Chapter 140: [140] "Check-In"
Instantly, a massive cascade of notifications flooded the display. Missed calls, calendar reminders, endless social media tags, and dozens of unread text messages. He ignored the vast majority of them, his thumb scrolling past the noise until he found his personal messages.
Two specific texts stood out. Both had been sent late in the night, deliberately bypassing the chaos of the immediate post-match and birthday rush.
The first was from Valérie Laurent:
Happy 21st, Beaumont. You are legally an adult in your home country now, which means I expect even fewer excuses. The GQ numbers are finalizing, and they are unprecedented. You have elevated the brand exactly as I required. Enjoy your quiet evening. I know you’d likely switch off your phone. When you turn it on, remember that the empire we are building does not rest. See you later... hopefully —V
Luc read the message twice, a small, wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. It was the quintessential Valérie Laurent greeting. She couldn’t simply wish him a happy birthday without tying it directly to the commercial success of the club and reminding him of his obligations to her empire. Yet, beneath the razor-sharp corporate phrasing, there was a distinct note of genuine respect. She had acknowledged his need for a quiet evening. She knew he had switched off, and she had respected the boundary.
He tapped to reply, his thumb moving quickly across the digital keyboard:
Thanks, Valérie. The quiet evening was exactly what I needed. The focus is entirely on the pitch today. We’ll take care of business tonight. See you after the final whistle.
He hit send, smoothly managing the owner’s expectations without compromising his own. He was no longer as touched by her overarching authority, they were operating as partners in the club’s ascent.
He backed out of the thread and opened the second message. It was from Rose Montgomery:
Welcome to twenty-one, Captain. Try not to let the existential dread of aging ruin your flawless execution tomorrow night. I saw the GQ spread. You managed to look appropriately menacing without embarrassing yourself next to the Phocéen guy. Impressive restraint. In all seriousness, I hope you’ll manage to completely disconnect. The noise in this city can drown you if you don’t build a raft every once in a while. Drink a glass of water, eat some carbs, and go ruin someone’s defensive line.
Luc let out a quiet, genuine laugh, shaking his head. Rose always possessed an uncanny ability to cut straight through the manufactured drama of professional football. She understood the isolation, the volume of the "noise," better than almost anyone else he knew. Her text wasn’t about rivalries or branding, it was a simple, platonic acknowledgment from one elite athlete to another who understood the grueling reality behind their work.
He typed his response, keeping his tone perfectly matched to hers:
Appreciate it, Rose. The existential dread is being held at bay for now. The raft was successfully built last night, completely disconnected from the noise. Glad my menacing glare met your high-fashion standards. Good luck with your own fixtures this week. Let’s keep making the rest of the league look bad.
He sent the message, feeling a profound sense of camaraderie. Between Klaus becoming a solid friend, Mateo flying in from Saudi Arabia, and Rose offering quiet solidarity from across the city, he realized his circle had evolved. He wasn’t navigating the brutal waters of European football alone anymore. He had built a network of people who respected him not just for the goals he scored, but for the man he was becoming.
Luc locked his phone, the screen going dark yet again, he slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He placed his empty coffee mug on the nightstand.
He turned his body fully toward the bed, looking down at Juliette.
She was the core of it all. The anchor that kept him from drifting into the toxic, obsessive spirals that claimed so many players in his position. While Valérie demanded perfection and the media demanded headlines, Juliette simply demanded honesty and nothing but him. She didn’t care about the GQ cover or the golden boot race when the front door locked behind them. She cared about his health, his sanity, and their shared sanctuary.
The memory of the previous night...the unfiltered intimacy, the shedding of their respective professional armor, and the quiet, synchronized rhythm of their shared space, filled him with an undeniable wave of happiness. It wasn’t the volatile, adrenaline-fueled high of scoring a hat-trick, nor was it the aggressive triumph of silencing a hostile stadium.
It was something entirely different. It was unshakeable contentment. It was stability.
He leaned forward, his hands resting gently on the mattress on either side of her shoulders to support his weight. He lowered his head, breathing in the soft, familiar scent of her hair, and pressed a long, gentle kiss to her forehead.
Juliette stirred at the contact. Her eyes didn’t open, but a soft, sleepy smile spread across her lips. She reached a hand out from under the duvet, her fingers blindly finding his suit. She gave the fabric a weak, affectionate tug.
"Go win," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, barely more than a whisper in the quiet room.
"Always," Luc whispered back.
He gently detached her fingers, tucking her hand back under the warmth of the duvet. He lingered for one final second, simply observing the peace of the room, burning the image into his memory to carry with him into the hostility of the evening’s fixture.
Luc stood up, his posture perfectly straight, the attire molding flawlessly to his frame. He grabbed his black leather bag from the corner of the room, slinging the strap over his shoulder.
He didn’t need to consult TES to know his status. His mind was clear. His body was rested. His heart was full.
He walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a definitive click. He moved down the hallway, unlocked the front door of the apartment, and stepped out into the crisp morning air, completely ready for whatever the game had to throw at him today.