All Is Fair: A Trent Alexander-Arnold x Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.
It felt cruel how beautiful the Ibizan valley was through the blur of her tears as Rosa walked barefoot along the sprawling stone patio, overlooking the gardens and rolling hills beyond.
Hours prior she’d stood in the very same spot with Trent, his hands and lips on her body as dawn painted the mountains gold. Back then the world had felt impossibly simple. Safe, even.
Now it felt like a mockery. The valley hadn’t changed, nor had the villa. Only she had.
Rosa wrapped her arms around herself as the evening breeze swept across the terrace, carrying the scent of flowers and distant sea air. Below, the estate stretched endlessly toward the horizon, manicured gardens giving way to dense forest and rolling hills.
It should have been peaceful, instead, she felt trapped as Charlotte’s voice echoed through her mind.
The help. The fun girl whore.
The words shouldn’t have mattered, she had spent years pretending words didn’t mean anything, building armour around herself.!Years convincing herself that the thoughts of other’s couldn’t hurt her.
Yet somehow Charlotte had managed to rip through every carefully built layer in only a matter of seconds.
Because she hadn’t just insulted Rosa, she all but confirmed every fear Rosa had been trying to outrun.
That no matter how beautiful she looked, no matter how many countries she visited or expensive dresses she wore.
People would always decide who she was before she ever opened her mouth. Her parents’ rebellious daughter, their disappointment. The escort, the woman men lusted after but never truly chose.
What made things inherently worse, was the fact that
there was once a time she had it all.
She’d been raised to be a trophy, though nobody in her family would have used that word aloud. They preferred phrases like successful, accomplished, well-connected.
Rosa had attended the right schools. Sat at the right dinner tables. Smiled for photographs beside politicians and donors while her father shook hands and made promises.
Every part of her future had been carefully constructed long before she was old enough to understand it. The law degree. the marriage, a family.
All of it waiting for her like a train already set on its tracks. Then she’d stepped off, and everything came crashing down around her.
Rosa laughed bitterly as she stared out across the valley.
One decision was all it had taken, a refusal to a life she wasn't sure wanted to live. One engagement ring she hadn’t wanted. One conversation that had ended with her father’s voice taking an edge she’d never heard before.
You’re throwing your life away.
The words still haunted her years later, not because of how angry he'd been. Not because of the look of disgust on his face as he spoke to her. But because he’d meant them.
He’d looked at her that day as though she had become a stranger. As though choosing herself over the future he’d designed was some unforgivable act of betrayal.
The worst part was that she had spent years trying to prove him wrong.
Yet standing here now, with Charlotte’s voice still ringing in her ears, Rosa couldn’t help wondering if everyone saw the same thing when they looked at her.
Not a woman who had fought for her independence, nor one who had walked away from a relationship with a cold, hateful man. Just a cautionary tale wrapped in a beautiful dress.
Exhaling a shaky breath she’d been holding, Rosa turned on her heel and headed back into the quiet villa, searching for her phone.
The house felt eerily still after the noise of the restaurant.
Every room Rosa passed carried traces of the morning they’d shared together. A discarded wine glass sat abandoned on a side table. The blanket they’d fallen asleep beneath while watching television remained draped across the sofa. Her cardigan still hung over the back of a chair where she’d carelessly left it hours earlier.
Little reminders that only made her chest ache harderk. Eventually she found her phone sitting on the kitchen island exactly where she’d left it.
The screen illuminated the moment she picked it up, showing three missed calls from Trent, and dozen unread messages.
Her throat tightened painfully, the she noticed another name. Kylian. He'd only left one missed call, followed by two unread messages.
The first had arrived almost an hour earlier.
The second only minutes ago.
Rosa stared at the screen until the words began to blur together, everything was ridiculous. She should have felt angry, or annoyed. Instead she felt down right exhausted.
Everyone wanted something from her. Everyone seemed determined to pull her in opposite directions, and for once she didn’t want to explain herself.
She didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to defend herself. She just wanted to go home.
The word felt strangely ironic considering she wasn’t entirely sure where that was anymore. With trembling fingers, she opened her airline app. The next flight to New York departed early the following morning ama without giving herself the chance to reconsider, she booked it. The confirmation email arriving seconds later.
Something inside her settled, no relief but certainty, as she climbed the stairs slowly, carrying the weight of the evening with her.
The bedroom was dark when she entered.
The bedroom she shared with Trent.
The thought twisted painfully in her stomach, because there was a time in the not-too-distant past that she’d been keeping her distance entirely, only to let him in and have everything come crashing down around her.
Crossing to the wardrobe, she pulled a suitcase from the corner and laid it open across the bed. She packed mechanically, refusing to think too hard about what she was doing. Because if she did, she might stop, and if she stopped, she might stay.
The sound of the bedroom door opening froze her in place. For a moment neither of them moved, then she heard him speak.
“Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing?” Trent asked.
His voice was quiet, dangerously so and all Rosa could do in response is close her eyes. Of course he’d found her.
Slowly, she turned to find him stood in the doorway. His dark tapered curls looked slightly dishevelled, as though he’d spent the last hour dragging frustrated hands through it, dealing with whatever unfolded after she left the party.
His gaze immediately dropped to the open suitcase resting on the bed and something hardened in his expression.
“I’m leaving,” she swallowed, her words seemingly sucking the air from the room.
“You're not,” Trent answered instantly, his voice firm.
Certain, as though the possibility itself had never occurred to him.
“That’s not your choice to make,” Rosa whispered.
For a moment he simply stared at her across the room, his expression unreadable. Rosa watched the realization settle behind his eyes, watched him struggle with the possibility that she genuinely believed whatever Charlotte had said.
That after everything they’d shared, after every conversation and every carefully lowered wall, she still thought he saw her the same way everyone else did.
Slowly, he crossed the room and stopped in front of her. Not close enough to touch her, just enough that she could see the tension working through his jaw.
“What do you think I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly.
Rosa looked away, the question itself hurt because she had no idea how to answer it.
Almost a year ago the answer would have been simple. Men wanted her. Men desired her. Men paid for her time, promised her things, projected fantasies onto her, and eventually moved on. It was a lesson life had taught her often enough that she’d stopped questioning it.
But crossing paths with both Trent and Kylian had flipped her world completely.
“Charlotte didn’t have to say anything for it to be true,” Rosa admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “She just said it out loud.”
“Fuck,” Trent huffed expression darkening at the mention of his ex. “She-.”
“She was right,” Rosa affirmed, a humourless laugh escaping her.
“No,” he repeated firmly. “Charlotte doesn’t know a fucking thing about you.”
Rosa looked away, blinking rapidly as fresh tears threatened to spill. She was tired of crying. Tired of feeling as though she constantly had to justify her existence to people who had already decided who she was before speaking to her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
The word seemed to ignite something in him, Trent dragged a hand through his hair before letting out a sharp breath.
“You think I’m fucking pretending?” he asked, trying not to take offence.
Rosa didn’t answer, her silence was answer enough.
For several seconds he simply stared at her, disbelief written across his face. Then he laughed once, though there wasn’t an ounce of humour in the sound.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t be,” Rosa laughed bitterly, though the sound broke halfway through. “I’m a fucking disaster.”
Her words hung between them, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, Trent’s expression softened completely.
It wasn't pity that registered in his expression it was worse, something that looked suspiciously like heartbreak and Rosa hated it.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” she murmured.
“Like what?” Trent asked.
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said, the muscle in his jaw clenching, as though he wasn’t saying every thing he truly wanted to say.
“Then stop looking at me like I just said something tragic.”
“You did.” Trent answered, not an ounce of judgment in his voice, just honesty.
“Trent, look at my life,” Rosa said as she looked away from him, another humourless laugh escaping her as she attempted to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
“No, you’re not,” her voice cracked unexpectedly. “You see the version of me you want to see.”
The accusation landed harder than she’d intended and she watched it take effect in real time. The way his shoulders stiffened, and his hands balled into fists.
“Isn’t it?” Rosa asked rhetorically, gesturing helplessly around the room.
“I’m twenty-six years old and I don’t know where home is. My family doesn’t speak to me. The people in your life think I’m some gold-digging escort who got lucky. Your ex practically called me a whore to my face…tonight and the worst part is that she wasn’t telling me anything I haven’t already heard.”
“I’m exhausted, Trent,” she continued, the admission coming out smaller than everything else. “I’m so tired of constantly having to prove I’m more than the worst thing people know about me.”
Silence settled over them for a moment, and when Trent finally spoke, his voice was quieter than it had been before.
“No, you don’t,” Rosa frowned. “I have no one, and that’s down to the decisions I made. If I knew I’d fuck things up this bad I would’ve just married Theo.”
“Don’t do that,” Trent said quietly.
“Blame yourself for life dealing you a shit hand,” Trent’s voice wasn’t angry anymore. If anything, he sounded tired. “You didn’t leave because you were reckless, Rosa. You left because you were miserable.”
“You don’t know that,” Rosa argued.
“How?” She laughed bitterly.
“Because every time you talk about that life, you sound like you’re describing somebody else’s.” Trent’s words caught her off guard, as he took a slow breath before continuing.
“You talk about the school. The dinners. Your law degree. The engagement. The future your parents planned out for you. But you never talk about wanting any of it,” he continued.
Rosa looked away because he was right. Even while she was living it, it had never felt like a life she had chosen for herself. More often than not, she had felt as though she was simply moving through somebody else’s carefully written story, hitting the milestones expected of her and smiling at the appropriate moments.
Theo had always spoken about their future with certainty, never curiosity. The law firm. The house. The children. The political connections their families would strengthen through marriage. Everything had already been decided long before she was asked what she wanted.
When Theo won, she won. When Theo failed, she felt the consequences. Her achievements were never really achievements at all; they were expectations she was supposed to meet quietly and gracefully.
Every success belonged to the future they were building together rather than to her as an individual, and somewhere along the way she had begun to disappear beneath the weight of it.
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “People hear where I came from and think I had everything. Maybe I did. Maybe that’s what makes this so much worse.”
Trent said nothing, allowing her to continue.
“My parents spent my entire life making sure every door was open for me. The best schools. The best opportunities. A future most people would kill for. And I threw it away.”
“You walked away from it.”
“The difference is that one sounds like a mistake and the other sounds like a choice.”
“Maybe Charlotte’s right. Maybe everybody’s right. Maybe I did throw my life away,” she sighed.
“No you didn't,” Trent’s expression darkened immediately.
“How can you say that so confidently?”
“Because last year in Miami, I met the version of you that lived on your own terms,” Trent said quietly.
Rosa’s throat tightened as she listened to him speak.
“Who would you be if you had stayed?” he replied immediately.
Rosa opened her mouth, ready with another argument, another defence, another reason why he was wrong, but nothing came out.
Because she knew the answer, or at least she knew enough of it.
She would have been Mrs. Theo Whitmore by now. Working at his father’s firm. Living in a house somebody else had chosen. Attending fundraisers and charity galas and campaign dinners where everybody knew her name but nobody really knew her.
She would have spent years making excuses for a man who only knew how to love her when she was convenient.
When he won, she would have celebrated. When he lost, she would have paid for it.
She would have become an expert at managing his moods, learning when to stay quiet and when to agree, learning how to smooth over arguments before they became something worse.
She would have convinced herself that the sharp comments didn’t matter. That the humiliation was temporary. That the way he spoke to her when he was angry wasn’t really who he was.
Because that was what she’d always done. The truth was that Theo had never needed to hit her for her to be afraid of him. His disappointment had always been enough.
The cutting remarks. The way he could make her feel small with a single look. The certainty that his opinions mattered more than hers. The way every disagreement somehow became evidence that she was ungrateful, emotional, difficult.
She had spent so long questioning herself that she’d almost forgotten how much of their relationship had been built on her silence.
“I would’ve disappeared,” she admitted quietly, the words hanging between them.
Trent didn’t interrupt, he didn’t rush to reassure her.
Rosa stared at the floor as memories she usually kept buried forced their way to the surface.
“There were days when I was in college I used to sit in my apartment and imagine getting in my car and just driving,” she confessed. “Not anywhere specific. Just away from everything. I used to think something was wrong with me.”
“Because I had everything I was supposed to want,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “The degree, the fiancé, the family, and somehow I was still miserable.”
For a moment neither of them spoke, and then Trent took another step closer.
“That doesn’t sound like somebody who threw her life away.”
“It doesn’t?” Rosa asked.
“No.” His gaze never leaving hers. “That sounds like somebody who saved it and chose themselves,”
“Stay,” Trent said after a few moments of silence, finally closing the distance between them. “In a few days we can leave here and head straight to New York, but don’t run.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not asking you to make any decisions tonight. I’m not asking you to forgive Charlotte. I’m not asking you to suddenly believe every good thing I think about you. I’m asking you not to run while you’re hurting.”
Rosa stared at him, and for a moment she couldn’t the words to speak. Because what he was asking of her sounded so simple, but nothing about remaining in Ibiza felt simple.
If she stayed, she would have to wake up tomorrow and face everything she had spent the evening trying to out run. Charlotte’s words. The humiliation. The uncertainty. The terrifying possibility that she was beginning to care far more than she ever intended to.
“I don’t know how to stay,” Rosa whispered, the confession was so quiet that Trent almost missed it.
“Start by coming here,” Trent murmured, stepping past her to close the open suitcase before carrying it back into the closet as if it weighed nothing, before returning with one of his hoodies.
“Arms up,” he murmured, a small smile spreading across his features as he raised her arms above her head, so Trent could remove her dress, leaving her standing before him in only a black thong.
Carefully placing her dress down on the bed, Trent replaced the gown with his hoodie.
“Much,” Rosa affirmed. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” Trent smirked, his hands finding her hips over the soft cotton so he could guide her over to the bed.
The sheets were cool as Rosa took a seat on the edge of the bed, her neck craning as she looked up at him to find his eyes were already on her.
Reaching for the hem of his T-shirt, Trent pulled it over his head before tossing it carelessly toward the chair in the corner.
Despite herself, Rosa couldn’t help but admire him as he stood before her. The sight wasn’t unfamiliar, not any more. If anything, that was the problem.
Over the past few days she’d become far too accustomed to waking up beside him, stealing sleepy glances when he wasn’t paying attention, catching herself staring when she thought he wouldn’t notice.
Yet somehow he still managed to catch her off guard.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft silver shadows across the room. The fading bruises from matches and training sessions mapped themselves across his skin. Familiar and real.
Not the untouchable athlete millions of people saw on television, just Trent, and for the first time since walking out of that restaurant on the Ibizan marina earlier that evening, Rosa felt her body exhale.
“There she is,” Trent smiled.
“That look, you have that at ease look again,” he explained.
“I don’t feel at ease,” she whispered as she watched Trent climb onto the bed.
“I know,” he said softly.
The answer making her breath hitch. There was no argument in his voice, no attempt to convince her she was over thinking. Just understanding.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled beside her, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
The villa was quiet around them, the distant sound of wind moving through the trees carrying faintly through the open balcony doors.
The room settled into silence. Not uncomfortable silence, the kind that only existed between two people who no longer felt the need to fill every moment with words.
Rosa sat with her back against the headboard, knees drawn toward her chest beneath the duvet. Beside her, Trent stretched out across the mattress, one arm tucked behind his head as he watched her.
Neither of them mentioned Charlotte again, neither of them mentioned New York or the flight that sat confirmed in her emails.
For the night, it was enough simply to exist in the same space, wind stirred the curtains, somewhere outside, a nocturnal bird called across the valley and eventually Rosa felt exhaustion catching up with her.
Not physical exhaustion, a deeper kind. The type that settled into your bones after carrying too much for too long.
Rosa had no idea what hour it was as she surfaced slowly from sleep, her cheek pressed against Trent’s warm chest as her phone vibrated sharply against the nightstand it rested upon.
For a few disorienting seconds she had no idea where she was. Then she felt the steady rise and fall of Trent beneath her cheek.
His arm was still wrapped around her waist beneath the comforter, holding her body against his even in his sleep.
The realization should have comforted her, instead, the sharp vibration coming from the nightstand immediately dragged her back to reality.
Rosa’s lips curled into a tired frown as she carefully reached across Trent’s chest, trying not to wake him.
The screen illuminated the dark room, her stomach tightening as she read Kylian’s name. It was well after midnight, and for a moment she considered ignoring it. Then the phone vibrated again.
Carefully lifting Trent’s arm from her waist, Rosa slipped from the bed, he stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
Grabbing the oversized hoodie she’d fallen asleep in, she padded barefoot across the room and stepped onto the balcony before answering, the cool night air greeted her instantly.
For a moment, all she heard was the faint rustle movement somewhere on his end.
“I want to see you,” he drawled.
Rosa’s breath caught. His words were so unexpected that for a moment she thought she’d misheard him.
On the other end of the line, Kylian exhaled slowly.
“I want to see you,” he repeated, the admission sounded strange coming from him, because Kylian never said things like that.
He was careful, measured, deliberate. The kind of man who thought before he spoke and rarely revealed more than he intended. Yet tonight there was something raw beneath the words.
“Are you still in Ibiza?”
“I want to see you,” Kylian repeated, his words settling heavily between them.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Rosa asked, the question lingering between them.
On the other end of the line, Kylian laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny, he knew there was no thing humorous about the situation.
“No,” he admitted honestly.
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I’m tired,” he answered, his voice was softer now. “Tired of being sensible.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Rosa quizzed.
“I regret telling you I wasn't interested in anything more than sex,” Kylian admitted. “I regret saying that you were my friend when I knew you meant so much more.”
“Why now?” Rosa frowned, her grip on the phone tightening.
“Because I watched you leave the restaurant tonight,” he sighed. “And I couldn’t convince myself it wasn’t my problem.”
“It isn't your problem, you're with someone.”
“And you are with Trent,” Kylian laughed dryly.
“Trent and I are not together,” Rosa corrected.
Rosa’s heart stuttered, the words taking enough effect to steal her breath.
Not let’s talk, or let’s have breakfast. Just three little words. Simple, yet dangerous.
On the other end of the line, Kylian remained silent, allowing them to settle between them. Below the balcony, the valley stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight.
Inside the bedroom, Trent slept only a few feet away.
The reality of that made something twist painfully inside her stomach.
“Kylian…” she whispered again.
“Can’t?” His exhale crackled softly through the phone.
“That’s not the same thing,” he said, another humourless laugh escaping him.
For a moment, neither spoke, allowing themselves a pause to think, with the lateness of the hour slowing both of their minds a little.
“Are you happy?” Kylian questioned.
Rosa closed her eyes because the question wasn't a complicated one, but it was something she didn't know how to answer.
The cool night breeze tugged at the hem of Trent’s hoodie as she leaned against the balcony railing. Below her, the valley slept beneath silver moonlight.
Inside, Trent slept too. Unknowingly waiting for an answer she wasn’t sure she had.
“Are you happy?” Kylian repeated quietly.
“I don’t know.” Rosa laughed softly, the sound tired and broken around the edges.
“It’s the only one I have,” she murmured. “Are you?”
“If I have to live with the regret of not trying with you, I won't be,” Kylian said, his words hanging between them, fragile and real. Rosa pressed the phone harder against her ear, as if proximity might bridge the distance her silence couldn't.
"Don't say that," she whispered.
"Which part? The regret, or the trying?" Kylian asked.
Inside, the bedsheets rustled as Trent shifted, maybe reaching for her warmth and finding only empty cotton.
"Both." She gripped the balcony railing until her knuckles lightened a shade. "You don't know me, Kylian. The version you met—"
"—was convenient." She cut him off, her jaw tightening. "Just convenient.”
