Chapter 294: [294] "After the afterparty 2"

"Champions League fixtures mean playing every three days across multiple countries. The load is going to double."

"We possess the depth to manage it," Hugo countered, ever the pragmatist. "Valérie confirmed she will acquire the necessary personnel. The squad rotation will be handled by Henri."

Talia smiled, looking at Hugo with a mixture of amusement and affection. She reached out, resting her hand lightly on his forearm.

"Well, before you start thinking about your squad rotation and stuff, you should probably think more on your recovery," Talia said. She stood up from her chair, brushing a nonexistent piece of lint from her jeans. She looked down at Hugo, her eyes catching the firelight.

"I should let you guys enjoy the moment," Talia announced. She offered a polite smile to Luc and Juliette. "It was really nice seeing you both again. Congratulations on the win."

"Thanks, Talia," Luc nodded. "You’re heading back to the city?"

Talia didn’t look at Luc when she answered. She kept her eyes locked on Hugo. A unmistakably mischievous smile spread across her face.

"No," Talia said, her voice dropping just a fraction. "I’m going to stay. I’ll call a car to take me back in the morning."

The implication hung in the air, perfectly clear.

Luc noticed Hugo Blanc’s composure fracture, it seemed to happen a kot around Talia. The teenager blinked, his posture stiffening slightly, a faint rush of color rising to his cheeks. He looked at Talia, pondering on the statement, before clearing his throat and standing up.

"I will... show your room," Hugo said, his usual flat cadence wavering just enough to betray his humanity.

Juliette bit her lip, desperately trying to suppress a laugh. Luc rubbed his jaw, hiding his own smirk behind his hand.

"Goodnight, you two," Juliette managed to say, waving them off.

"Goodnight," Hugo muttered quickly. He placed his hand on Talia’s back, guiding her away from the fire pit and toward the sliding glass doors of his unit. Talia glanced over her shoulder just before stepping inside, shooting Juliette a brief wink.

The glass door shut, locking the two of them inside the left half of the twin house.

Luc let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "He’s in for it now."

"He’s eighteen and a girl just invited herself into his bedroom," Juliette laughed softly, resting her feet on the edge of the fire pit. "His tactical mind isn’t going to save him tonight."

"Good for him," Luc said, the amusement fading into satisfaction.

They sat alone by the fire for another ten minutes. The silence returned, thicker this time, enveloping the right side of the property.

Luc stared at the flames. The image of the Paris Royal stadium flashed through his mind. The confetti. The weight of the silver cup. The deafening roar of the away end. He had conquered the individual things too. Forty-seven goals across the campaign. The ligue alpha Golden Boot, sitting on his resume as undeniable proof of his lethality.

But the seven-point gap in the league table lingered.

"You’re thinking about the league, aren’t you?" Juliette asked, reading his silence.

Luc turned his head to look at her. The firelight cast warm shadows across her face, highlighting the dark strands of hair falling loose from her bun.

"Second place is an achievement," Luc admitted, his voice quiet. "But it means someone else was better over thirty-eight matches. Fontaine got the league. We got the cup. Some would say it’s a split victory."

"You took a mid-table team to the Champions League," Juliette reminded him, her tone firm, refusing to let him diminish the accomplishment. "You built a culture. You dragged them across the finish line when the injuries piled up and they fought when you had your own injuries. Next year, you take the final step. But tonight, you are a champion. Accept it, Luc Beaumont."

He looked at her and felt the last remaining tension bleed out of his shoulders. She was right. She was always right when it came to making him think rationally.

"I accept it," Luc smiled.

He stood up, offering his hand. Juliette took it, letting him pull her up from the chair. He reached over and hit the switch, killing the flames of the fire pit. The backyard was plunged back into darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of the patio lights and the stars overhead.

They walked toward the sliding glass doors of the right unit.

Luc unlocked the door, sliding it open and stepping inside. The interior of the house was cool, the air conditioning quietly working in the background. The space felt...theirs. There were no remnants of the flashy city apartment. It had become a home built for them alone.

Juliette dropped his jacket onto the back of the kitchen island. She kicked off her flats, walking barefoot across the floor toward the master bedroom.

Luc locked the door behind them, turning off the main living room lights.

He walked down the hallway, the exhaustion now overwritten by a different kind of energy. The adrenaline of the trophy lift had faded, replaced by a certain pull he felt every time he looked at her.

He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.

The only light in the room came from the small bedside lamps, casting a warm glow across the massive mattress.

Juliette was standing near the edge of the bed. She had her back to him. Her hands reached up, pulling the clip from her hair and letting the dark waves fall freely over her shoulders. She turned around slowly.

The look in her eyes was different. The administrative professional, the grounded partner who had kept his ego in check all season, was gone. The gaze she fixed on him was intense.

She took a single step toward him, her fingers reaching for the hem of her shirt.

"You promised me a victory," Juliette said, her voice dropping, it made the air in the room feel impossibly thin for some reason. "Now, you get your reward."

Luc didn’t say a word.

He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.