The league handed me a morality clause and told me to behave.
I wrote a Charter instead-and three men signed.
I'm Avery Hart-owner's daughter, omega, and the public face of the Harriers' foundation. A doctored video drops, a sponsor threatens to pull out, and the league waves a "morality clause" like a leash. Cute.
My answer is a Charter: short color calls, wrist-only marks in public, and consent that looks like power. My rules or no access.
They sign.
Rowan Creed, the team's fixer. He can bulldoze a boardroom-after he asks "Green for handling this, hard?"
Jules Vega, head of security whose silent two-tap can stop a panic mid-breath.
Zane Kovac, our rival's star center and the man in that clip-from enemy to ally to a problem I very much want.
With them at my back, I'll expose the blackmail ring, burn the clause, and flip the sponsors. I won't pick one. I'll choose all-and if that breaks the playbook, good. We're writing a better one.
Notes/CW: stalking/harassment, brief abduction attempt, public scrutiny; all intimacy is very consent-forward.