*** A huge chapter nearly 10,000 words!
I decided to merge it into one to cover the whole thing so I can start with the Football stuff From next chapter. February is here, so we're nearing the season end.
I'm not following exact calendar as it's AU , so I'll put the Euro 2016 qualifiers starting In June and adjust accordingly.
***
The soft light of early morning spilled gently into the bedroom, drawing pale golden lines across the floorboards and the edge of the bed. The shadows shifted slowly as the city outside stirred to life.
Adriano shifted beneath the covers, the sheets still warm on one side where Kate had been moments earlier. Her scent lingered—fresh, floral, something subtly familiar. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting, and slowly sat up, leaning back against the headboard.
Across the room, Kate stood near the dresser, facing the mirror. Her hair was loosely tied into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was halfway through buttoning a soft blue blouse, humming something under her breath that he couldn't quite make out. Her expression was relaxed, calm. She hadn't noticed him yet.
Adriano watched her for a moment, silent. There was something grounding about the image—her, there, moving through the simple motions of a morning routine like they'd done this a hundred times before.
Kate caught his reflection in the mirror and turned slightly. "You're awake," she said with a small smile. "Did you sleep alright?"
Adriano rubbed his face and nodded. "Yeah. I had a really attractive heating pad next to me all night. Slept like a baby."
She laughed as she slipped on her earrings. "You also snored like one. At one point I thought I was sharing the bed with a lawnmower."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's slander."
"Am I wrong?" she asked, smirking.
"I breathe with authority," he countered, voice low and mock-serious. "It's a powerful presence thing."
Kate walked over to the bedside and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on his forehead. "Keep telling yourself that, champ."
After a few minutes, Adriano managed to freshen up and change into a hoodie and joggers. He moved carefully, his crutch still under one arm for balance. The ankle was stiff, but manageable. The aroma of toast and eggs drew him toward the kitchen.
Kate stood at the stove, wearing one of his oversized sweatshirts now, her bare legs tucked slightly inward as she focused on the frying pan. The coffee machine burbled in the corner, filling the apartment with its rich scent. Sunlight poured in through the kitchen window, catching in her hair and turning it almost gold.
Adriano leaned against the doorframe and watched her for a second before stepping inside.
"You know," he said, easing himself into a chair, "I'm going to miss this once you're off filming again. The gourmet breakfasts. The Kate-Upton-chef-experience."
Without looking away from the pan, she reached for two plates and slid the food onto them. "Don't get used to it. You're only getting this because you're hobbling around like a grumpy old man."
"Harsh," he said, accepting the plate she handed him. "I prefer the term 'temporarily majestic.'"
Kate gave him a look. "And once you're 'majestically' back on your feet, you're on dish duty."
"Deal," he said, grinning. "Until then, I shall dine like royalty."
They sat together at the small kitchen table, legs brushing occasionally under the surface. The breakfast was simple—scrambled eggs, toast, and a bit of avocado—but Adriano ate like it was a five-star meal.
Between bites, they talked casually—about the rest of Kate's week, about City's recovery training schedule, about whether the apartment needed a new kettle. Nothing big. Nothing heavy. Just small things. Easy things. And somewhere in the rhythm of that morning—between her sipping coffee and him trying to steal a piece of her toast—it felt like time had slowed just a bit.
After clearing the plates, Kate stood up and leaned against the counter, sipping the last of her coffee while Adriano stayed seated, his foot elevated on another chair.
He glanced up at her. "You know, this whole domestic thing suits you."
She tilted her head. "You mean the sweatshirt and egg smell?"
"I mean the calm. The being here. With me."
She didn't respond right away. Then, softly, "Yeah. It feels good."
He looked at her, quiet for a moment. "Wish it didn't have to end in a couple of days."
Kate walked over and leaned down again, kissing him—slow, lingering, warm.
"It doesn't," she murmured. "Even when I'm not here, I'm still with you. You know that, right?"
Adriano nodded. "Yeah. I do."
And he meant it. Every word.
The soft light of early morning spilled gently into the bedroom, drawing pale golden lines across the floorboards and the edge of the bed. The shadows shifted slowly as the city outside stirred to life. Adriano shifted beneath the covers, the sheets still warm on one side where Kate had been moments earlier. Her scent lingered—fresh, floral, something subtly familiar. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting, and slowly sat up, leaning back against the headboard.
Across the room, Kate stood near the dresser, facing the mirror. Her hair was loosely tied into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was halfway through buttoning a soft blue blouse, humming something under her breath that he couldn't quite make out. Her expression was relaxed, calm. She hadn't noticed him yet.
Adriano watched her for a moment, silent. There was something grounding about the image—her, there, moving through the simple motions of a morning routine like they'd done this a hundred times before.
Kate caught his reflection in the mirror and turned slightly. "You're awake," she said with a small smile. "Did you sleep alright?"
Adriano rubbed his face and nodded. "Yeah. I had a really attractive heating pad next to me all night. Slept like a baby."
She laughed as she slipped on her earrings. "You also snored like one. At one point I thought I was sharing the bed with a lawnmower."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's slander."
"Am I wrong?" she asked, smirking.
"I breathe with authority," he countered, voice low and mock-serious. "It's a powerful presence thing."
Kate walked over to the bedside and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on his forehead. "Keep telling yourself that, champ."
After a few minutes, Adriano managed to freshen up and change into a hoodie and joggers. He moved carefully, his crutch still under one arm for balance. The ankle was stiff, but manageable. The aroma of toast and eggs drew him toward the kitchen.
Kate stood at the stove, wearing one of his oversized sweatshirts now, her bare legs tucked slightly inward as she focused on the frying pan. The coffee machine burbled in the corner, filling the apartment with its rich scent. Sunlight poured in through the kitchen window, catching in her hair and turning it almost gold.
Adriano leaned against the doorframe and watched her for a second before stepping inside.
"You know," he said, easing himself into a chair, "I'm going to miss this once you're off filming again. The gourmet breakfasts. The Kate-Upton-chef-experience."
Without looking away from the pan, she reached for two plates and slid the food onto them. "Don't get used to it. You're only getting this because you're hobbling around like a grumpy old man."
"Harsh," he said, accepting the plate she handed him. "I prefer the term 'temporarily majestic.'"
Kate gave him a look. "And once you're 'majestically' back on your feet, you're on dish duty."
"Deal," he said, grinning. "Until then, I shall dine like royalty."
They sat together at the small kitchen table, legs brushing occasionally under the surface. The breakfast was simple—scrambled eggs, toast, and a bit of avocado—but Adriano ate like it was a five-star meal.
Between bites, they talked casually—about the rest of Kate's week, about City's recovery training schedule, about whether the apartment needed a new kettle. Nothing big. Nothing heavy. Just small things. Easy things. And somewhere in the rhythm of that morning—between her sipping coffee and him trying to steal a piece of her toast—it felt like time had slowed just a bit.
After clearing the plates, Kate stood up and leaned against the counter, sipping the last of her coffee while Adriano stayed seated, his foot elevated on another chair.
He glanced up at her. "You know, this whole domestic thing suits you."
She tilted her head. "You mean the sweatshirt and egg smell?"
"I mean the calm. The being here. With me."
She didn't respond right away. Then, softly, "Yeah. It feels good."
He looked at her, quiet for a moment. "Wish it didn't have to end in a couple of days."
Kate walked over and leaned down again, kissing him—slow, lingering, warm.
"It doesn't," she murmured. "Even when I'm not here, I'm still with you. You know that, right?"
Adriano nodded. "Yeah. I do."
And he meant it. Every word.
After breakfast, Kate helped him into the car and drove them to the club's medical facility for his follow-up appointment. She joked , " You wouldn't mind if crash your Lamborghini, would you? "
Adriano joked back, "Nah, but you will get spanked for the rest your life."
The drive to the clinic didn't take long, maybe ten minutes at most. Adriano had insisted he'd be fine walking in on his own, arguing it was just a check-up and not his first time seeing a doctor. But Kate wasn't having it. As soon as she parked, she came around to his side and opened the door before he could protest again.
"Don't even start," she said, offering her hand.
Adriano looked at her, amused. "I'm not made of glass."
"No, but you're limping like a ninety-year-old grandpa. Humor me."
With a faint shake of his head, he took her hand and allowed her to help him out. She tucked herself close beside him, one hand looped around his arm, the other gently hovering near his back, ready in case he needed balance. He didn't—but he liked that she cared enough to be there anyway.
Inside the clinic, the physio team was already waiting. Familiar faces greeted him with friendly nods, and they got straight to work. The process was efficient—an updated scan, some gentle pressure tests, and a guided series of controlled movements to test range and pain levels.
Kate stayed seated in the corner, watching quietly as the specialists worked. She didn't interrupt or hover, but Adriano could feel her eyes on him the entire time.
After twenty minutes, the lead physio carefully peeled off the light cast and ran a hand over the skin just above the joint.
"You're healing well," he said, offering a small smile. "No weight-bearing for a few more days, but the joint looks stable. If there's no new swelling, you could return to training within a week."
Adriano let out a slow breath. "That's good to hear. Thanks."
"Keep doing the exercises we gave you, and rest properly," the physio added. "No cheating."
Kate raised an eyebrow from her chair. "Don't worry. I've got my eye on him."
The physio chuckled. "Then I think he's in good hands."
Once they were back outside, Adriano stepped a little more confidently, still cautious but moving with less hesitation. Kate walked close beside him, her hand once again slipping around his arm like it belonged there.
"Want to drive around a bit?" he asked as they approached the car. "We could get coffee or just hang for a bit before heading back."
Kate glanced over at him, then opened the passenger door. "I'm good just staying in with you for now. You're still on the mend, and honestly, I've missed doing nothing with you."
Adriano smiled as he eased into the seat. "I keep forgetting you're here till May. It still feels weird, in a good way."
"I'm here," she said, her tone steady. "We've got time. We don't have to squeeze everything into one weekend anymore."
The drive back was quiet, comfortable. Midway through, Kate pulled out her phone and called Raul, her assistant.
"Can you grab a few things for me?" she asked. "Flour, butter, eggs… and yeah, some sprinkles. And those candles from that place near West Street. Yes, the fancy ones."
Adriano gave her a sidelong look. "Baking supplies?"
She hung up and shot him a grin. "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll find out tomorrow."
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't press. Instead, something else clicked in his head. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone.
"Cristiano's birthday today," he muttered, opening Instagram.
He scrolled for a moment, then found the photo he wanted—one from the World Cup final: him and Ronaldo, arms around each other, holding the trophy with matching expressions of exhaustion and joy. He tapped out a caption:
"Happy Birthday to the captain, the icon. Obrigado for always showing me what greatness looks like. Enjoy your day, Cristiano."
Kate peeked over at the screen. "That was a good night."
"One of the best," Adriano said quietly.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. Ronaldo had replied in the comments:
"Obrigado, irmão. Rest well, we'll need you soon. And happy early birthday to you too—19 and already a leader."
Adriano read it twice, then smiled to himself. The words meant something. Not just the praise, but the bond. Since the World Cup, their relationship had shifted—less mentor and apprentice, more equals. There was still respect, still deference, but now there was also trust.
Kate noticed his expression. "He wrote back?"
"Yeah," Adriano said, turning the screen toward her.
She read the comment, then nudged him gently with her shoulder. "See? Everyone knows how important you are. Even when you're limping around like an old man."
He rolled his eyes. "You just had to sneak that in."
She smiled. "You make it too easy."
They continued the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, the city passing by outside as the afternoon light softened. Whatever the future held—whether baking, surprises, or another long recovery session—Adriano felt grounded. Anchored.
****
Back at the apartment, Adriano eased himself down onto the couch, carefully stretching out his leg along the cushions. Kate moved around the living room with familiarity, grabbing the remote and switching on the smart TV. She didn't ask what he wanted to watch—she already had something in mind. After a few taps, she pulled up YouTube and turned to him with a small, excited smile.
"You haven't seen the new trailer yet, have you?"
Adriano shook his head. "Nope. Been a bit preoccupied."
"Exactly," she said, pressing play. "You're overdue."
The trailer began with wide, dramatic shots—ruined cityscapes, ominous music building underneath. Then came flashes of characters, action sequences, and finally, her. Kate appeared on screen in a striking red outfit, her posture sharp and poised, eyes glowing, a flicker of crimson energy curling around her hands as she launched forward in a controlled burst of power. Her screen time was brief, but she stood out—intense, composed, completely in control.
Adriano sat up slightly, eyes fixed on the screen until the trailer ended. When the music faded and the video returned to the home screen, he turned to her, eyebrows raised.
"That was… seriously impressive," he said, his voice low and genuine. "You looked like you've been doing this for years."
Kate smiled, a touch of pride in her expression. "Thanks. They didn't let me do much this time—just a few scenes. But in the next one, I get more action stuff. Choreography, stunts… the fun parts."
Adriano leaned his head back on the couch, still watching her. "You might have to start teaching me some of those moves."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Teaching you what, exactly?"
He tried to keep a straight face. "Did I forget to tell you? The Downton Abbey director called. They're filming the final episode, and he wants me to do a cameo."
Kate blinked at him. "Wait, you're serious?"
He nodded, grinning. "Couple lines, nothing dramatic. I guess they thought it'd be a fun surprise for the fans."
Kate let out a laugh and clapped once. "You in a waistcoat, doing a posh accent? I'm absolutely making you rehearse it at home. Like… multiple times."
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "So you can mock me?"
"So I can help you," she replied innocently, then smirked. "And maybe mock you. But mostly, I'm proud of you. That's really cool."
He smiled back at her, touched by how easily she made space for his wins—even the small, unexpected ones.
Not long after, a knock came at the door. Kate answered it, stepping aside to let Raul in. He carried two grocery bags and a clipboard tucked under one arm.
"You're getting spoiled," he said as he handed the bags over to Kate. "Is this what rehab looks like now?"
Adriano chuckled. "It's temporary. I'm cleared to return to training next week."
"Good. Because Juventus are gonna make that second leg hell," Raul replied, setting the clipboard on the table. "We need you sharp."
He ran through a few updates while Kate unpacked the groceries—new sponsorship proposals, a rescheduled photoshoot, and tentative PR events tied to the Champions League campaign. After a quick round of notes and reminders, Raul gave them both a nod and let himself out, leaving the apartment quiet again.
Kate got straight to work in the kitchen. She tied her hair up into a loose bun, rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, and turned on the oven. Adriano watched her from the couch, one leg still propped up, the other foot tapping idly against the carpet.
"What are you doing now?" he asked as she pulled out her phone and leaned against the counter.
"Calling the expert," she said, scrolling through her contacts.
A moment later, Rosa's smiling face appeared on the screen. "Hi Rosa!" Kate said brightly. "Okay, I need help. I'm baking your son a strawberry cake, and I want to do it right."
Rosa's expression lit up immediately. "Ah! Good taste. Let me guide you, querida."
Adriano stayed quiet, listening from the couch as his mother and girlfriend slipped into a rhythm, trading tips and small jokes between ingredients. Rosa asked how he was healing, and Kate answered before he could. The two of them laughed often—Kate teasing her own lack of baking experience, Rosa giving firm, cheerful directions like a general marshaling cake batter.
At one point, Rosa glanced at Adriano through the screen. "You're lucky, filho. She's got good instincts. And patience."
"I know," Adriano said, smiling without looking up from his phone. "I really do."
After a few more notes—how long to bake it, when to add the glaze—Kate thanked Rosa and ended the call. She set the phone aside, washed her hands, and began mixing the ingredients with careful focus. Her humming filled the room—soft, relaxed, natural.
The scent of strawberries and vanilla started to spread through the kitchen. Adriano, still scrolling idly, kept stealing glances at her. She looked at ease—barefoot on the tile floor, sleeves messy with flour, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as she leaned forward to check the batter's consistency.
He didn't say anything, but his face gave him away.
Kate caught him staring just as she poured the batter into the cake tin. She tilted her head. "What?"
He blinked. "Nothing. Just… thanks for being here."
She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to him. Without saying anything, she bent down and kissed his forehead.
"Where else would I be?" she said softly.
They spent the rest of the noon curled up together on the couch while the oven ticked quietly in the background. No phones. No headlines. No matchday pressure.
Just the two of them, in a small, warm corner of the world, sharing the kind of moment that didn't need to be big to matter.
Tomorrow, Adriano would turn nineteen. There would be noise, attention, cameras.
But tonight, there was her. And that was enough.
**********
The last glow of the winter sun had faded behind the skyline when Adriano was guided gently upstairs. Maria, Raul's assistant, walked ahead with a half-smile, while two members of his financial and outreach team followed behind, carrying folders and a tablet. Adriano raised an eyebrow as they reached the landing.
"What's going on?" he asked, glancing toward the staircase, half-tempted to head back down.
Maria turned slightly, her expression unreadable except for the glint of amusement in her eyes. "Orders from your queen," she said simply.
That made him chuckle. "Of course they are."
She didn't elaborate, just opened the door to his bedroom and motioned for him to head inside. With a quiet sigh, Adriano walked in and settled onto the edge of the bed, carefully propping up his ankle on a pillow. The room was quiet, dimly lit, and for a moment, he just sat there, listening.
Below him, the house was alive. He could hear faint voices—Kate's standing out the most—sharp, clear, and filled with a mix of focus and laughter. She was giving instructions to someone, probably Maria, maybe Raul's team. There was the soft thud of movement across the floors, the occasional rustle of boxes being opened, and distant clinks of glass.
He stood briefly to peek out the window. String lights were being tested in the backyard, casting warm, flickering halos across the patio and fences. His house, which usually had the cold sleekness of a high-end showroom, was now slowly transforming into something softer. More personal.
He sank back onto the mattress, scrolling idly through his phone. Messages were already coming in—teammates, coaches, a few family friends. A birthday wasn't technically until tomorrow, but clearly, something was being planned tonight.
Downstairs, Kate moved from room to room with quiet focus. She wore a fitted cream sweater tucked into dark jeans, sleeves pushed up as she adjusted the decorations by hand. Candles flickered in soft rows across the dining table.
Every detail had been thought through—blue-toned accents, a carefully arranged bouquet of white flowers on the sideboard, and a soft vanilla scent that filled the main floor. Raul's team mostly stayed out of the way, helping where asked, moving boxes, testing the lighting, handling music setup.
The cake was placed on the counter. Modest in size, with layers of strawberry cream and a thin white chocolate glaze, it had been baked that morning with Rosa's help over video.
Kate had been nervous about it, but now that it sat perfectly centered on the display stand, she allowed herself a quiet moment of satisfaction. The result wasn't extravagant, but it was personal. Honest. And hers.
By the time the clock struck seven, the house was ready. A soft playlist echoed through the speakers—piano and mellow strings weaving through the spaces. The lights had been dimmed just enough for warmth, and a few strands of fairy lights stretched through the hallway and onto the deck outside.
Upstairs, Adriano was still in his grey cotton shirt, lost in a reply to a message from João, when he heard a knock. The door opened slowly.
Kate stepped in.
He looked up—and then froze for a beat.
She wore a royal blue gown, simple in its lines but elegant in every detail. It fit her perfectly, the fabric smooth along her silhouette, with soft sheer sleeves that caught the light. A single white flower was tucked above her ear, the petals nestled against her golden hair, which had been brushed back in loose waves.
Adriano blinked. Then, without thinking, he let out a low whistle. "Okay… are we expecting royalty, or did I just wake up mid-dream?"
Kate smirked but didn't answer immediately. Instead, she held up a garment bag and slowly unzipped it to reveal a matching tuxedo—deep blue, tailored, with the faintest shimmer under the light.
"You're wearing this tonight," she said, stepping forward. "Louis Vuitton's finest. Custom fit. They sent a bunch of those and you just left them in closet."
He looked at the tux, then at her. "What's the occasion?"
"You," she replied. "Now get dressed. People are showing up in less than an hour."
Adriano pushed himself up, but as he shifted his weight, a flash of discomfort crossed his face. His left foot barely touched the ground before Kate was next to him, steadying him with one hand on his arm.
"Sit," she said firmly. "You're not ready to be walking around without support yet. Let me put on the recovery anklet so you can walk without limping every time."
"I'm fine," he muttered, but she was already kneeling beside him, one hand brushing up the leg of his sweatpants to check the joint. Her touch was gentle, fingers tracing along the skin around his ankle, checking for swelling.
"You're lucky you heal like a video game character," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "But don't try to act like you're completely fine."
He winced slightly, watching her work. "You know, if you keep this up, people are going to think I'm already getting the full house wife care experience."
Kate didn't look up immediately. She kept massaging gently, thumbs moving in slow, practiced motions. When she finally glanced at him, her expression was an amused one..
"Then maybe," she said jokingly, "you should start thinking about a ring."
Adriano stared at her for a moment, then grinned slowly. "Duly noted."
With her help, he eased into the tuxedo, careful with every movement as Kate adjusted each piece with quiet precision. She buttoned the jacket slowly, her fingers brushing against the fabric and then against him. She knelt slightly to smooth the line of the trouser leg around his ankle, making sure it rested just right above the shoe. No detail went unnoticed.
"Stand still," she murmured, reaching up to fix the bowtie. Her fingers worked quickly, then lingered a second longer than needed. "There. Now look."
Adriano turned toward the full-length mirror. The reflection staring back at him looked unfamiliar but sharp—sleek lines, deep navy silk, every part tailored to fit. His injury made him favor one side slightly, but it didn't matter. He looked composed.
Kate took a small step back, arms crossed loosely as she studied him. "You clean up well," she said with quiet approval.
"You don't look too bad yourself," he said, half-smiling. "Though it's not exactly a fair fight."
She tilted her head. "Come downstairs. The private part of the celebration isn't over yet."
He followed her slowly down the staircase, one hand on the railing, her other hand hovering just behind his back in case he needed balance. She didn't rush him, just moved at his pace.
As they reached the living room, Adriano stopped, eyes widening slightly. The room had been transformed. Soft amber lights strung across the ceiling beams cast a warm glow across the space. Blue and silver banners hung neatly across the walls, with matching streamers wrapped around the bannisters.
Small floral arrangements filled the corners, subtle and elegant. The scent of vanilla and fresh blooms still lingered in the air.
At the center of it all was the small cake—layered and lightly frosted, a single candle placed carefully on top.
Kate led him to the table, reaching into her pocket for her phone. She opened the camera and propped it up on the console table nearby, switching it to timer mode. The screen showed a flashing countdown: five, four, three…
"Ready?" she asked, striking the match.
Adriano bent slightly, steadying himself on the table as she lit the candle. The flame flickered, catching the soft light around it. As the final flash from the phone camera clicked, Kate picked up the knife and pressed it into his hand.
"Together," she said.
They cut the cake slowly, the blade gliding through the soft layers. Kate served two slices onto small ceramic plates. Adriano lifted his first bite to her lips. She tasted it, eyes narrowing slightly at the overwhelming sweetness.
"Be honest," he said, watching her expression.
She raised an eyebrow. "It's… a lot of sugar."
He grinned. "Your sweetness could make cough syrup taste like honey."
Kate laughed, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Don't get used to that tone. It's a birthday exception."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he set the plate aside and gently pulled her into his lap. She hesitated for only a second before settling in, legs draped across the sofa, arms winding around his neck. His hands rested on her waist as he leaned in and kissed her—slow, unhurried, the kind that didn't rush to prove anything.
When they pulled apart, her fingers moved up to trace the edge of his jaw, then brushed softly against his cheek.
"This is the happiest I've seen you in weeks," she said quietly, eyes searching his face.
He nodded once. "Because you're here."
She didn't say anything, just rested her forehead against his for a moment. The music played softly in the background, the lights glowing low. The world outside didn't matter. Not the matches. Not the media. Not the pressure.
Just them.
They stayed like that until the doorbell rang—once, then again.
Kate shifted in his lap, straightened her dress, and stood.
"That'll be the guests probably," she said with a smile, offering him her hand. "Ready to let them in?"
Adriano sighed, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "As long as you're next to me."
Kate smiled again, leaned down, and gave him one last quick kiss before heading to the door.
By 9 p.m., the front door barely had a chance to stay closed. Every few minutes, another guest arrived, and with each knock, the energy inside Adriano's home shifted just a little—warmer, louder, brighter. The scent of freshly prepared food wafted through the open-plan space as servers finished arranging the final dishes along the dining counter. A second cake had arrived from the bakery—three tiers, polished with white fondant and delicate gold detailing. It sat beside Kate's homemade strawberry one, now half-eaten and already praised by everyone who'd tasted it.
The spread was eclectic and inviting: Portuguese bacalhau and spicy chouriço, British roast bites, mini Yorkshire puddings, a tray of carne asada tacos, steaming bowls of stir-fried noodles, dumplings arranged like art. It was more than just a buffet—it was a statement, a nod to every corner of Adriano's life and every person who mattered to him.
Lucy and Sophia were among the first to arrive, fashionably late in coordinated outfits—sleek, urban, effortlessly stylish. Lucy wore a dark green jumpsuit, while Sophia went for an off-the-shoulder burgundy dress.
"Happy birthday, legend," Sophia said brightly, stepping forward and wrapping Adriano in a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She handed him a glossy gift bag and a bottle of wine. "This one's got your name written all over it."
Lucy leaned toward Kate with a dramatic grin, pulling her into a friendly half-hug. "You two look disgustingly perfect right now," she teased, eyeing both of them up and down. Kate laughed, resting her hand lightly on Adriano's back.
"Coming from you, that's almost a compliment," Kate replied.
"It is a compliment. I just dress like this to compete with the royal couple of Manchester."
Moments later, the front door opened again. Henry Cavill stepped through, unmistakable even in his modest black overcoat. He clapped Adriano on the shoulder, pulling him briefly into a hug.
"Brought a bottle of Scotch," he said, holding it up. "Figured you'd want something a little stronger to celebrate your first steps back into battle."
Adriano took the bottle with a grin. "Appreciated. You still owe me a rematch in Warhammer."
"I haven't forgotten. But you've got to stop scoring hat tricks while half-limping. It's messing with my self-esteem."
Then came Tom Hiddleston, his wife on his arm, both of them looking effortlessly poised. Tom greeted Kate with a light kiss on the cheek before turning to Adriano.
"You throw a fine party," he said warmly, handing over a gift wrapped in dark leather. "For the most dangerous teenager in Europe."
Adriano smirked. "Dangerous in what way?"
Tom leaned in, mock-serious. "In every way."
The hum of conversation filled the room—then came the unmistakable sound of a horn blaring outside. Heads turned. Adriano glanced toward the window just as the oversized silhouette of the Manchester City team bus pulled up at the curb.
Kate groaned under her breath. "Oh no. They actually brought the team bus."
The door swung open, and one by one, the City squad poured in like a coordinated flash mob. Joe Hart was first, holding a box wrapped in silver paper. "Happy birthday!" he shouted across the room.
Adriano laughed and met him with a quick hug. "You guys are unbelievable."
Kimmich, Hummels, and Mangala followed, each dressed sharply, moving in like they were attending an awards ceremony. Silva and De Bruyne trailed behind, already talking what shenanigans to do. Hazard made a beeline for the drinks table.
Kane stopped to hand over a signed comic book, of all things. He grinned sheepishly, " That's actually my prized possession, signed by Stan Lee , A vintage copy of the first issue of X men comic."
Adriano smiled," Thanks mate, I'll treasure it . I used to read these when I was younger."
Aguero limped in with a crutch, still chuckling from something Zabaleta had said. Kompany and Pellegrini were last, the coach shaking his head like a man who'd given up trying to control any of it. The injured trio of Aguero, Kompany and Zabaleta would have to leave early before it gets wild, that was the compromise.
"They actually brought the bus," Adriano repeated, laughing harder.
Casemiro lifted a tray of empanadas as he walked in. "I didn't make them," he said, "but I made the chef re-do them twice. Only the best for you."
Coach Pellegrini gave Adriano a quick nod. "Enjoy tonight. You've earned it. But in 3 days ,training starts sharp."
Adriano raised his hands. "I swear I'll behave… for the rest of the night at least."
The evening bloomed into full celebration.
The playlist shifted to a deeper beat, glasses clinked, and the room came alive with overlapping conversations and spontaneous laughter. Henry ended up in a corner discussing full-backs and formation shifts with Joe Hart and Mats Hummels, and Kane being the comic book fan eagerly asked questions about Superman, while Tom Hiddleston somehow found himself deep in a debate about Macbeth with De Bruyne and Milner.
Kate drifted easily between groups, always with a warm smile, catching up with Sophia and Lucy near the kitchen, arms brushing, laughter spilling over the edge of their glasses. She looked comfortable, radiant even, in the soft lighting.
Adriano stood back for a moment, plate in one hand, drink in the other, and let his eyes sweep across the room. His teammates were relaxed, their laughter unforced. His closest friends, from different corners of his life, mingled like they'd known each other for years. It all felt natural. Whole.
And then he spotted her—Kate, laughing at something Hazard said, as she tossed her hair back. The sound of her voice, even across the room, cut through the noise for him.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. In that moment, watching her, surrounded by people who cared, he understood something simple and absolute.
Trophies were amazing. Goals, headlines, applause—they were all part of it. But this—this warmth, this life—was the reason behind it all.
And as the music carried on and the celebration stretched deep into the night, he let himself believe that this was just the beginning.
*****
Adriano's mansion, typically minimalist and serene, was nearly unrecognizable. The open-plan living space had been filled with warm bodies and warmer conversation, its modern lines softened by the glow of string lights and the steady murmur of music that hovered just beneath the buzz of voices. The lighting, a mix of cool blues from the ceiling and soft amber from lamps positioned around the room, gave everything a mellow, flattering glow. The furniture had been rearranged to allow for mingling; platters of food lined the extended counters, glasses clinked steadily, and the occasional cheer erupted from small groups deep in conversation.
Near the back of the room, Adriano stood by the drinks table, his weight shifted off his recovering ankle. He sipped from a tall glass of sparkling water, condensation dripping slowly down the side. His tuxedo jacket hung open, and his loosened tie curved slightly where Kate had tugged it earlier with a playful smile. The effort of the evening was starting to settle into his muscles, but the sight around him was worth every second.
He caught pieces of conversations as he scanned the room—familiar voices, familiar faces, mixing in new and amusing combinations. In one corner, Henry Cavill was deep in a surprisingly technical chat with Hummels and Joe Hart about defensive pressing systems. Nearby, Lucy was introducing Sophia to Zabaleta with a mock whisper, "Don't be fooled by the knee brace. He can still outrun half the league."
But what drew Adriano's attention more than anything was the trio by the far side of the room: Kane, De Bruyne, and Milner, standing near the fireplace with drinks in hand. From a distance, it was clear the conversation had taken a competitive turn.
"Let me just say this—" Kane began, gesturing with his glass, "—you can't just ignore Lewandowski because he plays in the Bundesliga. That's not fair."
"I'm not ignoring him," De Bruyne countered, sounding more amused than annoyed. "But we're not just talking goals. We're talking influence. You really think Lewandowski has more global impact than Suarez at his peak?"
Milner, standing between them with the patience of someone who had seen too many dressing room arguments, held up a hand.
"Alright, I'm calling bias. Let's not pretend Lewa didn't carry Bayern and Poland for years. Influence doesn't just mean Premier League headlines."
Kane turned toward Adriano, grinning like he was about to play his trump card. "Ask the birthday boy. He knows strikers better than any of us."
Adriano, still leaning slightly against the counter, raised his glass without missing a beat. "I came here to eat cake and maybe dance if my ankle lets me. I'm not starting a football war in my own house."
The answer sent a ripple of laughter through the room. Even Milner cracked a rare grin. "Smart man," he said. "Neutral territory."
On the far side of the room, away from the more boisterous debates near the drinks table, Kate stood near the dining counter with Lucy and Sophia, her posture relaxed but animated.
The three women had carved out a quieter corner for themselves amid the hum of voices and music. Kate's hands moved as she spoke, gesturing mid-sentence as the story unfolded. Her eyes were lit with amusement.
"So I walk into the kitchen," she was saying, pausing for dramatic effect, "and he's just standing there—mouth full—next to the counter where I'd laid out the strawberries for the cake. He'd eaten at least half."
Lucy leaned in with a grin. "No shame?"
"None," Kate said, laughing. "But the best part? He had this look—completely caught. Like a little kid who knows they're in trouble but can't stop chewing."
Sophia laughed into her wine glass. "I knew he looked too innocent in that birthday tux."
Lucy gave Kate a playful nudge. "And you still let him near the cake after that?"
Kate mock-sighed. "What can I do? He gives me that look. You know the one."
Adriano, still leaning by the drinks table, called out with a raised brow, "I can hear every word, by the way."
Kate glanced back over her shoulder, feigning innocence. "And you know I'm not lying."
He held up a hand in surrender, smirking. "Fair enough."
The women dissolved into laughter again, the kind that comes easily when comfort runs deep. Kate turned back toward them, her gaze softening as she looked from Lucy to Sophia. "It's been a good night," she said more quietly, almost as if admitting it out loud made it real.
"Yeah," Lucy agreed. "He needed this. You both did."
Meanwhile, not far from their circle, Tom Hiddleston and Henry Cavill had taken over a pair of armchairs just beyond the coffee table. Between them sat a modest bottle of whiskey and two half-filled tumblers. Despite the party's energy, their corner had adopted a slower pace. Tom leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, as he spoke in low, measured tones with Hummels.
"…and then in the adaptation, they moved the entire setting from Verona to postwar Berlin," Tom said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It changes everything—the weight of the feud, the symbolism."
Hummels nodded, clearly engaged. "We studied it at university. German cinema tends to take liberties, but when it works, it really works. That version of Romeo and Juliet was tragic in a way Shakespeare probably would have approved."
Tom smiled. "Exactly. It's the reinterpretation without losing the emotional core."
A few feet away, Henry had taken on a different kind of challenge. He was in the middle of explaining Warhammer 40k to Casemiro, who looked intrigued but just shy of overwhelmed. The midfielder stood with arms crossed, a small grin playing on his face as he tried to follow along.
"So you control factions," Henry was saying patiently, "each with distinct units, lore, and playstyles. Think of it as squad management, but on a galactic scale."
Casemiro narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "So like managing a Champions League roster?"
"Sort of," Henry chuckled. "But imagine if every team had tanks, demons, and a backstory that went back ten thousand years."
Casemiro tilted his head. "Okay… sounds intense. Who's the Casemiro of Warhammer?"
Henry paused, thinking it over with a glint of appreciation. "Hmm… probably Marneus Calgar. He's disciplined. Tactical. Leads from the front. Never backs down."
Casemiro grinned. "Solid. I like him already."
Henry raised his glass in salute. "Thought you might."
Their exchange was casual but genuine, the kind of light-hearted curiosity that came with shared respect. Around them, the party continued—music humming softly beneath the clinking of glass and low laughter. The boundaries between guests blurred as conversations shifted naturally. Some lounged, others stood in small groups, plates in hand, picking from the curated spread of food Kate and Maria had organized earlier.
Adriano, watching from his place by the wall, caught Kate's profile again across the room. She was listening now, her chin resting lightly on her hand, as Sophia launched into some story involving a broken heel and an ill-timed Uber ride. Her laugh rang out a second later—clear, unguarded.
He watched her for a moment longer, then stepped away from the drinks table, weaving slowly through the room, careful on his ankle. Whatever else the night had held—whoever had shown up, whatever jokes were made—it always circled back to her.
Near the rear of the living room, where the soft indoor light met the cool shadows from the garden beyond the patio doors, Manuel Pellegrini stood with his assistant coach, Ruben Cousillas. A half-full glass of red wine rested in his hand, untouched for long moments as he observed the party. His gaze wandered—steady, thoughtful—moving from player to player, like a father watching over his extended family.
"They look different like this," Ruben said, gesturing subtly toward the crowd.
Pellegrini nodded once, quiet for a beat. "They do. No pressure. No tactics. Just people again."
He took a slow sip, but his eyes never left the room. De Bruyne and Hazard were laughing over something near the speakers. Zabaleta sat on the arm of a sofa with a plate of food balanced on one leg, nodding along to a conversation between Kompany and Joe Hart. It wasn't often they all looked so unburdened. Pellegrini knew how short-lived these moments could be, especially with the season pressing down on all of them. But tonight wasn't about strategy or fixtures. It was Adriano's night—and the manager knew how much the young man had poured into the past year.
Just before midnight, the lights dimmed slightly—not dramatically, just enough to signal a shift in atmosphere. The conversation dipped to a murmur, and the music faded as Raul stepped forward with a microphone, tapping the side of his glass gently with a spoon. The chime rang out over the buzz of voices, pulling attention toward him.
"Alright," Raul began, clearing his throat. "I know we've had plenty of drinks, plenty of debates—some of which I'm not sure we'll ever settle—and way too much food. But before this turns into a dancefloor disaster, we should probably do the one thing we all came here for."
He turned to Adriano, smiling as he lifted his glass slightly. "You've had a year most people only dream of. World Cup champion. Goals like they were made just for you. You've broken records, stolen headlines, and somehow still manage to scare PR every time you open your mouth."
That last part drew laughter across the room—Kate included, her head tipping forward as she laughed softly beside Adriano.
"But more than the goals and glory," Raul continued, "you've managed to make every single person here proud. As a teammate. As a friend. And yeah, unfortunately for me, as my boss."
Adriano smiled, eyes lowered, quietly absorbing it all without trying to interrupt or deflect. He wasn't great with compliments. But he appreciated every word.
Just then, Maria pushed a cart forward, her face beaming as she wheeled out the full-sized cake, now glowing softly with a single unlit candle. The room turned toward it with anticipation. Raul gestured toward a screen where a countdown timer began its final seconds, ticking down to midnight—February 6th.
People gathered instinctively, forming a loose semicircle around Adriano. Kate stood close beside him, her hand finding his without a word. He squeezed gently.
The final seconds passed. 3… 2… 1.
"Happy birthday to you…" the singing began, ragged at first, then stronger as more joined in. Some voices were off-key. Others harmonized. It didn't matter.
Adriano looked around—not at the camera phones or the cake, but at the faces. His teammates. His friends. Kate. All of them here, not because they had to be, but because they wanted to be.
When the song ended, the room hushed just enough for him to close his eyes for a second. He didn't need a wish. But he made one anyway, quietly.
Then, he leaned in and blew out the candle.
Cheers broke out instantly. Applause filled the room, along with a loud pop as someone uncorked a bottle of champagne. Foam sprayed across the nearby table. Laughter erupted.
Joe Hart raised his glass above the noise. "To the King of Manchester!"
"To the King!" the others echoed, some jokingly, others with genuine pride.
Adriano glanced sideways at Kate, who grinned as he carefully cut the first slice of cake. He slid the piece onto a plate, took a forkful, and held it out to her. She met his eyes, leaned in, and took the bite, lips brushing the edge of the fork.
She chewed slowly, then raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Not bad. They didn't mess it up after all."
He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. " Even if they did, I'd still be happy because you all are here. I wish Mom and Dad could come too. "
Kate gave him a soft hug, " We can call them tomorrow morning."
Around them, the room shifted again. The music picked up with a deeper rhythm as the DJ returned to the decks. Hazard was first to test the dance floor, pulling Salah into a friendly competition.
The others followed—Kimmich awkward but enthusiastic, Mangala surprisingly graceful. Even Milner, with his straight face and calm demeanor, revealed a surprisingly fluid set of steps.
Pellegrini watched from his corner once more, gave a satisfied nod, and handed his glass to Ruben before quietly slipping upstairs with a final glance at the room. His players were happy. His team felt whole.
And Adriano—standing at the heart of it all, tuxedo wrinkled, hair slightly messy, one arm around Kate's waist—looked like someone who had finally stopped running long enough to see what he'd built.
The party wasn't over. But something else had begun.
It was just past 1 a.m. when Adriano quietly stepped out onto the patio, easing the door shut behind him. The noise from inside—the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—faded slightly, replaced by the muffled hum of the city beyond his garden walls. The air was cool and still. He leaned against the railing, careful not to put too much weight on his ankle, and let out a slow breath.
His tuxedo jacket was draped over a chair inside, leaving him in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone. The faint mist in the air clung lightly to his skin.
Overhead, the sky was mostly obscured—just a few stars managed to pierce through the pale orange haze of Manchester's lights.
He didn't need to be alone, not really. But he needed stillness. A moment of quiet.
The door opened behind him a few moments later. He didn't need to look to know it was her. Kate stepped out barefoot, a thick grey blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the corners trailing behind her like a soft cape.
"You disappeared," she said gently, approaching.
"Just for a minute," Adriano murmured. "It's loud in there."
Kate moved beside him, standing close enough that their arms brushed. "You alright?"
"Yeah. Just thinking. Needed air."
She adjusted the blanket and gave him a look. "Cold?"
He turned slightly, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her in. "A little," she said, settling into him. "But this helps."
They stood in silence for a few moments, gazing at the glow spilling from the windows and the shadows of their guests still moving inside—figures dancing, laughing, passing drinks between them.
Kate's voice broke the quiet. "Do you ever think about how young you are?"
He exhaled through his nose. "I try not to."
"You should," she said, glancing up at him. "Nineteen. And you've already won a World Cup. You're breaking records. Finalist for the Ballon d'Or. Top scorer in Europe."
He made a small sound, neither proud nor dismissive. "It still feels like the beginning. Like I haven't earned anything yet."
She leaned into his side. "You have. But I think what matters more… is that you don't stop trying."
He didn't answer right away. Just let the words settle.
Then she added, quieter this time, "I'm glad I get to see it. Not just this party, or the headlines… but the little stuff. Like how you argue with the kettle when it beeps too loud."
Adriano laughed, a real one. "It beeps at me for no reason. Every time I make tea, it acts like it's warning me about a bomb."
Kate tilted her head to look at him. "Still. I like hearing it. Hearing you. The real you."
He turned to her now, brows softening. "You make it easier."
She hesitated, then stepped slightly in front of him. "Thank you. For letting me in. For not making me feel like I'm just… visiting your life."
Adriano didn't even pause. "You're not a visitor. You're home."
Her eyes flickered, and she stepped closer until their foreheads touched. She kissed him—gently, slowly—hands resting on his chest. It wasn't rushed, or showy. Just quiet. Meaningful.
From inside, a sudden voice broke through the glass.
"Adriano! Get in here! We're doing karaoke and you're up next!"
Kate laughed against his shirt, pulling back just slightly. "That's your cue."
He sighed, resigned. "I make no promises about my voice."
"Doesn't matter," she said, taking his hand as they turned to go back inside. "You've already got the crown."
He looked at her for a moment before the door closed behind them—at the way her eyes still shimmered with laughter, at the way her fingers didn't let go of his.
Inside, the night still danced on. The music, the noise, the celebration all resumed around them. But something had shifted. In a room full of world-class athletes, celebrities, and teammates, Adriano didn't feel like a star or a prodigy or a King.
He felt like himself. And that was enough—because she was right there beside him.
By the time the clock edged toward 3 a.m., the energy inside Adriano's mansion had shifted. The music was still playing in the background, but softer now—more of a rhythm to accompany tired smiles than dancing feet. Laughter still came in occasional bursts, but people were beginning to gather their things, checking phones, exchanging goodbyes. The night had been full—full of celebration, stories, and just the right amount of chaos.
Tom Hiddleston and his wife were among the first to leave, coats already on, hands waving as they stepped out the door. "Thanks again," Tom said as he passed Adriano by the hallway. "Brilliant evening. And the cake—insanely good."
Adriano smiled, his voice slightly hoarse from all the talking. "Glad you came, Tom. Give my best to Emma."
The next to say their goodbyes were Pellegrini and the team staff. The manager gave Adriano a quiet pat on the shoulder. "Rest up. And keep your ankle elevated."
"I will, boss," Adriano said, though he wasn't sure he meant it.
As the number of guests dwindled, the house began to exhale. The volume dropped, and people shifted into clean-up mode. A few of the players moved glasses back to the kitchen. Someone folded a throw blanket that had ended up on the floor. It was late, but nobody was rushing out—they just knew the party had done its job.
For those staying overnight, Adriano had already made arrangements. The house had a few extra rooms, and he directed guests accordingly. Sophia and Lucy were giggling as they made their way toward one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor.
"You two okay with Room Four?" Adriano asked, walking with them.
"As long as there are pillows," Sophia replied with a yawn. "And no mirrors on the ceiling."
Lucy snorted. "That's Room Three. I call dibs."
Adriano laughed and pointed her toward the right door.
Henry Cavill lingered near the hallway, peeking into one of the rooms where a high-end gaming rig sat glowing softly.
"Hey man," he called out as Adriano passed. "This one taken?"
Adriano grinned. "That's my gaming room, man. Figured you'd spot it."
Henry stepped inside, already eyeing the triple monitor setup and ergonomic chair like a kid in a candy store. "This is... this is Nerdvana. RTX cards, water cooling, custom keycaps. You sure I can crash here?"
Adriano leaned against the doorframe. "Only if you promise not to beat my high scores."
"I'm not making any promises," Henry laughed. "Honestly, I could stay here a week."
"Just don't forget to eat," Adriano joked.
Once Henry was settled, Adriano went to check on Kane and De Bruyne, who were too tired to argue about strikers anymore. Kane had kicked off his shoes and fallen sideways on the bed, half-asleep. De Bruyne was still sitting upright, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.
"You two good?" Adriano asked.
De Bruyne gave a lazy thumbs-up. "Perfect. He snores though."
"Get used to it," Adriano said, tossing them a fresh towel. "Bathroom's down the hall. If he snores too much, think of of his as a Football and give kick."
De Bruyne chuckled, " I probably will."
Back downstairs, a few of the players helped gather plates and cups. The clean-up was lighthearted and relaxed. It wasn't expected, but it spoke volumes. They weren't just teammates—they were friends.
As Adriano was stacking a few empty trays, he felt a soft poke at his side. He turned to see Lucy, leaning on the wall for support, her cheeks pink with a mix of champagne and exhaustion.
"Hey," she slurred playfully, "you think he'd mind if I knocked on Henry's door later? I want me a piece of Superman."
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "In your condition? Definitely."
She pouted dramatically. "Oh noooo…"
He chuckled. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he's got a girlfriend."
"I always miss the good ones," she sighed, just as Sophia appeared behind her.
"Alright, you skank," Sophia said, looping an arm around Lucy. "Don't mind her, she gets like this after three drinks and no food. I'll handle her."
Adriano gave her a thankful nod.
Sophia winked. "Now go find Kate. Pretty sure she's waiting for you upstairs."
He didn't need to be told twice. The house had quieted considerably. As he climbed the stairs, a sense of calm settled over him, replacing the buzz of the party with something quieter, more personal.
He pushed open the bedroom door—and stopped.
Kate was standing near the dresser, towel wrapped snugly around her body, damp hair cascading down her shoulders. She caught the look on his face and raised an eyebrow.
"What's that expression for?" she asked, amused. "You act like you haven't seen me naked before."
He blinked after closing the door, then smirked. "I'm a guy. Doesn't matter how many times I've seen it—beauty still catches me off guard."
She rolled her eyes but smiled as she stepped closer and dropped the towel. "Get in the shower before you get any ideas. Whatever you're thinking can wait till tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night?" he echoed, amused as he tried to fdrag her to the shower with him.
"Don't push your luck." She gave him a gentle shove toward the bathroom as she dodged his grip. "Go."
He obeyed, still smiling as he closed the door behind him.
When he emerged twenty minutes later, dressed in a soft cotton t-shirt and sweats, the room was dim and quiet. Kate had changed into a long pale-blue sleeping gown and was lying on the bed, her legs tucked beneath her, phone in hand.
"Your club just posted your birthday wish," she said, her voice bright. "Come see."
He walked over and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist as he looked at the screen.
The Manchester City official page had a photo of him lifting the World Cup, alongside one of him in a City shirt with confetti falling.
"Happy Birthday to Our King, Adriano Riveiro—19 today. A legend in the making."
Below, the comments were already flooding in. Fans had made collages of him lifting trophies with Málaga—La Liga, Copa del Rey—and dozens of edits from the World Cup with Portugal. Some even photoshopped him lifting the Champions League Trophy in Manchester City jersey.
Adriano exhaled softly. "That's... quite nice."
Kate leaned into him. "You earned it."
He set the phone on the nightstand and turned to her. "Let's respond to them tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sleep."
She nodded. They slid beneath the blanket, limbs tangling without effort,like they had done it a hundred times before.
He held her close, her head resting on his chest. The warmth of her body, the quiet hum of the night outside—it grounded him in a way no trophy ever could.
She murmured, half-asleep, "Happy birthday, love." He gave her soft kiss in response.
And as their breathing slowed in sync, eyes closing, Adriano smiled.
He had everything he needed right here. And soon, he will be back on the field, showing why he's being considered one of the best in the world at just 19 years old.