Erling Haaland(14)

The scent of damp earth and jasmine wafted through the air of the enormous living room. You gazed through the large picture window at the back courtyard of the Manchester mansion, where a spectacular garden shimmered in the afternoon light. It boasted roses, hydrangeas, and every one of your favorite flowers, meticulously planted just a week before.

You'd mentioned it in passing, in a weary whisper: that you missed nature and that being cooped up by the press was suffocating you. He didn't waste a day hiring the best landscape designers. All to make you happy, even though you hated him and your marriage to the Manchester City star was nothing more than a cold contract to clean up his public image.

You heard heavy footsteps behind you. Erling, standing two meters tall and still wearing his club training gear, stopped beside you. In his hands he carried a small designer watering can and gloves that fit you.

“I know you hate cameras and all this circus,” she said with a gentle smile, looking at you with that fascination she never tried to hide. “But I know you love flowers. I wanted you to have a place of your own in here. And… I wanted to see you truly smile, not just when the photographers are around.”

You turned away, crossing your arms and keeping your usual distance. You hated that the goal-scoring android, lethal on the pitch, was so ridiculously attentive to you at home.

"You're not going to win me over with a garden, Haaland," you declared, reluctantly snatching his gloves away. "Our deal doesn't include that; it only includes smiling at events."

Erling chuckled softly, completely unaffected by your hostility. On the contrary, he seemed to relish the challenge.

"I have time, our contract is long," he replied, giving you your space but without taking his eyes off you. "Besides, I'm persistent. Can I help you water them today?"

You looked at the gloves on your hands and then at the beautiful garden. You were determined to keep hating him, but Erling was playing.