Serve Me Chaos

Chapter 17

Marina

“Move your feet, Chen!” Eli called across the court, dodging my return with a dramatic spin.

“I am moving my feet!” I shouted, smacking another ball toward him. “Maybe your eyes are just slow.”

“Oh, my eyes are slow now?” he smirked, catching the next ball with his racket and flicking it back with a lazy drop shot. “Didn’t seem to bother you in Shanghai.”

I rolled my eyes, lunging forward to scoop it up. “I must’ve been blinded by your ego.”

“That’s fair. It is pretty blinding.”

We hit for another few minutes, the rhythm between us smoother than it had ever been.

“Out,” Eli called, jogging to the net with that annoying smirk. “Barely. But definitely out.”

I huffed, leaning on my racket. “It hit the line.”

“You wish.”

“It did. You just blinked too slow.”

He tossed the ball up, caught it behind his back, and grinned. “I don’t blink when I’m winning.”

“You’re not winning. We’re rallying.”

“Semantics.”

I shook my head, breath caught between exhaustion and laughter. “You’re lucky I don’t throw this racket at you.”

He winked. “You’d miss.”

I aimed a serve right at his knees. He jumped back with a dramatic yelp, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I saw my life flash before my eyes!”

“You saw your ego flash before your eyes.”

He bent over, hands on his knees, pretending to wheeze. “She’s brutal today, folks.”

“Always.”

We met at the net, rackets clinking lazily, grins tugging at both our mouths. The heat in the air wasn’t just from the sun.

I looked at him a second too long. He looked back like he noticed. But neither of us said anything.

Whatever it was—whatever was curling quietly between us—it stayed unspoken. Floating just out of reach.

During water break, I sat beside him and tugged at the hem of my shirt. “So… I don’t have a coach anymore.”

He stopped mid-sip. “Wait, what?”

I shrugged. “My father yanked Lee out of the picture weeks ago. And he refuse to be my coach if I don’t cut you off.”

He squinted at me. “You’ve been coaching yourself?”

“I’ve been surviving.”

He set down his bottle. “You know what? We’re fixing that. Come on.”

“Wait, what?”

“Get your stuff. I’m taking you to meet someone.”

We were barely off the court when it happened.

“Marina!”

My stomach dropped.

Vincent Chen was at the gate—face dark, voice low and furious. He walked straight toward us, envelope in hand, as if he owned the whole damn city.

“Dad, not now—”

“We’re talking. Now.” He glared at Eli. “Excuse us.”

Eli looked at me. I gave him a small nod. “It’s okay. I’ll be back.”

Vincent dragged me around the corner where the media couldn’t see. He shoved the envelope into my hands.

“What is this?”

“A contract termination,” he said coldly. “You want freedom? Here it is. Walk away.”

I blinked. “You’re releasing me?”

“Yes. But there’s a condition. You forfeit all our joint sponsors. Every deal. Every brand we built together.”

My breath hitched. “That’s… everything.”

“Exactly.”

I stared at the paper. My whole career—ripped at the root.

Vincent folded his arms. “Sign it, and you’re on your own. No endorsements. No support. No team. Just you and your ego.”

My phone buzzed. I glanced down. A text from Eli. I didn’t open it yet—but I saw one word.

“Approved.”

I smiled. Then I grabbed the pen and signed the contract.

Vincent scoffed. “All of this for a boy?”

I looked up, straight into his eyes.

“No,” I said. “All of this for me.”

He stepped back, stunned.

I held the contract out. “Good luck replacing me.”

He snatched it from my hand. “You’ll regret this. Good luck finding a coach now.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t have to.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

I pulled out my phone. Opened Eli’s message.

“Manager confirmed it. I’m certified. I’m your coach now.”

I smiled again. “It means I already have one.”

The press conference was announced an hour later.

By the time we sat down—me in a navy blazer, Eli in a black Henley—the room was buzzing.

“Marina,” a reporter called out first, “is this a publicity stunt or an actual coaching agreement?”

“This is real,” I said, calm and clear.

“But Eli’s reputation—”

“Has nothing to do with his ability to coach,” I cut in. “And everything to do with the fact that he understands pressure. Performance. People.”

Another hand shot up. “How long have you two been working together?”

“This is our official first day,” Eli said with a lazy grin. “I promise to start yelling at her about footwork immediately.”

A few reporters laughed. One didn’t.

“Some say this decision is impulsive. Even unprofessional.”

I leaned forward. “Some say letting others decide your whole life is responsible. I used to believe that.”

The cameras clicked.

“But today?” I continued. “This is the first time I chose for myself.”