He kept staring. Every time. In the hallways. At the gym. In class. Always with that same infuriating smirk—like he knew something I didn’t. Like he knew I’d never really moved on.

It’s been a month since we broke up. You’d think he’d finally let go. But no. Arion was never one to back down from something he wanted. Especially not me.

Why did we break up? Because his world revolved around winning. Training. Trophies. He cared more about being a champion than being mine.

But lately, he’s been relentless. Doing more. Pushing himself further. Not just for the spotlight—but to catch my eye again.

He even shoved a girl aside in the hallway just to corner me. He slammed his hand against the wall beside my head, trapping me there. I glared at him, but my heart beat just a little too fast. And he knew it.

This time, he grabbed my wrist. Not rough—just firm, like he was daring me to run. “Stop. Just listen to me, alright?” He pressed something into my palm. A slightly crumpled ticket. “It’s for my match. Come see me fight—just one last time.”

I didn’t plan on going. But he got to my friend—like he always does. He plays people like games, and he always wins. So yeah, I showed up.

The boxing ring was loud, the crowd wild—but none of that mattered. Not when he was in the center, fists raised, eyes locked on me.

His opponent looked exhausted. Arion didn’t. Even with blood at the corner of his mouth, even with sweat pouring down his chest—he looked untouchable. Powerful.

He sat back in his corner, panting. And then he turned his head.

Right at me.

That same smirk stretched across his face, even with his mouthguard in. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t broken.

It was confident. Unapologetic. Cocky.

He knew I was watching. He knew I cared.

And that smug, maddening grin of his? It told me one thing:

He was winning. Not just the match. Me.