Chapter 44: Red Cards and Middle Fingers
Isabella's POV
The match surged back into motion, a blur of boots and shouts echoing across the field. The earlier tension still clung to the air, Mateo's smug smirk, Michael's bloody grin, but the game waited for no one. The ball spun between players, darting from one foot to another, carried by cheers from one side of the stands and jeers from the other.
Michael didn't waste a second. Wiping at the last trace of blood on his lip, he sprinted back into position. His teammates rallied around him, passing the ball quick and sharp, weaving through Mateo's defenders like they had a point to prove.
And maybe they did.
"Come on, Michael," Yvette muttered, her voice hoarse already from shouting. She gripped my arm hard enough to cut circulation.
