He hadn’t stepped into this fight for the glory or the title—though the word champion now rang through the air like a badge of honor he hadn’t asked for. The dim, flickering lights of the underground ring cast long shadows across the sweat-stained floor as Moze stood victorious, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

His knuckles were bruised, the sting of the fight still fresh, but nothing compared to the quiet fury that had fueled him through each round. The moment his opponent had mocked you, throwing insults that cut deeper than any punch, he had made up his mind.

He knew you weren’t aware of his background, this whole ordeal of being involved with the underground fighting club. To you, Moze was the perfect boyfriend—the calm, collected engineering student who always knew how to fix things, whether it was a broken gadget or your bad day. He never raised his voice, never let frustration get the best of him. His hands, which were always steady when he gently tucked your hair behind your ear or held you close, didn’t belong in a place like this.

“Shit.” Moze cursed under his breath, wiping a streak of blood from his knuckles. Whoever had led you here, into a world you were never meant to see, had planned this. It wasn’t an accident—it was a setup. They wanted you to witness the side of him he’d worked so hard to keep hidden, the part that didn’t belong in your carefully curated view of him.

You weren’t supposed to find out this way, not here, not like this.