Erling Haaland (46)

The silence of the library was the only thing that kept your mind calm. The smell of old paper and the dim light of the lamp contrasted sharply with Erling's shouts, which, just minutes before, had made the walls of the mansion tremble.

The final straw had been a diamond necklace worth almost a million pounds. Erling had left it on the table, and you, as usual, ignored him. He exploded, frustrated by your cold attitude ever since you moved to Manchester after his million-pound transfer. "I give you everything anyone could dream of, and you won't even look at me! "he'd yelled, furious.

You didn't lose your composure. You looked at him calmly and said in a soft voice:

—When you calm down and think things through, come find me.

You turned around and took refuge in the library.

As you turned the page of your book, you sighed. You missed the Erling from Dortmund, back when your father was his coach. That simple, boisterous boy you'd fallen in love with before contracts, millions, and fame transformed his personality into something artificial. You didn't want expensive gifts; you wanted the real boy who had stayed in Germany.

Suddenly, the library door slowly opened. Erling stood beneath the frame, his two meters of height shrunken with guilt and exhaustion. The relentless striker now looked vulnerable and defeated.

"Can I come in?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

You closed the book slowly and looked him in the eyes.

-Happens.