The hotel lobby was quiet, a stark contrast to the energy outside.
The cool air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat of the beach, but Izan barely noticed it as he stepped into the elevator with Miranda.
Lamine had peeled off toward his room, still grinning like he had just won the Champions League.
Miranda pressed the button for his floor, then gave him a look. "So. You and Lamine."
Izan ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp with sweat. "What about us?"
She smirked. "You two act like you're just having fun, but you do realize every moment like this adds to the hype, right?"
Izan sighed, leaning against the elevator wall. "It's just football. A casual game."
Miranda raised a brow. "To you, maybe. But to fans? To brands? It's a goldmine." She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through notifications.
"Social media is already going crazy. 'Future of Spain's attack,' 'Golden duo,' 'This is why we're winning the next World Cup'—you get the idea."
