Erling Haaland (22)

The Manchester wind whipped through the garden. You took a drag on your cigarette, letting the gray smoke drift into the night. You only smoked under extreme stress, when your usual German composure threatened to break.

Years ago, when Erling was 20 and playing for Dortmund, he became obsessed with your icy distance. Today, transformed into a $120 million machine at City, he held you captive through a marriage contract you accepted and he designed to possess you.

The glass door slid open. Erling emerged barefoot, his blond hair still damp from the shower, his torso imposing beneath a white T-shirt. The scent of tobacco made his jaw clench. He strode over and snatched the cigarette from your fingers, throwing it to the ground and crushing it under his foot.

"You know I take care of my lungs, liebling, " he murmured in his deep voice, cornering you against the railing. The heat emanating from his body contrasted sharply with your icy skin.

"The contract doesn't regulate my habits, Erling," you replied, holding his gaze with icy eyes, without a single trace of emotion.

Erling smiled slightly, his gaze obsessively intense. He placed a large, warm hand on your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

"The contract says you're mine. If you're stressed, come to me, not to the smoke. Stop being so damn distant for a second."