ᑌᑎᗷᖇOKᗴᑎ

Steps Towards Trust

LEAH'S POV

The locker room was buzzing with anxious whispers when I arrived. The tension was almost suffocating, the atmosphere a stark contrast to our usual pre-training banter. Everyone had tried to reach Isabela after she disappeared last night, but no one had managed to get through. Calls had gone unanswered, texts ignored. She'd just vanished

"Did you hear anything from Isabela?" Beth's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see her standing by the bench, worry etched into her features. She wasn't the only one. Everyone looked uneasy, shifting in their seats, casting worried glances toward the entrance as if expecting Isabela to walk in any moment

I shook my head "No... Nothing" I tried to keep my voice even, but the knot in my stomach tightened. Beth's brow furrowed, and she let out a sigh before moving away, her expression just as tense as everyone else's

I kept going over last night in my mind, wondering if I should have said something different, done something more. She hadn't even given me a chance to react before she was gone

I just wished she would talk to me. I wished she would stop pushing me away. I'm not afraid of her, but I am terrified of losing whatever fragile connection we still had left

Katie sat in the corner, scrolling furiously through her phone. She looked up with frustration written across her face "Have you seen the headlines?" she asked, her voice barely masking her anger. I nodded, my stomach twisting. I'd been reading them all morning too, the tabloids quick to paint Isabela in the worst possible light

"Footballer's Violent Outburst Shocks Fans—What Really Happened Last Night?" one headline blared. Another, less charitable, read: "Star Player Snaps, Leaves Man Unconscious—Career on the Line?" And there were more, each twisting the story a little further, sensationalizing every detail they could get their hands on

Beth's voice was tight with barely controlled rage as she read out loud from one particularly vicious article: "Sources say that Isabela, known for her fiery temper both on and off the pitch, reacted with shocking violence at the slightest provocation. Eyewitnesses claim the scene was terrifying."

"It wasn't like that at all" Sarah muttered, her jaw clenched "He wouldn't leave us alone, and she... she just snapped. Anyone would have done the same" I could hear the indignation in her voice, shared by everyone else in the room

"Look at this one" one of the girls said, holding up her phone. The screen displayed a supportive tweet from a guy who'd been at the bar last night "I was there when it happened" he'd written "That man deserved what he got. Isabela was just defending herself and her friends. She did nothing wrong"

Fans were defending her. They knew Isabela—knew the kind of person she was—and they weren't backing down. There were posts all over social media, sticking up for her, pointing out how she had only reacted when the man wouldn't leave us alone

It should have made me feel better, reading the support. But it didn't. Because I knew that no matter how many people stood up for her, Isabela wouldn't see it that way. She'd see the headlines, the accusations, and think that I was one of them—that I thought she had crossed a line

Then, the locker room went completely silent as the door swung open. Every head turned, eyes wide and anxious, as Isabela stepped inside. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe

She looked... different. Pale, almost ghostly, like she'd been up all night—or maybe like she hadn't slept at all. There was a tightness around her eyes, and her cheeks were even sharper than usual, as if she'd been carved out of ice. But even with all of that, she still walked in with her head held high, shoulders squared