My chest felt tight. I tossed the phone onto the couch, where it landed with a dull thud, and ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground me.
For a heartbeat, the silence threatened to drown me, and then the ghost of 80,000 screaming fans rushed in, the phantom scent of grass and sweat clinging like a second skin.
I’d given everything to that pitch. It had been my salvation.
And now they were going to strip my legacy away with a fucking signature.
My mind flashed back to the last time I’d seen my mother, Violet Nightfang. The memory was bitter, like medicine I was forced to swallow.
Her eyes were cold as she sliced into me one last time. “You’ll never be more than a disappointment.”
And Rafe, always lurking behind her like a shadow, smirked. “Should’ve stayed in your place, brother.”
I walked out that night and never looked back. I built my own life, my own fortune, first on the pitch, then in the boardroom. I clawed my way to the top, building a wall between myself and the Nightfang legacy, brick by brick. But blood had a way of clinging, a stain that wouldn’t wash out.
The phone buzzed again, pulling me from the memory. A text, from an unknown number.
“You will always be a Nightfang.”
I stared at the screen, my pulse quickening. The words felt like a taunt, a reminder of the past I’d tried so hard to escape. I deleted the message and tossed the phone aside, but the words lingered, echoing in my mind. I dialed the only person who would understand.
Dean answered on the second ring. “You sound like hell.”
My older brother was the only Nightfang who got out before me.
He’d left the mob behind and built a cybersecurity empire that even Interpol relied on.
While I tried to cleanse our family name by becoming a famous athlete, he retreated from the world into his fortress of technology.
If anyone knew how to battle the taint of our bloodline, it was him.
“I need a favor.”
A pause. “Let me guess. Violet’s making moves.”
I paced the length of the office. “The association’s breathing down my neck. If this goes public—”
“You’ll lose everything.” Dean’s words hung between us, cutting to the chase.
I dragged a hand down my face, my skin tight with frustration. “I didn’t call for a recap.”
“No, you called because you’re backed into a corner.” A chair creaked on his end of the line, and I could picture him leaning back, his eyes calculating as he strategized. “So here’s your play, you control the story before it controls you.”
I scoffed. “And how the hell do I do that?”
“An autobiography.”
I froze mid-step. “You’re joking.”
“Dead serious. You’ve got a story people will pay to hear. Soccer prodigy. Self-made billionaire. The Nightfang heir who walked away. But more importantly, it’s your chance to define the narrative. Show the world who you are, not who they think you are.”
“You’re asking me to spill my life onto paper like some damn confessional.”
“I’m asking you to fight back,” he growled. “Violet’s weaponizing your past. So you take that weapon and you break it over your knee.”
The image hit me. I could already picture the satisfaction as I used her own tactics against her, watching as her smirk dissolved into horrified shock. My reflection in the window hardened as I considered my brother’s words.
“And if it backfires?” I ground out. “If I pour my history onto the page and they use it as a roadmap to bury me?”
Dean exhaled. “Then you make sure the ghostwriter understands what’s at stake. Someone ruthless with words.” His chair creaked. “Call Discreet Talent Connections. They specialize in this.”
My chest burned. Partly from anger at being forced to reveal myself to the public, and partly from fear of losing everything I had built.
“Fine.” I ended the call and stood there, the phone still clutched in my hand.
At that moment, I realized that I had climbed to the top of the world, but what did any of it mean? Dean had Nina. I had what? A shiny glass office that felt like a cage and a legacy that threatened to crumble at the first whisper of my bloodline.
I grabbed my phone and wrote a text to my assistant, Clara, with instructions to find me a ghostwriter at Discreet Talent Connections. If they filled the role today, there was a one-hundred-fifty-thousand dollar reward. One hundred for the agency and fifty for the writer.
I had barely hit send when she shot back a response.
Clara: “Yes, Mr.Nightfang. Anything else?”
Me: “Clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. And when the writer arrives, send them to the gym.”
Clara: “Understood.”
Some overpriced wordsmith would fix this? I had my doubts. But if they could spin my past into something even half as pristine as the association’s reputation, it might just buy me enough time to outmaneuver Violet.
I headed for the elevator. The gym was my sanctuary, a place where I could channel the storm inside me into something physical, something I could control.
The doors slid open, and the scent of rubber, stale sweat, and disinfectant hit me, reminding me of why I was here. I stripped off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves, the cool air against my skin making the hairs on my arms stand up.
I stepped onto the treadmill and cranked up the speed, the rhythmic pounding of my feet against the belt matching the rhythm of my thoughts.
It brought me back to the pitch. I closed my eyes, hearing the roar of the crowd, feeling the weight of the ball at my feet, and remembering the split-second decision that had won us the championship.
That moment had been mine, untainted by the Nightfang name. And now, it was all on the line again.
But I wasn’t that scared kid anymore. I’d built an empire from nothing. I’d fought for every inch of my success. And I wasn’t about to let my family’s reputation destroy it.
As I ran, the tightness in my chest began to ease and a steely resolve took its place. I’d write the damn book. I’d tell my story before anybody else could. I’d do it my way. And if anyone thought they could take me down, they were in for a fight.
The treadmill beeped as I hit my target distance, and I slowed to a walk, my breath coming in steady bursts. I grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from my face. In the mirror, my reflection in the mirror staring back at me, my gaze steely and determined.
The game had changed. And this time, I was going to make the rules.