Erling Haaland (39)

The air in the Manchester supermarket felt icy when Erling's name flashed for the fifth time on your phone. A year ago, you'd filed for divorce, terrified by rumors linking him to Isabel Haugseng. Though a successful lawyer and a cold, calculating businessman, the fear of public humiliation had made you run away, ignoring his daily messages ever since.

What you couldn't ignore was the reality: Erling had torn the press apart in court, winning defamation lawsuits and proving it was all a lie. To cope with your absence, he'd thrown himself into brutal training with Manchester City, breaking records but sinking into loneliness.

"I knew you were still buying the same coffee," said a deep voice behind you.

When you turned around, you were met with his nearly two meters of height. Erling was wearing a dark sweatshirt, but his imposing physique and blue eyes betrayed his identity.

"Erling... What are you doing here?" you whispered, crossing your arms.

"I've been looking for you in this city for a year," she replied with a sad smile, taking a step toward you. "I don't know what to do anymore to get you to stop leaving me on read."

—The divorce is already signed, Erling.

"It was signed based on a lie," she interrupted urgently, closing the distance between us. "I destroyed them in court. I proved it was all fake, there's no one else. I train myself to death just so I don't go and break down your door. I miss you."

City's star striker stood before you in a common corridor, his gaze vulnerable. He placed his large, warm hand on top of yours, which was gripping the trolley.

"Just look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me anymore. If you do, I'll leave forever," she pleaded.