Chapter 1
Chapter One (The Perfect Daughter)
Rain tapped softly against the tall kitchen windows of the Whitmore house.
Not loudly.
Nothing loud ever survived long inside this home.
The grandfather clock ticked with painful elegance from the hallway while silver cutlery reflected the warm chandelier light above the dining table. Everything inside the house looked expensive, polished, controlled.
Including the people.
Aria Whitmore sat straight-backed at the table, one leg crossed neatly over the other, a hardcover psychology book resting beside her untouched dinner plate.
Her mother loved that image.
Beautiful daughter.
Educated daughter.
Perfect daughter.
A girl who wore soft sweaters and read clinical theories for fun while other girls her age chased parties and useless stuff.
“Ari.”
Her mother’s voice was gentle but corrective.
“No reading at the table.”
Aria closed the book immediately. “Sorry.”
Across from her, Edward stabbed his food with the energy of a man seconds away from collapsing.
Their father folded the business section of the newspaper carefully before speaking.
“How much did you lose by?”
Straight to the wound.
Edward didn’t even look up. “Eight points.”
A pause.
Then came the disappointment.
Not dramatic.
Not shouting.
The Whitmores preferred sophisticated cruelty.
“You were ahead in the second half,” their father said coldly. “So what happened?”
Edward gave a tired shrug. “He adapted faster.”
He.
No name needed.
Everyone in London’s professional sports scene knew who he was.
Damian Cole
The golden monster of the league.
Tall. Ruthless. Brilliant.
The kind of athlete sports journalists called “unnaturally composed under pressure.”
Aria had seen clips of him online.
Dark eyes. Sharp jawline. A permanent expression like he knew something everyone else didn’t.
He rarely smiled during matches.
When he did, it usually meant somebody was about to lose.
Their father leaned back in his chair with visible irritation.
“You train every day. You have private coaching. Nutritionists. Sponsors. Explain to me how that boy keeps humiliating you.”
Edward’s jaw flexed slightly.
Aria noticed because she always noticed things nobody else did.
The exhaustion under his eyes.
The stiffness in his shoulders.
The way he inhaled before answering difficult questions.
“I’m trying.”
Their father laughed once under his breath.
A dangerous sound.
“Trying is irrelevant if the results stay the same.”
Aria’s fingers tightened around her water glass.
Her mother stepped in smoothly, as always.
“Richard, don’t start.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“No,” Aria said quietly before she could stop herself. “You’re being unfair.”
Silence.
The air changed instantly.
Her father turned toward her slowly.
Aria usually avoided conflict.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she knew exactly how sharp her words could become when she stopped holding them back.
Edward shot her a warning glance.
Don’t.
Too late.
“He’s exhausted,” she continued calmly. “Anyone would struggle under this amount of pressure.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You seem emotionally invested for someone studying objectivity.”
There it was.
The polished intellectual insult.
Aria smiled faintly.
“And you seem surprised your son is human.”
Edward closed his eyes briefly.
Their mother sighed softly. “Ari…”
But Richard Whitmore only stared at his daughter for a long moment before returning to his dinner.
Conversation over.
That was how arguments worked in this house.
No screaming.
Just emotional frostbite.
~~~~
Two hours later, Aria found Edward sitting alone in the indoor gym downstairs.
The lights were dim except for the lamp near the boxing equipment. His training bag sat discarded beside the bench while he stared blankly at nothing.
Aria leaned against the doorway.
“You’re brooding dramatically.”
Edward looked over tiredly. “Go away.”
“No.”
She walked in carrying two mugs of coffee.
He accepted one immediately. “Bribery works on me.”
“I know.”
For a while they sat in silence.
Rain continued outside.
The gym smelled faintly of leather, sweat, and the metallic sharpness of overwork.
Edward rubbed a hand over his face.
“You know what’s insane?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t even care anymore.”
Aria looked at him carefully.
That sentence scared her more than anger would have.
“When I lose now,” he continued quietly, “I mostly just feel relieved the match is over.”
The honesty in his voice cracked something inside her.
Edward had spent nearly his entire life trying to become what their father admired.
Disciplined. Competitive. Impressive.
But lately he looked like a man dragging chains nobody else could see.
“You know what I actually enjoy?” he asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Business.”
Aria blinked.
“I’m serious.” A weak smile appeared on his face. “Negotiations. Planning. Startups. Investment models.” He laughed softly. “I spent three hours last night researching café franchises instead of training footage.”
“That’s the nerdiest rebellion ever.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled into her coffee.
Then his expression dimmed again.
“But every time I think about quitting…”
He exhaled heavily. “I can already hear Dad calling me weak.”
Aria looked down quietly.
The saddest thing about pressure was how invisible it looked from outside.
People saw privilege.
Money.
Opportunity.
They didn’t see the exhaustion hiding underneath achievement.
Edward leaned back against the wall.
“And…Damian…” he muttered.
Aria rolled her eyes immediately. “Please don’t praise your enemy again.”
Edward snorted softly.
“He’s not my enemy.”
“He literally destroys you professionally.”
“He’s still decent.”
That surprised her.
Edward shrugged. “After matches he thanks the staff before media interviews. He remembers people’s names.” A pause. “Makes it hard to hate him.”
Aria hated him enough for both of them.
Hated the effortless talent.
The headlines.
The comparisons.
Damian Cole breathed, and sports magazines wrote poetry about it.
Her phone buzzed suddenly beside her.
An email notification.
She glanced at it lazily
Then froze.
Damian Cole Athletic Organization – Sports Psychology Assignment Confirmation
Below it:
Assigned Client: Damian Cole
Aria stared at the screen.
Edward noticed instantly. “What?”
“Nothing.”
She locked the phone too quickly.
Too suspicious.
Edward narrowed his eyes. “Ari.”
“It’s literally nothing.”
But her pulse had already shifted.
Because tomorrow morning, she would officially become the personal sports psychologist of the one man standing at the center of her brother’s misery.
And somehow…….
she already had the feeling this was going to end terribly.
