The thick smoke of a cigarette filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of men's aftershave. It was a smell Martina knew well—the scent of ambition and of a future about to be molded. She found Juglian sitting on the edge of the bed, his long blonde hair falling over his lean shoulders. He was not yet the "King"; he didn't yet possess the imposing physique he would later develop, but his energy was already palpable. He was focused, his lips parted as his fingers frantically counted the wads of banknotes covering the nightstand.
Martina leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. Her calculating eyes observed Juglian's every move. Their relationship had always been a power dance: he, the rising star; she, the architect pushing him to become a legend. In this moment, he seemed the very embodiment of her grand design.
"What are you doing, Juglian?" she asked, her voice soft but as sharp as ice.
He didn't look up, far too concentrated on the numbers flowing through his fingers. "I'm counting," he replied, his voice taut with focus.
"I see that. But why? What is all this money for?"
Finally, Juglian paused. He took one last drag of smoke and looked at Martina. His eyes, still pure, shone with an innocence she knew she had to channel. "Future projects," he said with a dreaming smile that sent a shiver through her. "For me. For us."
Martina walked over, sitting beside him. Her eyes dropped to study the pile of cash before returning to fix on him. "And what are these projects? Tell me. I want to know what you expect from all of this."
Juglian stubbed out the cigarette. For the first time, his expression turned serious, almost solemn. "I want to create something great. Not just on the pitch, but in the world. A legacy. And I don't want my children to be mere athletes. I want them to be geniuses. I want them to see beyond, to be a step ahead of everyone else. I want to create the next generation of geniuses."
Martina listened, her heart racing—not out of love, but because of the power she saw in those words. With Juglian, she could have everything. Not just money, but an entire dynasty of extraordinary people who would conquer the world. She leaned forward and, with a confidence he had yet to acquire, kissed him. It was a kiss that was a mix of desire, calculation, and promise. She lay back on the bed, pulling him toward her, the smoke in the air creating a veil between their two bodies.
When she finished, Martina rose from the bed, feeling invigorated. As she straightened her clothes, her gaze fell upon a paper envelope that had remained hidden under a pile of money. She opened it carelessly, thinking it was a receipt, and her eyes widened in surprise. It was a check made out to a name she didn't recognize, and beneath it, a handwritten note: "Donation for St. Jude's Orphanage - London."
The blood froze in her veins. It wasn't money for them. It wasn't money for their glory or their future. It was money destined for someone else. Money given to an orphanage. In London.
Martina stood motionless, the envelope clenched in her hand, her calculating mind connecting the dots at a speed that terrified her. This innocent act of charity by Juglian hid a secret—a project much larger than she had ever imagined. A project that had nothing to do with her dynasty. And she was determined to uncover it.