Chapter 539: Struck Diamond [GT ]

Chapter 539: Struck Diamond [GT chapter]

When Izan stepped into the apartment, the smell hit him first.

Warm, sharp, buttery.

He shut the door behind him and dropped his duffel bag by the wall, kicking off his slides before padding toward the kitchen.

Olivia stood barefoot at the stove, hair tied back, one hand flicking a wooden spoon through a pot of something creamy and steaming.

“You’re home early,” she said, not turning around.

“Arteta ended the session a little short. Tactical drills got cut. I think he wanted to reset the vibe.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. “I’m guessing ‘the vibe’ is code for ‘you trying to take on five players again?'”

Izan snorted, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“He talked to me. Not in a bad way. Just… honest. Said I was playing against ghosts last game.”

Olivia finally turned to him, her expression soft but expectant.

“Was he wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just shrugged, leaning on the counter.

“I don’t know. I was just a bit out of it.”

She handed him a spoonful of the sauce. “Taste.”

He blew on it, then tried it.

Tangy, buttery, and a little bit of chili at the end.

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

“I always do.”

He grinned as she smirked.

They ate at the island—pasta al limón with roasted garlic and shaved parmesan.

Simple, yet perfect.

The two talked, mostly Olivia while Izan just kept silent, nodding and speaking up when he wanted to give small input.

After their dinner, the apartment was quiet again, save for the low flicker of TV light and the distant hum of the dishwasher.

Olivia was curled up at the edge of the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, remote on her stomach, eyes fluttering shut between scenes.

Izan was scrolling through his phone, thumb dragging lazily.

Notifications were stacking—match clips, quote tweets, side-by-side edits of his trivela goal next to some ridiculous Quaresma compilation.

He didn’t read too much into it.

He rarely did anymore.

His muscles were still sore from the afternoon session, but it was a good kind of sore.

The kind that told you you’d put in the work without breaking something.

Then the phone lit up.

The same Unknown number from the evening before.

He stared at it for a second.

Second ring.

Third.

“Yeah?” he said, sitting upright and answering.

“Izan,” came the voice—clean, smooth, almost too polite.

“Glad you picked up. This is Laurent Virelli.”

He blinked once.

The name registered.

“Right. From yesterday.”

“Apologies for calling so late,” Laurent said, not missing a beat.

“I imagine you’ve had a long day. This won’t take much of your time.”

Olivia turned slightly, lifting her head from the blanket.

“Who’s that?”

Izan covered the mic and mouthed, “That guy.”

She raised her brows and nodded, sitting up a little straighter.

“I’ll be direct,” Laurent said, voice cutting through with the efficiency of a surgeon.

“You’re not just a player anymore, Izan. You’re a brand and a player on a path to becoming an Icon. Think CR7 but bigger and better. You don’t need people who manage your schedule—you need people who move you into rooms before your name even gets mentioned.”

Izan didn’t reply.

“I understand loyalty,” Laurent continued, tone still composed.

“Miranda’s done well. Really. But I represent people who used to be where you are—and now they control the game. You’re sixteen but now, you have more reach than some legends. But reach isn’t direction. That’s where I come in.”

Izan leaned back, propping one ankle over his knee.

His face unreadable.

Olivia watched him from the side, expression curious but cautious.

“I’ll keep this simple,” Laurent added.

“You bring me on, I make things easier. Bigger. Cleaner. Sponsorships that don’t just boost your wallet—but build a legacy,” he said, a bit softer.

“And before you ask—yes, I take a cut. It’s smaller than what Miranda’s likely taking now. I don’t bleed clients, I grow them.”

At that, Izan smiled.

And then he laughed.

A sudden, sharp, involuntary laugh escaped his chest like a punchline.

Olivia, startled, yelped and smacked his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Izan muttered, still grinning.

He brought the phone back to his ear.

“That’s it?”

Laurent’s voice wavered slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, is that it?” Izan said.

“Because Miranda told me someone like you would call. Said you’d come with fireworks and smoke and mirrors. And you bring… lower commission?”

A long silence followed.

Izan kept going.

“I expected something. I don’t know—big. Maybe a pitch about changing the sport. Revolutionizing my image. But this? This is the most boring attempt at poaching I’ve ever seen.”

Olivia blinked and covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“Izan, I’m offering you real elevation,” Laurent said, this time his voice slightly sharper.

“You’re at a crossroads, and I’m showing you the fast lane.”

“You don’t know where I’m headed, plus I like to take things slow. For a 16-year-old like myself, things are moving too fast already.” Izan replied.

“And Miranda’s commission? Way lower than what you just pitched. So, like, don’t flatter yourself thinking this was a bargain.”

“You’re young,” Laurent said.

“But not stupid. So I’ll give it to you straight—Miranda is holding you back. The deals she’s sitting on? The brands she’s been slow-walking? You think Aston Martin’s gonna wait forever?”

Izan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What did you say?”

“They approached me,” Laurent said.

“The campaign’s ready. The board’s aligned. But they won’t close unless I’m your point of contact. You want that deal? I’m the guy who delivers it.”

Izan exhaled slowly.

He didn’t speak right away.

He didn’t need to.

Olivia leaned closer. “What is it?”

He muted the call for a second.

“It’s some deal involving Aston Martin,” he said quietly.

“I guess that was the one Miranda said she was saving for my birthday.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open slightly.

“Wait, that guy just exposed her surprise?”

“Yeah.”

He unmuted.

“You done now?” he said into the phone.

“Izan, I’m being transparent,” Laurent said.

“I’m not your enemy. But I am the guy who knows how this game is played. You can either get there the hard way—or let me drive.”

Izan smiled again, but this one had a colder edge to it.

“I think I’ll walk,” he said.

“Thanks for the call.”

And with that, he ended the call.

He tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside him and leaned back, running a hand over his face.

Olivia let out a breath.

“That was messy.”

“That was pathetic,” Izan said.

“Are you okay?”

He looked over at her.

“Yeah,” he said.

“He’s just one of those people who thinks if he says it with a good enough accent, you’ll stop thinking.”

Olivia laughed, leaned in, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know,” she said after a beat, “you scare people like that.”

“I hope so.”

……

Miranda on her side, had just ended the call with a soft tap, setting her phone down as she walked to the kitchen island with a little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips before taking out a bottle of water.

She exhaled through her nose and leaned back in her chair, arms folding as he gulped down the water.

“We might have lost gold,” she murmured to herself, still smiling, “but we struck diamond.”

It had been a productive hour.

Bellani—smooth, efficient, and maybe a little too fond of cryptic phrasing—had just confirmed the next step in a major campaign.

Bigger than Aston Martin. Bolder.

And Izan wouldn’t just be in it—he’d be the face.

Miranda reached for her glass of water when her phone buzzed again.

Izan.

She answered immediately.

“Well, well,” she said, her tone playfully suspicious.

“Calling me? Should I be worried?”

Izan’s voice came through, low and amused.

“I figured you’d want to know—your, best friend Virelli just called.”

Miranda rolled her eyes so hard she nearly tipped backward.

“He really did it, huh?”

“Yup,” Izan said.

“Said you were ‘capable’ but that he worked in rooms you hadn’t yet stepped into. Then tried to sell me on a ‘lower percentage.'”

Miranda laughed out loud.

“Oh, he’s still using that line? You’d think after ratting his plans out to me, he’d come up with a new pitch but he didn’t even put in the effort.”

Izan chuckled.

“He also said Aston Martin would only close the deal with him.”

Her voice softened, but only slightly. “I figured he’d say that. Same thing he said to me too, about cooperation. I was even hoping to surprise you with it this week.”

“I guessed as much,” Izan said.

“He kind of ruined the party.”

“Not entirely,” Miranda replied.

“It’s still coming. And something better might be coming with it.”

There was a beat of quiet on the line.

Then: “Thanks,” she said, voice real now. No wit. No polish.

“For trusting me.”

Izan replied without hesitation.

“I’m good at football. But I’m not bad at reading people either.”

Miranda smiled, brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead.

“Then maybe we both chose the right careers,” she said.

A/n: Hello, GT chapter. Have fun reading and I’ll release the first of the day in a bit.

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