Chapter 113: Not Enough

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: Not Enough

The alumni charity event was officially over.

Outside, the campus was quiet. The catering trucks were packed up, and the heavy stadium lights were finally turned off.

Inside the academy boardroom, the work was still going.

Zoya sat near the center of the massive conference table. Her red files were spread out in a neat, organized line. She was aggressively reviewing the final sponsorship documents before they could be officially executed.

Jackson sat directly across from her.

He was still there because every single football clause in the contract required his direct approval.

The room had been full of lawyers and assistant coaches an hour ago. But as the clock ticked closer to midnight, people slowly packed their bags and went home.

Finally, the last junior lawyer excused himself. The heavy wooden door clicked shut.

Suddenly, they were completely alone.

---

They were still arguing.

It was not a dramatic argument about their feelings. It was not about the past. They were arguing about football.

"I am not signing off on this wording," Jackson stated firmly. He tapped his pen against the paper. "This liability clause completely limits player development. If a kid gets a minor ankle sprain, your sponsors can pull their individual funding."

"The sponsors are protecting their financial investment," Zoya countered smoothly. She did not look up from her laptop. "If a player is injured and cannot play in the national tournament, the brand loses visibility. The clause stays."

"The clause traps the kids," Jackson argued, leaning forward. "We need a medical grace period. Thirty days."

"Ten days," Zoya replied instantly.

"Twenty," Jackson pushed back.

"Fifteen, and the sponsors get a weekly medical update," Zoya finalized, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

Jackson stared at her.

They were constantly interrupting each other. They were challenging every single word. It was incredibly frustrating.

But beneath the frustration, it was strangely, dangerously familiar.

Jackson slowly leaned back in his leather chair. He dropped his pen onto the table. A quiet, amused laugh escaped his chest.

"Seven years later," Jackson said, shaking his head, "and you are still trying to boss me around."

Zoya kept her eyes on her computer screen. She quickly typed the contract amendment.

"Someone has to," Zoya replied effortlessly.

She kept her face mostly serious. But for the very first time since he walked back into her life, the absolute tiniest, almost invisible smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

---

Suddenly, a loud pop echoed from the hallway.

The bright overhead lights completely flickered. The digital projector on the ceiling clicked loudly and shut off. A second later, the entire boardroom plunged into total darkness.

The heavy rain outside had finally messed with the local power grid.

A moment later, the dim emergency lights kicked on. They cast a faint, yellow glow across the silent room.

The air conditioning stopped humming. The quiet in the room suddenly felt incredibly loud.

Jackson stood up. He walked over to the large glass windows and looked out at the dark campus. Zoya stood up a few seconds later and walked over to the window beside him.

They were forced to stand near each other while they waited for the maintenance team to restore the power.

There was no dramatic music. There was no romantic dialogue.

There was just silence. And the sound of heavy rain hitting the glass.

---

After a few minutes, Zoya turned away from the window.

"I need to check the battery on my laptop," Zoya said quietly.

She walked back to the conference table. The emergency lighting made it hard to see. She reached out in the dim light to grab her thick red contract folder.

Jackson reached for the exact same folder at the same time to move it out of the way.

Their hands collided.

Jackson’s warm, rough fingers brushed directly over Zoya’s cold hand.

Neither of them moved.

They did not freeze because they were trying to flirt. They froze because the sudden, unexpected touch felt like an electric shock.

For one suspended second, the seven years of silence, anger, and professional distance completely disappeared. They were just Jackson and Zoya again, sitting in a quiet library, passing notes.

Jackson did not pull his hand away.

"You’ve changed," Jackson said quietly. His deep voice barely broke a whisper.

Zoya slowly lifted her head. She looked at his face in the dim, yellow light.

"So have you," Zoya replied softly.

A heavy, suffocating beat passed between them.

Jackson looked down at their touching hands. His voice dropped even lower.

"Not enough."

That single, quiet sentence landed in the dark room much harder than any massive, dramatic confession ever could.

---

The overhead lights instantly slammed back on.

The bright, blinding fluorescent lights flooded the room. The air conditioning hummed loudly back to life. The projector beeped.

The sudden brightness completely shattered the fragile moment.

Jackson stepped back immediately. He pulled his hand away and shoved it deep into his pocket. His posture went completely rigid. He was the Sporting Director again.

He cleared his throat.

"Clause Seven," Jackson said roughly.

Zoya blinked against the bright lights. She quickly smoothed down her expensive blazer and walked back to her laptop.

"Clause Seven," Zoya nodded. Her voice was perfectly cold again.

They both sat back down. They both looked at their paperwork. They both completely pretended that absolutely nothing had just happened.

And neither of them believed it for a single second.

---

Outside the academy, the rain was coming down hard.

Jackson pulled his jacket tight against the cold wind. He walked quickly across the wet pavement toward his parked car.

He reached the driver’s side door and grabbed the handle.

He stopped.

Slowly, Jackson turned his head and looked back.

Through the massive glass entrance of the academy building, the lobby was brightly lit.

He saw Zoya.

She was standing entirely alone in the empty lobby, waiting for her private driver to arrive. She was holding her heavy leather bag, looking out at the dark, rainy street.

For one brief, incredibly heavy second, their eyes met straight through the rain and the glass.

Jackson stood in the downpour. Zoya stood in the dry lobby.

Neither of them raised a hand to wave. Neither of them offered a polite smile. They just looked at each other, acknowledging the massive, unspoken weight of the night.

Then, the automatic glass doors slid closed, completely blocking her from his sight.