My Alphas' Dark Desires-Chapter 110: Sports:The Football Match

Chapter Unedited

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Chapter 110

~Author’s POV~

Titania tilted her head. "So, your father got you in?"

Marianne gave a graceful nod. "Bought every favour he could. Now I’m here. Not just to learn. But to watch. And retrieve what rightfully belongs to me."

The Fae Princess studied her carefully and then slowly stood. Her aura flickered, power rippling like heat waves beneath her skin. "You speak boldly for someone just admitted."

"I’m not here to step on your crown," Marianne added quickly. "Only to assist it. I know you want the princes. And Valerie is... in the way."

Titania stood up and approached her now, steps slow and deliberate. "Let’s make one thing clear. I am not someone who needs ’assistance’ from just anyone."

"Of course not," Marianne agreed. "But I can move where you can’t. Your title, as advantageous as it may seem, it restricts you like an invincible chain or a cage. You cannot be caught hurting another student as an international student, right?"

Titania scoffed and lifted her chin.

"I’m invisible to Valerie. She doesn’t know me yet. I can get close—join her little inner circle. All I want is the necklace. You can have the rest."

Titania stared at her for a long moment, then let her fingers trail over the edge of her desk as she thought.

"You want to take her down from within."

"Yes," Marianne whispered. "Subtle. No claws. Just truths. Exposed one at a time."

A silence lingered. Then Titania gave a soft, dangerous smile. "I like you."

Marianne exhaled.

"But remember this," Titania added, her voice silk and steel. "This is my war. You don’t make moves unless I say so. You don’t act without my permission. You don’t breathe in her direction unless I deem it useful. Am I clear?"

Marianne bowed her head, a smile curling at her lips. "Crystal clear."

Titania turned back to her wine, already considering the pieces on the board. "Good. Then let the game begin."

And just like that, a new alliance was born. One that would bleed.

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~Valerie’s POV~

The midday sun poured heat across the academy’s vast training field, glinting off the silver accents of our uniforms and casting deep shadows under the bleachers.

I stood near the center line, adjusting the cuff of my elbow guard, my gaze scanning the growing crowd of students.

A shrill whistle snapped everyone’s attention to the front.

Professor Stein stood beside the field, clipboard under one arm and sweat already darkening the collar of his shirt.

"Due to Professor Graham’s sudden illness," he announced, "today’s football training will be combined. Senior and sophomore years will participate in a mixed scrimmage—combat football format."

The field buzzed with murmurs—some excitement, more groans.

Great.

I glanced to my right, where Isla stood bouncing on her heels, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Across the pitch, the sophomore-year girls filtered through the opposite gate, most unfamiliar, except for one.

My gaze caught hers immediately.

I didn’t know her name instantly, but I heard someone call her Marianne.

Her features were delicate, pretty even, but it was the confidence in her posture that gave her away.

Her honey-brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile.

She wore the standard black-and-black gear like she owned it, hands on her hips as her amber eyes swept the senior girls.

And then her eyes found me.

She hesitated for only a second, but it was enough. That flicker of recognition was all I needed to confirm what I already knew: she remembered me, too.

I didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. I simply looked away.

"Captains up!" Professor Stein called.

Isla jogged forward for our team, boots crunching against the turf as she shook hands with a tall sophomore girl whose name I didn’t catch.

After the coin toss, the teams scattered into position.

The match began fast.

Combat football was like regular soccer—if regular soccer had fewer rules and allowed shoulder charges, light contact magic, and full-on slide tackles.

Within the first three minutes, Isla was already dominating. She ducked low under a swing-pass, kicked off the turf, and slammed the ball into the net with a twist of her ankle.

The senior girls cheered. I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my lips.

She caught my gaze and winked. "C’mon, Val. Don’t let me show you up!"

I rolled my eyes and charged into the next play.

The ball shot toward me from the left flank. I received it with a clean side-foot stop and pivoted past two sophomore defenders.

My instincts kicked in—quick dribble, sharp pass to Emerald, a feint from Astraea—and back to me. My boots flew across the grass as I tore down the right lane.

I struck cleanly. The ball soared—and slammed into the top corner of the goal. Goal.

Cheers erupted from the senior class stands.

But Marianne wasn’t far behind.

She wasn’t flashy, but she was fast. Quiet. Calculating.

She didn’t play like a regular sophomore; she watched people. Read them. Waited.

Later into the match, the score sat at 3–1, our lead. Isla and I had claimed most of the goals, but the sophomores were tightening their defense. That’s when Marianne cut through midfield like a blade.

I rushed in, intercepting her. Our boots scraped together as we collided, and for one second, our eyes locked again.

A flash of that night—blood, pain, her holding my necklace—blazed through my vision.

I froze.

That single second was all she needed. She slid her foot under the ball, pulled it away from my toes, and pivoted cleanly. The crowd gasped.

But I wasn’t done.

My anger snapped back into focus. I chased her, shoulder to shoulder, and with a swift sidestep, knocked the ball loose. We both stumbled, catching ourselves mid-sprint.

Marianne glanced at me. A twitch of a smirk crossed her lips. But it wasn’t gloating—it was something quieter. More dangerous. Like she’d tested me... and confirmed something.

The whistle blew.

Corner kick.

Despite the setback, we held strong. Isla played like a lightning storm—dodging, spinning, defending.

And in the final minute, she nailed a last-second curve shot that sank into the bottom left corner of the net.

4–2. Victory, senior year.

We jogged off the field, sweat clinging to our brows, high-fives exchanged all around. My limbs ached, but not more than the tension in my chest.

As I grabbed my water bottle, my gaze lifted just once more across the field.

Marianne stood near the edge of her group, head slightly bowed as one of her teammates patted her shoulder.

But before I could look away, she lifted her chin and met my gaze again.

Not a challenge, a warning.

Just a promise.

And I knew, deep down, this wasn’t the last time we’d face off.

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~Ash’s POV~

I hated losing.

Not in the petty, childish way some spoiled Alphas did when they didn’t get their way. No—I hated losing control.

I hated the quiet ache in my jaw from gritting my teeth too long. I hated how the back of my neck still burned from Dristan’s little "rescue moment" in training today, as if the rest of us were just background noise to his hero theatrics.

I sat on the edge of the overlook near the dorm cliffs, feet dangling just above the rocky edge. The moonlight carved silver lines into the lake below, wind snapping at my collar.

Beside me, Ace leaned back on his palms, chewing thoughtfully on a licorice stick like this wasn’t bothering him too.

"Say it," I muttered, drumming my fingers on my thigh. "Whatever smug little thought is dancing around in that crooked brain of yours."