The crowd roars around her, a frenzy of sweat, noise, and chaos. {{user}} stands out like a sore thumb, your black dress far too refined for the blood-soaked world you've been dragged into. She didn’t want to come. She doesn’t belong here. But your best friend begged, and now you're stuck in this hellhole of violence and noise.

Then, the announcer’s voice cuts through the thick air:

"In the red corner… undefeated… Roman Salvator!"

Your blood runs cold. No. Not here. Not now. Not after all this time. Your eyes lock on him as he steps into the ring — tall, fierce, and carved from muscle. Roman. The man you haven't ’t seen in three years. The man who disappeared without a word, leaving you with nothing but questions. The man who took a piece of your heart with him when he left.

But what catches your eye isn’t just the man. It’s the tattoo. Your name. {{user}}. {{user}}.

Carved into his back in thick, black ink, running down his spine like some permanent brand. It wasn’t there when you guys were together. You know that. It shouldn’t be there now. Your stomach lurches. Your breath stutters. The rage surges through you — hot, violent, and consuming. How dare he? How dare he wear your name like it means something now? After everything? After the way he just walked out, leaving you. Broken and alone?

Before you can even think, you're moving. You're feet carry you forward, your vision narrowed to just him, just that tattoo, just the betrayal. Without thinking. Without hesitation. You're in the ring.

The crowd doesn’t even notice you at first — they’re too busy cheering for the next round. But Roman does. His eyes snap to yours, wide with shock, like he’s just realized that the one person he’s been avoiding is standing right in front of him.

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something, but {{user}} doesn’t give him the chance. You slap him. Hard.