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Santiago paused, holding my gaze. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the classroom. He wasn't just delivering a legal script; he was actively accusing me. He was deliberately reminding me of how I had once defended Edwin Sullivan in high school simply because they wore the same jersey, throwing my past ignorance right back in my face.

“We have a documented, ongoing relationship,” he continued, his pace steady as he walked the line of the jury box, never losing me for a fraction of a second. “There are no signs of physical struggle. No defensive wounds. No forensic data. I know the victim claims that she was too scared to go to the hospital to have her injuries documented. She claims she was too intimidated to voice her panic. Too terrified to say stop.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his entire body toward the back row, anchoring his gaze directly on my face, letting the venomous subtext choke the air between us.

“Should we blindly believe her words?” Santiago whispered, his lips curling into a cruel, familiar pout. “When she didn’t say stop, then was she really attacked? Or perhaps... the plaintiff did all of this simply for attention.”

The room went cold. He was weaponizing the absolute intimacy and trust we had established on the boat, taking the raw confessions of his own trauma and using them as a shield to prove I didn't own him.

“Perhaps the plaintiff decided not to seek help because she knew she had no case. No evidence,” Santiago said, his words sharp enough to draw blood. “In a relationship where intimacy is routine, the absence of physical evidence means the state cannot prove a lack of consent beyond a reasonable doubt.”

He took a slow, deliberate breath. I watched as his fingers twitched once toward his bare throat, searching for a collar that wasn't there, before he forced his hand back to his side to maintain his mask of absolute control. He held my eyes for one final, agonizing second, delivering the final verdict not to the students, but to me.

“The law states that without evidence, even if you believe he is guilty, my client must walk free. This concludes the defense’s closing argument.”

Santiago broke the stare, turning back to the professor's table as the room erupted into quiet murmurs of approval. I sat frozen in the back row, the weight of his calculated strike sinking deep into my chest. He hadn't just broken my rules, he had completely rewritten the game.

I DIDN’T WAIT FOR THE professor to finish grading their presentation. The moment the applause died down, I was out of my seat, moving down the steps of the lecture hall gallery like a freight train.

Santiago was already packing his things, his movements frantic and rigid as he stuffed his notes into his leather briefcase. He saw me coming in his periphery. I could tell by the sudden hitch in his shoulders, the way his jaw locked so tight the muscle leaped under his pale skin. He didn't run, his pride wouldn't let him, but the second he snapped his briefcase shut, he turned toward the side exit.

I blocked him in the narrow corridor behind the lecture stage, away from the lingering students.

"Santiago."

"Get out of my way, Brooks," he spat, his voice a jagged, dangerous whisper. He tried to brush past my shoulder, but I didn't budge an inch. He collided against my chest like a wave hitting a cliff side.

I fisted both hands into the lapels of his sharp, tailored suit jacket, pushing him back his spine slammed hard against the wall of the hallway. The briefcase hit the floor with a heavy, hollow thud.

"Let go of me!" Sig hissed, his hands immediately flying up to claw at my wrists. His golden eyes were wide, ablaze with tears of pure, unfiltered fury. "Go back to your locker room. Go tell your captain how well you're 'taking care' of the psycho!"

"You didn't let me finish what I was saying to Sam," I growled, leaning my weight into him until he was completely pinned between my chest and the wall. The scent of his expensive cologne and sharp adrenaline enveloped me, making my blood run hot. "You heard half a sentence and decided to stage a public execution."

"I heard exactly what I needed to hear!" Sig choked out, his voice cracking as a single tear escaped his liner, cutting a dark path down his cheek. "It was all a game to you. Blackmail. A tactical strategy to keep me from ruining your precious draft stock. You used my body, you made me kneel on your floor and confess my trauma just so you could feel like a master—"

"I said those things to Sam because I protect what's mine!" I roared, my voice vibrating off the cinderblock, effectively silencing him.

Sig froze, his fingers locking onto my wrists, his breath hitching in his throat.

"If the athletic board found out I was seeing you, they'd launch an investigation for coercion. They'd take you away from me, Santiago," I muttered, my voice dropping into a rough, possessive register as I leaned down until our foreheads touched. "Sam wanted the cops called. He wanted a cybercrime unit to trace the AI files and arrest you. I told him I was handling it so he would back the fuck off and keep your name out of a police report. I am protecting you. From the board, from the cops, from everything."

Santiago’s lips parted, his pupils blowing wide as the fury in his eyes slowly fractured into absolute shock. "You... you didn't tell them?"

"No, baby," I whispered, my thumb rising to wipe the dark tear track from his cheek, my touch turning reverent despite the iron grip I held on his suit jacket. "I promised you on that boat, I don't share. And I don't let anyone else touch what belongs to me. You think that scene last night was a PR strategy? I watched that video until I went blind because I am utterly, violently obsessed with you. I don't give a fuck about the NFL if you aren't the one waiting for me when the pads come off."

Sig let out a shaky, broken sob, his forehead pressing heavily against mine as his resistance completely crumbled. Lower down, through the layers of our clothes, I felt his length twitch and grow instantly hard against my thigh; the traitorous, beautiful reality of his submission.

"You broke my rule," I murmured against his lips, my fingers sliding up from his lapels to firmly wrap around his bare throat, tracing his erratic, racing pulse. "You ran away from my bed at dawn. You left my collar on the pillow. And then you stood in front of a jury and used my own words to cut me open."

“It was all true," Santiago choked out, his breath hitching as fresh tears pooled in his golden eyes. "He forced me. I said stop and he didn’t. No one believed me, George... and you protected him. You hurt me so bad.”

My heart completely shattered in my chest. The anger evaporated, leaving nothing but a desperate, crushing need to fix what I had broken years ago.

“I’m sorry, baby. I am so fucking sorry,” I whispered. I threaded my large hand through his hair, anchoring him to me as his final defenses snapped, and he crashed entirely into my arms.

Chapter Thirteen

George