Claire lay sprawled on his hospital bed, chopsticks in hand as he slurped up a mouthful of noodles with exaggerated satisfaction. "Man, it's been ages since I've had authentic Chinese food like this," he mumbled through a full mouth, rubbing his stomach contentedly.
Lucy Pinder hovered over him like an overprotective older sister—tucking in his blankets, wiping sauce from the corners of his lips. Meanwhile, Danielle Sharp silently gathered the stack of newspapers Lucy had brought and deposited them onto Claire's lap without a word.
For now, the three of them existed in a rare, peaceful equilibrium.
Claire wasn't going to lie—having two stunning women visit him daily was… nice. Really nice.
Danielle, with her fiery princess attitude, had made it clear from their first meeting at the bar that she wasn't someone to be trifled with. The way she'd effortlessly commanded Calvin Harris—a chart-topping artist under Rihanna's label—to step aside for Claire's recording session still baffled him.
And then there was her uncle, Pete Tong—the godfather of British electronic music. A single call from Danielle had gotten him to publicly endorse The Nights. That wasn't something money could buy.
But Claire had learned how to handle her. When she got moody? Just ignore her.
Lucy, on the other hand, was a different story. A full-fledged woman with curves that could make a saint sin, she'd been practically gift-wrapped to him by his uncle.
Claire glanced down at The Sun's front page:
[United's Twin Stars Ignite! 3-0 Rout Over Reading—Chelsea Stumble as Red Devils Extend Lead]
Two weeks in the hospital. Not because of the "mild concussion"—no, his uncle had orchestrated this "recovery period" to strong-arm United into a better contract.
But what surprised Claire was how United had thrived without him. Park Ji-sung, in particular, had played like a man possessed against Reading.
Ferguson's gamble—selling van Nistelrooy to fund rising talents like Ronaldo—was paying off.
As for Claire?
Most papers labeled him a "musical prodigy" rather than a footballer, especially after learning his United contract was just a three-game deal. Calvin Harris had even visited him in the hospital, publicly inviting him to join his label.
The Nights had surpassed 100 million streams, becoming United's unofficial anthem—sung by fans after every goal, whether Claire was on the pitch or not.
The media's narrative around him, though?
[The Landlord's Silly Son]
[Overnight Viral Sensation]
Ouch.
Claire tossed The Sun aside and picked up The Telegraph:
[Claire Lee's Meteoric Rise—How Manchester United Profited the Most]
Malcolm Glazer, the shrewd bastard, had repackaged the Arsenal match into DVDs and sold rebroadcast rights for £940,000.
His uncle, Denis Irwin, had retaliated by assembling a legal team to renegotiate Claire's contract.
Yet despite his "sacrifice" for the team, only Rooney, Ronaldo, and Park had bothered to check on him.
"Don't worry," Denis had assured him. "Once the contract's signed, the boss himself will thank you."
At least his rehab wasn't neglected. Ferguson had assigned a physio, and Ronaldo—bless him—had rented a private gym in the hospital.
"Ahhh, fame feels good!" Claire sighed dramatically.
Lucy rolled her eyes. "You're not famous. Without Pete Tong's endorsement, you'd be a one-hit wonder."
Danielle, unusually, agreed. "Your uncle's too obsessed with football. He's ignoring offers from Universal and Warner. Without backing, your hype will vanish."
Claire frowned. "But the media's all over me!"
Danielle scoffed. "Google's buying YouTube. They're pumping money into viral stories like yours to inflate their value. A few headlines cost peanuts compared to a billion-pound sale."
Claire's chopsticks froze mid-air.
Holy shit.
His "overnight fame" wasn't organic. It was a corporate stunt.
His uncle's connections couldn't have secured this level of coverage. Someone—YouTube, probably—was bankrolling it.
Danielle's words hit like a sledgehammer: "You're a pawn."
---
The Game Within the Game
Claire's mind raced.
He'd assumed his music career would naturally flourish. But without a label's machinery behind him, he'd fade as fast as he'd risen.
"I think my uncle just… really wants me to play football," Claire muttered.
Danielle huffed. "Football's overrated."
Claire shot her a look before turning to Lucy—only for her to whisper, "You're such a player. Flirting right in front of me?"
"Like you mind," Claire shot back, earning a playful eye-roll.
Danielle, however, wasn't amused. She grabbed Claire's face, forcing him to look at her. "I won't allow it!"
"I was just—
"PERVERT!" Danielle screeched, face burning red as she stormed out.
Lucy watched her go, then arched a brow. "That was cruel."
"I'm not leading her on. I just needed industry insights."
Lucy studied him. "Danielle's in love with you. 'Just friends' destroys girls like her."
Claire exhaled, staring at the ceiling. "I know what that look means. I've given it to someone before."
A pause.
"I have my own ghosts. But I'll do right by both of you."
Then—
Lucy kissed him.
Not a peck. A claim.
When she finally pulled away, Claire's lips tingled.
"Huh. The 'bond' didn't trigger."
For the first time, he'd acted on his own.
---
Aftermath
Alone, Claire dove into research—Universal vs. Warner, streaming royalties, contract pitfalls.
"I've got a system, talent, and a hit song. I'm not mooching off anyone," he muttered to the laptop.
Meanwhile, across town:
Danielle sobbed into her pillow as her father and Pete Tong exchanged glances.
"Denis raised him right," Pete mused. "I'll help the boy."
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Danielle wailed.
Her father sighed. "She needs to grow up. He could've taken advantage. Didn't."
Pete nodded. "Exactly."