Three hours of arguing over the World Cup qualifier budget left a sharp ringing in my ears. The new training schedule sat on the passenger seat of my SUV, a thick stack of paper I had sacrificed my entire evening to finalize.

My phone buzzed against the center console.

*Chloe.*

I tapped the screen to answer, keeping my eyes on the dark, empty road. Three years ago, she had been broke and desperate. I handed her a job as a player assistant. The pay was excellent, the expectations incredibly low. I spent half my nights fixing her mistakes and organizing player requests because she was my best friend.

"Hey, Chloe, did you mess up the travel logs again?" I asked.

A high-pitched shriek tore through the speaker.

I yanked the phone away from my ear, swerving slightly in my lane. "Chloe? Are you okay? What’s going on?"

More noise followed. A rhythmic thumping. A muffled gasp.

She pocket-dialed me. I sighed, reaching out to hit the red button on the screen.

"That's it," a man groaned over the line. "You never treat me like Evelyn does. You're the best."

My finger froze a millimeter above the glass.

That voice.

Julian.

My fiancé.

The same man who kissed my forehead at seven this morning and promised to have dinner waiting for me when I got home.

"Julian, don't stop!" Chloe screamed, her voice echoing off the dashboard.

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I gripped the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned stark white. The streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow.

"What are you doing?" I yelled.

The sounds over the speaker abruptly stopped. A loud rustling followed, like heavy sheets being ripped off a mattress. Frantic whispers replaced the moans.

"Shit, my phone," Chloe hissed.

"Give it to me," Julian snapped.

Heavy panting filled the silence. I stared straight ahead, my chest tight, waiting for the punchline of a sick joke.

"Evelyn?" Julian’s voice cracked.

"Tell me I didn't just hear my fiancé sleeping with my best friend," I said.

"Babe, wait. It’s a misunderstanding."

A harsh laugh ripped from my throat. "A misunderstanding? You were moaning her name!"

"I can explain," Julian pleaded, his tone dropping into a pathetic whine. "I swear I can explain everything."

"Explain what?" I demanded, pressing harder on the gas pedal. "Explain how you accidentally tripped and fell into the girl I hired?"

"Evie, please listen to me. We were just stressed. You've been so busy with the qualifiers, and she was just there."

"So you used her?" I asked.

"Yes! I mean, no! It meant nothing."

"You told her she was the best, Julian. You brought up my name."

"I didn't mean it," he rushed out. "Can we just... can we pretend this call never happened? Please, Evie. I love you. Let's talk about this at home."

"Pretend?" I screamed, slamming my palm against the wheel. "You piece of trash, I’m going to—"

Blinding white light flooded my windshield.

A pair of high beams swerved directly into my lane.

I jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. Tires screeched against the asphalt. The SUV spun violently out of control.

"Evelyn! What was that sound?" Julian shouted.

Metal crunched. Glass shattered inward, raining over my face and arms. The airbag deployed with a brutal punch to my chest.

Pain exploded through my skull.

The world flipped, and then collapsed into absolute darkness.

***

"Are you alright, miss?"

A deep voice cut through the thick fog in my brain.

I groaned, my eyelids heavy. The harsh scent of cheap floor wax and stale sweat invaded my nose. I definitely wasn't in my car anymore.

I forced my eyes open.

A face hovered above me. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and dark, concerned eyes.

Adrian.

I blinked, trying to clear the blurry edges of my vision. Adrian wasn't supposed to be here. He played for a rival club now, thousands of miles away in Europe. We hadn't spoken in two years.

"Miss? Can you hear me?" he asked, extending a hand.

I ignored it, pressing my palms against the cold, hard floor to push myself up. My head throbbed, but I wasn't bleeding. I touched my chest. No broken ribs.

"Where am I?" I muttered, glancing around.

Peeling gray paint on the walls. Rusted lockers lined up in the corner. A single fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scuffed linoleum.

This wasn't a hospital.

This was the old downtown training center. The one the city demolished five years ago.

"You took a pretty hard hit from that stray ball," Adrian said. He squatted next to me, his brow furrowed. "Do you need a doctor?"

I stared at him. He wore a faded practice jersey, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders. He looked younger. His face lacked the faint scar over his left eyebrow he got during the finals two years ago.

"What year is it?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Adrian tilted his head. "Are you sure you don't have a concussion? It's 2019."

My jaw dropped.

2019. The year before Julian got drafted. The year I paid his rent, bought his gear, and worked three jobs to fund his dream. The year I hired Chloe.

"Did someone call an ambulance?" Adrian shouted over his shoulder toward the empty hallway.

"No, wait," I said quickly. "Don't call anyone."

"You were out cold for two minutes," he argued.

"I said I'm fine."

I grabbed the edge of a nearby bench and hauled myself to my feet. The room spun for a second, but I locked my knees and stood tall.

Adrian stood up with me, towering over my frame. "You don't look fine. You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Something like that," I whispered.

I looked down at my hands. The heavy diamond engagement ring Julian gave me last year was gone. My fingernails were painted a chipped red, a color I hadn't worn since my early twenties.

"Do you want me to get Julian?" Adrian asked, crossing his arms. "He's out on the field."

Hearing that name sent a fresh wave of nausea through my stomach. Just minutes ago, I was listening to him cheat on me. Now, he was outside, playing the struggling athlete who needed my money to survive.

"No," I said, my voice hardening. "Don't get him."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Suit yourself. But you should probably sit down before you pass out again."

"I'm not going to pass out." I smoothed down the front of my shirt. "I have things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like firing my assistant," I said.

Before Adrian could ask another question, the heavy metal door at the end of the locker room swung open.

"Evie!" a familiar voice called out.

Julian jogged into the room, his face flushed with exertion, a bright, innocent smile plastered across his face.

"Hey, babe," Julian said, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. "I heard you got hit. Are you okay?"

I stepped back, letting his hands grasp empty air.

Julian frowned, confusion flashing in his eyes. "Evie? What's wrong?"

I stared at the man who had just ruined my life, realizing I now had the chance to ruin his first.

Julian stood in the doorway, his hands hovering in the empty space between us. A plastic water bottle dangled from his left grip.

"Evie?" he asked again. "What's wrong? You look pale."

"Don't touch me," I said.

His smile faltered. He lowered his arms, the plastic bottle crinkling under his tightening grip. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You took a nasty hit out there. Everyone was worried."

"I'm fine. Back up."

I turned away from him and faced Adrian. The fog in my head was lifting, replaced by a sharp, cold clarity.

"Adrian," I said, my voice steady. "Tell me the exact date. Today."

Adrian wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. "May 18, 2023." He tilted his head, studying my face. "Are you sure you're okay? Did that soccer ball knock you silly?"

*2023.*

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wasn't in a hospital. I wasn't bleeding out on a highway in 2026. I was exactly three years in the past.

I just joined the team staff a week ago. Today was the intra-squad scrimmage. I walked too close to the sideline, a stray ball nailed me in the temple, and I blacked out.

"I have some painkillers in my bag," Julian offered, stepping closer again. He reached out, trying to place a hand on my shoulder. "And extra water. I can bring them to your desk every day until you feel better."

I slapped his hand away. The smack echoed loudly off the metal lockers.

Julian flinched, his eyes wide with shock. "Hey! I'm just trying to help."

My stomach churned.

That was his playbook. The daily water bottles. The painkillers. The constant, hovering attention. He played the devoted caretaker until I confused his manipulation with love. He made me feel indebted to him.

"Keep your medicine," I snapped. "And stay away from my desk."

Julian blinked, his mouth falling open. "Evie, what is your problem? We're friends."

"We aren't anything," I said.

I shifted my gaze downward. Past Julian. Straight to Adrian's feet.

His right ankle.

It was perfect. The skin above his cleats was smooth, unbroken by the jagged surgical scars that would ruin his career in a few months. Right now, Adrian was the undisputed star of the club. The golden boy. He moved with a natural grace that coaches drooled over.

Julian was the eternal runner-up. The shadow.

"He's fine, Julian," Adrian interjected, his deep voice bouncing off the rusted lockers. "Give her some space. She just woke up."

Julian's jaw hardened. He shot Adrian a venomous glare before masking it with a forced chuckle. "I'm just looking out for our new staff member. No need to bark orders, superstar."

I remembered the night Adrian's career ended. An "accidental" tackle during practice. Tendons torn. Bones fractured. I had cried for Adrian, mourning the loss of such brilliant talent.

Julian had held me on the couch, stroking my hair. *With him gone, you can finally see me clearly,* he had whispered.

Back then, I thought it was just petty jealousy. A poor choice of words from a frustrated athlete.

Now, staring at Julian's resentful eyes, the truth hit me like a physical blow. He did it on purpose. He destroyed a man's life just to move up one spot on the roster.

"Julian," I said, my tone dropping to a whisper.

"Yeah, Evie?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake innocence.

"What happens if Adrian disappears?"

Julian froze. The color drained from his cheeks. "What?"

"Will I see you more clearly then?" I asked.

He took a step back, his cleats scraping harshly against the linoleum. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're not making sense."

"You hate playing second string," I pushed, taking a step toward him. "You hate watching him score while you ride the bench."

"Shut up," Julian hissed, glancing nervously at Adrian. "You're concussed."

"Get out," I commanded.

"Evie, you need a doctor—"

"I said get out!" I shouted, pointing at the heavy metal door. "Before I call security."

Julian flinched. His chest heaved as he stared at me, searching my eyes for any sign of a joke. Finding none, he spun around and marched out. The door slammed shut, rattling the hinges.

Silence settled over the locker room. The flickering fluorescent light buzzed above us.

Adrian crossed his arms, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of his jersey. "What was that about?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," I said.

"You just chased off the friendliest guy on the team."

"He's a snake," I countered. "And you need to watch your back around him."

Adrian let out a short, dry laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, do you want me to walk you to the nurse's office or not?"

"I don't need a nurse." I closed the distance between us, stopping just a foot away from him. "Let me be your agent."

Adrian stared at me. His dark eyes widened, and he dropped his arms to his sides. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Fire your current representation. Let me manage your career."

"You?" He pointed a finger at my chest. "You just joined the operations staff. You organize travel logs and hand out practice bibs."

"I can do a lot more than that."

"You don't have a license. You don't have contacts."

"I know the game better than anyone in this building," I said, holding his gaze. "I know exactly how much you're worth, and I know your current agent is settling for terrible endorsement deals because he's too lazy to negotiate."

Adrian's brow furrowed. "How do you know about my endorsements?"

"Your agent just signed you to a four-year deal with Apex Cleats," I said, pulling the memory from my past life. "They restrict your ankle mobility. You hate them. You complained about the stiffness during practice yesterday, but he told you to suck it up because the upfront payout was huge."

Adrian's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody told me. I pay attention." I stepped closer, forcing him to look down at me. "I will make you the brightest soccer star in this league. Trust me."

Adrian shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're crazy. The ball really did do some damage."

"The Federal Cup is starting soon," I pushed on, refusing to back down. "It's the biggest tournament of the year. Scouts from every major European club will be watching."

"I know what the Cup is."

"Then you know this is your window," I said. "I will make sure you play your best on the field. I'll handle the noise. I'll handle the press. I'll keep leeches like Julian out of your way."

Adrian shifted his weight. His smirk faded, replaced by a calculating stare. "And what do you get out of this?"

"Ten percent," I said without missing a beat. "And the satisfaction of watching you leave this mediocre club behind."

He rubbed his chin. "You're serious."

"Dead serious."

"Give me one good reason why I should trust a rookie assistant with my entire future."

"Because I already know what happens if you don't," I said. "You stay here. You play in cheap cleats. You get tackled by a teammate who hates your guts, and you spend the rest of your life walking with a limp."

Adrian narrowed his eyes. The buzzing of the overhead light seemed to grow louder. He studied my face, searching for a crack in my confidence.

"You talk like you can see the future," he muttered.

"Maybe I can."

"Fine," Adrian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Prove it."

"Tomorrow's practice," I replied instantly. "Coach is going to run the new offensive drill. He's going to put Julian on the left wing, and he expects you to feed him the ball."

"That's standard play."

"Julian will drop the pass," I said. "Three times. Coach will get mad, blame you for bad passing, and bench you for the second half of the scrimmage."

Adrian scoffed. "Coach loves me. He wouldn't bench me over a dropped pass."

"Julian will make it look like your fault. He's good at that. Don't pass to him. Take the shot yourself."

"That's a selfish play," Adrian argued.

"It's a winning play. Do it, and when Coach praises your initiative, you'll know I'm right."

Adrian uncrossed his arms, leaning in slightly. "And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll pack up my desk and quit."

A heavy pause hung between us. Adrian looked at the locker room door, then back to me.

"Alright, Evie," he said. "Let's see if you're as smart as you think you are."

"I brought these for you," Julian said.

He dropped a bouquet of cheap red roses on my keyboard. A plastic bottle of painkillers rattled as he set it next to my mouse.

"Take them back," I told him.

"Evie, come on. The team doctor said you need rest and meds."

"I'm not taking anything from you. Clear my desk."

He leaned his palms on the edge of my cubicle, invading my space. "Why are you acting like this? I'm just trying to take care of you. You know I care about you."

"You care about yourself."

"That's not fair," he whined, his voice pitching up. "I bought those flowers with my last twenty bucks. I wanted to make you smile."

I swept my arm across the desk. The roses and the pill bottle tumbled into the plastic trash bin with a hollow thud.

Julian stared at the garbage can. His jaw clamped shut.

"Get out," I said.

"You're being ridiculous," he snapped.

"I'm working. Leave."

He spun on his heel and marched out of the staff room.

Chloe stepped out from behind the doorframe a second later. She clutched the strap of her canvas tote bag, her eyes darting toward the hallway where Julian had just disappeared.

"Why are you so mean to him?" she asked.

"How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough. He's gorgeous, Evie. And his footwork during yesterday's scrimmage was amazing. He really likes you."

"Do you need me to introduce you?" I asked.

Chloe waved her hands frantically, her cheeks flushing pink. "No! I would never date a guy who is chasing you. That’s totally unfair."

A sharp phantom ache spiked in my chest. The memory of crushing metal and shattering glass flashed behind my eyes. I gripped the armrests of my chair until my knuckles turned stark white.

*You never treat me like Evelyn does.*

The ghost of his voice rang in my ears.

"Right," I said. "Unfair."

"Anyway," Chloe continued, shifting her weight. "I actually came to ask a favor. I need a job. I'm totally broke, and my landlord is threatening to kick me out."

"You want to work for the team."

"I'll do anything. Laundry, organizing equipment, running errands. I just need a paycheck."

I studied her eager face. The same face that had betrayed me in my past life. Back then, I gave her an easy administrative role. I covered her mistakes. I handed her a career.

This time, I had a better plan.

"Julian needs an assistant," I said. "You can manage his gear and schedule."

Chloe’s eyes widened. "Really? You'd let me work with him?"

"Why not?" I forced a bright, naive smile. "I'm actually considering his pursuit. I might give him a chance. It would be nice to have my best friend keeping an eye on him for me."

A muscle jumped in Chloe's cheek. Her smile turned rigid, the corners of her mouth straining downward. Jealousy burned clear and bright in her pupils.

"Wow," she muttered. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't."

I turned back to my monitor, dismissing her. Chloe lingered for a moment before shuffling out of the room.

I grabbed a stack of papers from my drawer and headed down to the field.

The stadium was empty except for one figure.

I found Adrian by the bleachers. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a gray towel.

I shoved a thick manila folder against his chest.

He grabbed it before it hit the turf. "What's this?"

"Your new training plan. I mapped out your drills for the next three weeks."

He flipped open the cover. His eyes scanned the printed charts. "This is double the conditioning Coach gave me. Where did you get this?"

"I wrote it." I snatched his empty water bottle from the bench and handed him a full sports drink from my cooler. "And I'm handling your schedule from now on. Your old assistant is reassigned."

Adrian took a long gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're putting in a lot of unpaid overtime for a rookie."

"I told you I'm going to be your agent. This is step one."

"Step one is torturing me with extra sprints?"

"Step one is making sure your stamina lasts through the final twenty minutes of a match," I corrected. "You always lag in the fourth quarter. These drills will fix that."

He tossed the folder onto his duffel bag. "You know who my dad is, right?"

"Should I?"

"My father is the head of the national football committee."

My mouth dropped open. I stared at him, rapidly searching my memories. In my past life, Adrian never mentioned his family. Julian certainly never knew. If Julian had known Adrian was the committee head's son, he never would have dared to break his ankle.

"Your dad runs the committee?" I asked.

Adrian leaned against the metal railing. A smirk played on his lips. "You really didn't know."

"No. I had no idea."

"Then why are you doing all this?" He took a step closer, towering over my frame. "Are you just doing this because you like me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." I crossed my arms. "You have raw talent. You're the best player on this turf. I'm not going to sit back and watch you throw away your dream."

"My dream?"

"You want to play in Europe," I said. "You want to win the World Cup. You can't do that if you're lazy."

Adrian stared down at me. The smirk melted away, leaving an unreadable intensity in his dark eyes. The stadium lights reflected in his gaze.

"What if I said I kind of like you?" he whispered.