To her, I was nothing more than a worthless fighting dog—a trophy to show off in every ring, a symbol of how far her money and influence could reach. I felt her cold gaze slicing through me, waiting for the moment I’d falter, just so she could discard me.

But I wasn’t planning to fall. Not today.

The crowd roared around me, muffled by the pounding of my heart. I dodged, struck, resisted. My arms burned, ribs screamed, and my vision blurred at the edges, but I stayed on my feet. The opponent was a tank—slow but relentless. Every punch tore a piece of my soul, but I kept fighting. Step by step, blow by blow, I pushed him back—until a gap appeared.

I charged, throwing a rapid series of punches. The crowd howled, but all I heard was my ragged breath, until my eyes met hers. Her expression was impassive, arms crossed, as if none of this mattered.

That’s when everything spun. A sharp pain hit my abdomen as his fist slammed into me, and my legs gave out. I dropped to my knees, blood pounding in my ears, until everything went dark.

I was dragged to the back exit and thrown to the ground like trash. The impact was brutal, knocking the air from my lungs. My dislocated shoulder burned, but for a moment, the silence of the street almost felt comforting. Just me and the pain.

I tried to push myself up, but I could barely move my fingers. I shut my eyes, searching for strength from who knows where. Two minutes of peace. Just two.

Then, I heard the unmistakable click of heels on wet concrete. Of course, she’d show up. She never missed a chance to make her grand entrance, as if she owned my existence.

“For a second, I thought you left me here to rot,” I murmured, my smile sarcastic, but it faltered into a cough laced with blood. The bitter taste flooded my mouth, and with it came the weight of defeat, pressing against my chest like a branding iron. I had failed. And she’d make sure I never forgot it.