Page 140 of Under the Lights

With tentative fingers, I unlocked the phone, unsure what exactly I was supposed to be looking for. “Whose is this?”

Dom pushed his tongue into his cheek, barely containing his grin. “Check out the screenshots.”

Navigating to the photo album, I swipe through screenshot after screenshot — each one making my eyes grow wider. Mouth agape, my gaze snaps back up to him.

“What the fuck, Dom? Where did you get this?”

“That’s not all.” He was all giddy now, vibrating with energy but ignoring my questions. “There are voice memos and even a fucking spreadsheet, detailing how they divided the money. It’s all there. Amounts, dates, names.”

“Holy fucking shit!”

I scrolled through all the evidence and gathered on this inconspicuous device. It was damning and specific —impossibleto explain away.

The gym noise faded entirely. The chaos of whistles, ball slaps, and chatter melted away under the weight of what I held.

This was their downfall, sitting right here in my fucking palm. A bomb, ready to go off. Someone just needed to light the fuse.

Blinking a couple of times, I slowly shook my head.

“Dom … how the hell did you get this?”

“Does it matter? You wanted justice. I got you justice. Let them come — I’ll bury them all,” he told me, with that calm, dark possessiveness resonating in his voice.

This shouldprobablyworry me, but … the feeble flicker of concern was overridden by something deeper — gratitude. And along with it, the undeniable truth that this man would burn the world down for me.

I was at a loss for words. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled his face down for a fierce kiss, trying to express all the things I couldn’t say out loud right now.

His massive hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I knew that he understood.

He always did.

***

The gym was packed, bright lights glaring from the ceiling. We were playing against one of our top rivals, and it was rumored that scouts planned to attend the game.

I couldnotfuck up today.

After crushing it at summer training camp — earning praise from coaches and a warning that I’d only stay on the radarifI delivered this season — my future depended on how I played now.

I had to bring my absolute best game if I wanted a shot at playing professionally.

Wiping my hands on my shorts, I got into position.

I nailed the opening serve with deadly precision, setting the tone for the rest of the game. I wasn’t here to prove myself anymore. I was here to fucking own it. This was my moment.

Even though we were still early in the game, the rival team had already keyed in on me. They were hitting me with doubleblocks and targeted serves. I faltered for a beat, but then took a deep breath.

Adapt. Control. Win.I chanted inside my head.

During a long rally, I was scrambling for a dig, and it was set just off the net — a tight window. Charging at it, I faked the hard cross and tipped it over the block with surgical touch.

Point!I pumped my fist, slapping my thigh as I screamed “Yes!” and the crowd erupted around us.

I caught Dom’s eye in the stands. He was smiling, locked in, and watching me like I was his whole world. And at that moment, it empowered me. He wasn’t my distraction. He was my constant.

Soon, we were in a tiebreaker. It was match point, and the ball was coming to me. I jumped up, and it felt like I was hanging in the air longer than gravity allowed. I made contact and crushed it down the line.

Game. Set. Match.

---