𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐈

A/N: ‼️PLEASE COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS ‼️

••••••

They did not show up.

Milaine sat alone in the locker room, her match kit already on, racquet bag leaning against the bench, but she hadn't moved for a while. Her elbows were on her knees, fingers laced together, forehead pressed to her knuckles as she breathed deep, steady breaths. The muffled noise from Arthur Ashe was faint through the thick doors, but it only made the silence heavier.

Viv had sent the tickets to Max's manager yet she received nothing but Radio silence from Max and his manager. The tickets they'd sent had gone unanswered.

They did not come.

It hurt, though she would never admit it out loud. She'd thought maybe, just maybe, childhood history and loyalty could outweigh tension and pride.

But Max had made his choice.

And Kelly? She was part of that choice.. Even when Milaine knew she wasn't the one making the choices..

Milaine swallowed the ache because she had no room for it now. There was only one thing she could control—the match.

But today wasn't just any match. It was the finals. And it was five years to the day since she'd lost her father. Five years since Johan had promised her that he would be in New York to watch his little girl stand across the net from Serena Williams, eighteen years old and terrified and ready all at once. Five years since she'd scanned the stands and not found him there, that quiet dread sitting like ice in her stomach.

She had won her first Grand Slam, but he had never seen it.

Now she was twenty-three, stronger, sharper, and the world would see her walk back on that same court. But she wasn't doing it for revenge or validation.

This one, every point of it, was for him.

A soft knock on the door broke the stillness.

Her eyes stayed closed. «Come in.»

The door clicked, and even without looking, she knew. She didn't need sight to recognize the quietness of his steps, the way his presence settled like gravity.

«Hey.»

Lando crouched in front of her, his hoodie slightly rumpled, cap turned backward. He didn't say anything at first, just reached for her hands. He held them gently, thumbs brushing over her knuckles, then lifted them and pressed a kiss to each one. Soft, deliberate, grounding.

«You can do this» he said, voice low, steady. «You can do it, Mila.»

Her throat tightened. Eyes still closed, she nodded.

He didn't move away. His chin rested on their joined hands, his elbows braced on her knees, so they were close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. When she finally opened her eyes, she found his—calm, unwavering, that quiet certainty he carried when it mattered most.

«They're not here, right?» she asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, just for a second. Then shook his head. «No. They're not.»

She swallowed hard, nodded once. It was confirmation and closure all in one—a clean cut she hadn't wanted but needed.

«But you know who is here?» His mouth curved slightly, but his voice stayed soft. «Zak's here to support you.. And Jannik—he came even though he's got his own final tomorrow. Carlitos is here too. They're both in the stands.»