Chapter 45: Stalking
If you were to randomly stop a fan on the street and ask them who the hottest young prospect in English football is right now, there's a high chance the name they'd shout would be—Vardy.
With four goals in three consecutive appearances for Everton, Vardy has set the league alight. This level of clinical finishing, combined with blistering pace and intelligent movement, is astonishing especially considering he's not yet 18. These are the kind of numbers usually reserved for seasoned strikers, not a newcomer still finding his place in senior football.
Even Wayne Rooney, once dubbed "The Wonder Kid" and the youngest goal scorer for England, managed eight goals in his entire debut Premier League season with Everton. Vardy already has half of that tally in just over 270 minutes of football.
The media can't get enough. Headlines like "A New King for the Lions", "Vardy: The Prodigal Predator", and "England's Future Strike Force: Rooney and Vardy" dominate the back pages. Pundits are already projecting England's attacking future: with Rooney orchestrating play from deep and Vardy running riot ahead, the Three Lions might just have their post-Golden Generation answer.
Meanwhile, on the receiving end of the 4–0 demolition at Goodison Park, Sheffield Wednesday were left humiliated none more so than their recently sacked head coach, Wilson. The fact that Vardy once ruthlessly released from Wednesday's youth ranks by Wilson was the architect of their defeat only twisted the knife further.
Wilson couldn't even lift his head at the post-match press conference. When pressed about releasing Vardy years ago, all he could muster was incoherent muttering. The club, under immense pressure from furious fans, terminated his contract within 48 hours of the match, citing "irreparable loss of confidence and judgment."
In the world of football, being sacked isn't uncommon. Most managers bounce between clubs, finding new homes, rebuilding reputations. But Wilson's case was different his failure wasn't tactical, it was visionary. Letting a generational talent like Vardy go? It was unforgivable. No club would want to take a chance on someone whose biggest legacy was misjudging England's brightest prospect.
Maybe it was time for him to consider a different kind of job—perhaps behind the wheel of a delivery truck.
And Vardy? He wasn't about to shed any tears. He'd been discarded, doubted, dismissed. Watching Wilson get his comeuppance was deeply satisfying.
But the aftermath wasn't all celebratory. The loyal supporters of Sheffield Wednesday, especially the older generation who had followed the club through highs and heartbreaks, had a different perspective. Many of them pleaded some in wheelchairs, others wiping tears away on national television for Vardy to return home and lead Wednesday back to the Championship.
It tore at Vardy's heart a little. The old love hadn't disappeared completely. But that door was closed.
Even Wednesday's chairman made a public plea, offering Vardy the captain's armband and a promise to build the squad around him. But Everton quickly shut down the speculation, issuing a firm statement: "Vardy is contracted to Everton on a long-term loan from Manchester United and will remain part of our project through the next two seasons."
Manchester United's response was even colder. "Vardy is ours. Why would we send him back to the very club that failed to recognize his value?"
The whole ordeal was likely a PR stunt or a nostalgic gesture but either way, Vardy returning to Sheffield Wednesday was never realistic. His talent belonged on bigger stages now. But even as the noise died down, new chaos emerged.
Vardy found himself being stalked not by scouts or rival clubs, but by something far worse: Alyssa.
"I love you, Jamie! Ham kept trying to chase me but I didn't say yes! I only rejected you back then to motivate you look, you've done it! It's time for us to be together. Kiss me, baby!"
Vardy stood frozen in his doorway, staring at the heavily made-up girl blocking his path. His skin crawled at the sickly scent of cheap perfume. Somehow, she had tracked down his apartment and was now trying to rekindle a relationship that never existed.
"Back off," Vardy said, stepping away sharply. "Please maintain some personal space. That perfume is criminal."
Alyssa pouted, playing the victim. "Are you mad at me, honey?" she whimpered in a voice that made passersby shoot curious glances their way as if Vardy were breaking her heart in public.
It was absurd. And nauseating.
Vardy shook his head slightly. "That's not it. It's because I'd long forgotten someone like you even existed."
It was hard to tell if Alyssa had graduated from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, because her tears came right on cue—as if she were filming a melodrama.
"Jamie, I really love you. You can't treat me like this!"
Brows furrowed in frustration, Vardy took a deep breath. The woman in front of him drenched in perfume and dramatics was the last thing he wanted to deal with after training and media pressure.
"I'm sorry," he said coldly. "We barely know each other. Please, don't disturb me again. I need rest. Alright?"
He turned to head back into the house, hoping to escape the awkward encounter, but before he could step forward, a hand grabbed his arm tightly.
Turning back, he saw Alyssa clutching him like a lifeline, refusing to let go. There was desperation in her eyes, a twisted mix of regret and entitlement.
"I really can't live without you!"
"I pushed you away back then because I wanted to motivate you can't you see? Now that you've made it, you're just going to abandon me?"
Vardy's patience snapped. He tried to shake her off, but her grip held firm. If this continued, it seemed he might need to call security or the police.
Just as he reached into his pocket for his phone, a familiar figure appeared in the distance Anne. Relief swept through Vardy like a cool breeze. His frown disappeared in an instant.
Alyssa, noticing the change in his expression, smiled triumphantly. She thought her teary monologue had melted his heart. But her joy was short-lived.
"Annie! Over here!" Vardy waved cheerfully.
Anne, sensing something was up, quickly walked over. She wasn't sure what was happening, but the situation was clearly tense.
As Alyssa turned and saw Anne poised, elegant, and naturally beautiful her expression froze. It was like watching a social media influencer walk straight out of a glossy magazine. Alyssa, suddenly insecure, shrank inward.
Before she could say anything, Vardy stepped up his performance.
"Annie, where were you just now?" he asked with a grin. "I've already set the table we're having a romantic candlelit dinner tonight, sweetheart."
He then gave Anne a subtle wink.
Anne immediately caught on. With a playful smile, she slipped her arm around Vardy and said, "Honey, who's this woman? Why is she all over you?"
Alyssa's grip on Vardy's arm faltered. Her hand dropped away, as if burned.
She stood frozen in place. This had gone very, very wrong.
She had come here expecting Vardy to fall at her feet. Instead, she'd walked straight into emotional quicksand.
Not only was Vardy no longer interested he clearly had someone far better. And not just in looks though Anne outshone her effortlessly but in confidence, poise, and authenticity. Even the perfume she wore had an expensive subtlety to it, not the cloying artificiality Alyssa had chosen.
For a moment, Alyssa tried to salvage her pride by clinging to her old excuse. I only rejected him to motivate him. But even she knew it was a lie a flimsy rationalization for her shallowness.
Now, the regret hit hard.
Frustration. Rage. Shame. Embarrassment.
It all boiled over inside her until she couldn't take it anymore.
"You two… you both can go to hell!" she shrieked suddenly, before storming off, tears streaming down her face, heels clacking furiously on the pavement.
Vardy and Anne stood there in stunned silence for a second, then exchanged amused glances.
"I guess she wasn't a fan of our dinner plans," Anne said wryly.
Vardy chuckled. "Guess not. But thanks for saving me. You really deserve a bottle of wine for that performance."
"Only one?" she teased.
They both laughed, the tension evaporating as quickly as Alyssa had fled.
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