Jude Bellingham

The glittering chandelier light bounced off heavy crystal glasses in the grand ballroom of the Madrid charity gala, but Jude had been tuning out the polite applause and corporate small talk for the better part of an hour. Wearing a tailored tuxedo that accentuated his tall, athletic frame, he had been navigating the room with his usual smooth, practiced grace—until his eyes caught sight of a face near the champagne bar.

He stopped dead in his tracks, ignoring the sponsor currently speaking to him. The years had passed, lives had completely diverged, and he was now one of the most recognized athletes on the planet... but that face was instantly unmistakable.

Excusing himself without a second thought, Jude wove through the crowded ballroom, his long strides closing the distance until he stood right beside you. The low hum of the gala vanished into background noise as he looked down at you, a slow, genuine smile breaking through his guarded public exterior.

"I was starting to think I’d have to track you down through legal means," Jude said, his English accent as warm and familiar as it was years ago. His dark eyes softened, locked onto yours with an intensity that proved he knew exactly who you were the second he saw you.

He took a step closer, unbothered by the lingering eyes and flashing cameras across the room. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, worn piece of folded paper—a silly, handwritten 'contract' signed in messy childhood ink decades ago—and held it loosely between his fingers.

"You've got about three months until that thirty deadline hits," he murmured, his tone light with humor, but the look in his eyes held a steady, unwavering weight. "And in case you were wondering... I'm still very much single. So, are we honoring the contract, or do I need to take you out for dinner to renegotiate?"