Stuck In Love (COMPLETED)

Prologue

7 Years Later

Raymond Reynolds's POV

"Welcome to Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse, Mr. Reynolds," a girl about my age purred, her voice laced with seduction and a hint of playfulness.

Disgust flickered through me in response to her advances. I accepted the card with my room number, painted in golden italics, managing only a tight-lipped smile before nodding curtly and turning away.

Such encounters weren't new; I'd grown accustomed to the flirtatious advances, reminders of a past self I've left behind. My teammates might have relished the moment, but I had changed in ways they couldn't comprehend.

Life, as I've come to learn, is a capricious journey. Never did I imagine standing here today, as captain of the U.S. football team, representing my country on the grandest stages. It was a dream I scarcely dared to embrace, made possible by one person.

I couldn't disrespect what she'd taught me, the changes she'd wrought in me. It was her influence that guided me, her teachings echoing in my decisions. So I followed her guidance, pursued my passion.

Navigating the hotel lobby, I headed for the elevator, glancing at my keycard before pressing the button for the twenty-second floor. I retreated into my thoughts, seeking respite from the clamor of fame and expectation.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, I walked through the deserted lobby toward my room. Inside, my belongings lay neatly arranged, a testament to the efficiency of the hotel staff. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me; I'd arrived from Munich just an hour ago for the International Football Association meeting, before jetting here.

Changing into more comfortable attire, I collapsed onto the bed. The television flickered to life, a news channel covering the event that brought me here.

The reporter stood outside the hotel amidst a throng of fans, banners waving fervently. The "Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse" was touted as the year's most anticipated event, celebrating nominees under forty excelling in their respective fields.

"Celebrities, sportspersons, artists, scientists, and entrepreneurs have descended upon the prestigious event of the year, 'Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse'. This eagerly anticipated gathering celebrates individuals under forty who have demonstrated excellence in their respective fields. The atmosphere outside the venue buzzes with fervor as fans congregate, eagerly showing their support."

The reporter shifts her attention to a jubilant girl holding a "We Love You William" banner. "It's clear you're rooting for William," she says, turning towards the camera with enthusiasm. "And we're talking about none other than William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team."

The girl leaps with excitement, shouting, "He's going to win!"

Amidst the fanfare, the reporter notes the escalating excitement among the crowd, prompting the hotel to bolster security measures due to the surging number of attendees.

"Among the early arrivals are notable nominees such as William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team, and our own charismatic Raymond Reynolds, captain of the U.S. football team."

"In the business category," the reporter continues, "we have Yel-en Dang, CEO of Aurora from China, Enighbam Longhach, CEO of Vostro series from Germany, and Levin Lockhard, CFO of Borealis from Finland."

"In the science category," she adds, "we have the promising and youthful So—"

With a sigh, I turned my attention to the plush bathroom, its marble surfaces gleaming under soft, ambient lighting. Stepping into the spacious shower, steam began to rise, enveloping me in warmth and momentarily soothing my restless mind. The week's schedule promised an Interaction Session Party at eight, which would give me some time to explore.

Dressed in a maroon V-neck t-shirt and dark jeans, I laced up my sneakers and stepped out of my room. After exploring some parts of the Hotel, I stumbled upon a library and started walking towards it. Although I'm not particularly fond of books, I do read them when I find myself on the verge of boredom.

Among the shelves, my footsteps faltered as I as I took in the appearance of the person standing in front of me.

She was stunning, every curve and feature perfectly placed. In a simple black dress that tantalizingly grazed above her knees, her dark-brown hair cascaded in a neat ponytail. Red lipstick accentuated her lips, making them all the more enticing.
I clenched my fists struggling to maintain composure, battling the overwhelming urge to kiss her passionately in that moment. To feel those lips against my own. I wondered if she still tasted the same, like strawberries and summer evenings. I wanted to touch her again, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. To lose myself in her.

My heart raced, beads of sweat forming on my brow as I struggled to steady my breath. She remained engrossed in her reading, oblivious to my presence, while I stood captivated, transported back seven years in an instant.

In that moment, it felt as though only she and I existed in the room. My senses tingled, breaths uneven- suspended in a moment fraught with unspoken history; after seven years, she still held the same inexplicable power over me.