Axel’s POV
The summons comes through official channels—a meeting request from the front office, marked "confidential," scheduled for 8 AM the day before the trial begins.
I know what this is before I walk in the door.
The Sirens' general manager sits behind his desk, flanked by a woman from HR and a man I don't recognize until he hands me his card: Senior Vice President of Corporate Partnerships. The money guy. The one who handles sponsors.
"Mr. Nielsen. Thank you for coming." The GM's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Please, sit."
I remain standing. "What's this about?"
A glance between the three of them. The money guy takes over.
"I'll be direct. One of our premier sponsors—a family-oriented retail brand worth eight figures annually—has expressed significant concerns about the... situation involving yourself, Mr. Velasco, and Dr. Marlowe."
"What concerns?"
"Brand alignment concerns. They've built their identity around traditional family values. The public nature of your relationship—the pending lawsuit, the media coverage, the unconventional household arrangement—has created friction with their customer base."
"Has it." My voice is flat.
"They've given us an ultimatum. Either the Sirens 'address the situation,' or they withdraw their sponsorship at the end of this season."
I let the silence stretch. Count to five. Make them uncomfortable.
"Define 'address the situation.'"
Another exchange of glances. The HR woman speaks this time, her voice carefully neutral.
"We've identified several options. First, Dr. Marlowe could resign from her position. Her role as team psychologist creates an inherent conflict given her... personal involvement with players."
"She's already recused herself from our care. She doesn't treat either of us professionally."
"Nevertheless, her presence creates optics issues." The HR woman consults her notes. "Second option: we could facilitate a trade for either yourself or Mr. Velasco. Separating the... dynamic would demonstrate the organization's commitment to maintaining professional standards."
"You want to break up my family to satisfy a sponsor."
"We want to find a solution that works for everyone—"
"That's not a solution. That's a sacrifice." I step closer to the desk, using my height deliberately. "What's option three?"
"Option three is that we do nothing and hope the situation resolves itself." The GM spreads his hands. "But I'll be honest, Axel. The league has been in contact. There's pressure from above—not just this sponsor, others who've expressed discomfort. If we don't act, they may act for us."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning fines. Suspensions. Contract complications." He sighs, sounding almost sympathetic. "I'm not unsympathetic to your situation. But this organization has financial realities to consider. If we lose this sponsor, others may follow. We're talking about tens of millions of dollars."
I think about Selene at home, preparing testimony for tomorrow's trial. Mateo, still raw from Cassian's phone call, struggling with numbers in his head. The children, innocent of all of this, playing with blocks while their parents' lives get dissected by strangers in suits.
"Let me be clear," I say slowly. "Selene is not resigning. Mateo is not accepting a trade. Neither am I."
"Mr. Nielsen—"
"You're asking me to choose between my career and my family. That's not actually a difficult choice." I straighten to my full height. "The sponsor can withdraw. The league can fine me. You can make whatever contract complications you want. I'm not abandoning my partner and my children because some retail brand finds us inconvenient."
The room goes very still.
"This isn't a threat," the money guy says carefully. "It's a business reality."
"And this isn't negotiation. It's my answer." I move toward the door, then pause. "You've presented this as an ultimatum. Here's mine: We go to trial tomorrow. We win. And if this organization takes any action against Selene, Mateo, or myself because of our personal lives, we go public. Not with statements—with documentation. Every conversation. Every pressure point. Every attempt to coerce us into compliance."
"That would be inadvisable."
"So would threatening my family." I meet the GM's eyes. "We're done here."
I walk out before they can respond.
The rage doesn't hit until I'm in my car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. Not fear—pure, undiluted anger at the audacity of it. Men in suits deciding that our love is a liability. That our children are brand risks. That decades of professional excellence mean nothing compared to which sponsorship logo goes on the jersey.
I call Selene first. Tell her everything.
"They actually said I should resign?" Her voice is controlled, but I hear the steel underneath.
"'Optics issues.' Direct quote."
"Of course." A bitter laugh. "My entire career in sports psychology, reduced to optics."
"We fight it. Together. Like we agreed."
"I know." A pause. "How are you doing?"
"Furious." I exhale. "They sat there talking about tens of millions of dollars like that's supposed to make me abandon my family. Like there's a price point where I'd consider it."
"There isn't?"
"There isn't a number on earth."
I hear her breath catch. Something softens in her voice. "Come home. We'll figure out the trial prep together. And Axel?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For choosing us."
"It wasn't a choice. It was an obvious answer."
But as I drive home, the weight of it settles on my shoulders. The league. The sponsors. The financial machinery of professional sports, grinding against the inconvenient reality of our lives.
They presented it as a final warning. Address the situation by end of season, or they'll address it for us.
The countdown has started.
Mateo meets me at the door, already knowing something's wrong. I tell him. Watch his face cycle through the same fury I felt.
"They want to trade one of us?"
"They presented it as an option."
"An option." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Like choosing which limb to amputate."
"I told them no. To everything."
"Good." He pulls me into a hug, fierce and solid. "We knew this was coming. We talked about it. The cost of being public."
"Knowing it's coming doesn't make it feel better."
"No. But knowing you said no—that feels pretty good."
Selene joins us, and for a moment we just stand together in the foyer—three people who chose this life, now watching the consequences pile up.
"The trial's tomorrow," she says finally. "We focus on that first. Beat Cassian publicly and definitively. Then we deal with the league."
"And if they act before we're ready?"
"Then we act too." Her jaw sets. "I'm not losing my job because some sponsor is uncomfortable with love that doesn't look like their commercials. And neither of you is getting traded because our family doesn't fit their brand."
The determination in her voice steadies something in me. This is why I fell for her—not just the warmth, but the steel underneath. The willingness to fight for what matters, even when the fight seems impossible.
"Together, then," I say.
"Together," they echo.
The ultimatum hangs over us—end of season, address the situation. The sponsors want us sanitized. The league wants us quiet. The whole machinery of professional sports wants us to fit into boxes we were never designed for.
But my father's voice is quieter now than it used to be. The disapproval that once drove me, the endless pursuit of "enough"—it's being drowned out by something stronger.
This family. These people. The life we're building against all odds.
We'll address their concerns, all right.
Just not the way they're hoping.