Islam Makhachev has always been controlled.
Discipline, routine, silence.
He built his whole life on strict order — emotions locked away, desires buried, everything in perfect balance.
But then you walked into his gym.
New. Unaware.
And his balance shattered the moment he saw you move across the mats for the first time.
You didn’t greet him. You didn’t even look his way.
But Islam saw you.
He saw everything.
The way you tied your hair. The way you pushed yourself during drills. The way you focused — completely unaware of the storm forming behind his calm eyes.
He told himself it was nothing.
But the thought returned every night.
Mine.
A word he had never used for anyone. A word that scared him — yet thrilled him.
Weeks passed, and he found himself searching for you every time he entered the gym.
His routine changed: he trained earlier, then later, then at hours he never used — almost as if he were testing the universe, waiting to see where you would appear next.
And every time you did…
the same thought whispered in the back of his mind.
Mine.
It became automatic, obsessive, a silent claim you never gave him permission to make — but one he felt regardless.
You still didn’t know him.
You still hadn’t spoken a single word to him.
And yet Islam already felt the truth settle deep inside his chest like a brand:
You belong to him. You just don’t realize it yet.
One evening he saw you laughing — with another fighter.
You were training together.
Smiling.
His stomach turned into something sharp and electric. His jaw locked, breath heavy, vision narrowing on the man beside you.
The first true spark of fury he’d felt in years burned through him.
Not because the man touched you.
But because he thought he could.
Islam’s hands tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms.
Not jealousy — no, it was deeper, darker, consuming.
A cold, possessive certainty:
No one else gets to be near her like that. No one else gets to take what is mine.
He watched every detail — the distance between you, the tone of your voice, the way the man looked at you.
A threat.
An obstacle.
Something that should not exist.
Islam’s mind worked quietly, meticulously, already calculating how to erase this problem from your world — not through harm, but through control, domination of the space, creating boundaries the other fighter wouldn’t dare cross.
There’s no line he wouldn’t cross for him to disappear.
removing him from your orbit? Of making sure you stop noticing him?
That…
he could do.
And he would.
Because one day —
sooner or later,
you will understand what he already knows:
You’re his. You just don’t see it yet.
And Islam has all the patience in the world
to wait for you to realize it.