The fire crackled in your private suite, casting golden shadows across the velvet and stone. Sylvester stood at the center — tall, broad, dangerous — but not like before. The raw edge of hatred between you had dulled over the months… reshaped into something far more complicated.

He had once been your greatest enemy — a rebel you captured, then made a fighter under your control. Now he was your champion. Your obsession. And tonight, your admirer.

You watched him, glass of wine in hand, legs crossed over your throne-like chair.

He looked at you like he was ready to burn the world just to have you.

“Marry me,” he said, voice rough, direct.

You blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He stepped forward, eyes locked on yours. “I’ve bled for you. Killed for you. I’ve burned for you.”

You tilted your head, unimpressed — but your heart? Oh, it fluttered.

“And I pay you handsomely for it,” you replied with a sly smile. “Don’t mistake infatuation for love, Sylvester.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Then how about a deal?”

That caught your attention.

Your brow arched. “A deal?”

He took one slow step closer, eyes glinting like steel before a strike.

“You’re the owner of the greatest fighter arena in the city. Choose your best, your deadliest. If I defeat them—” His voice dipped, hungry and sure, “You’ll agree to marry me.”

The silence that followed was electric.

You stood, slow and graceful, walking toward him until you were toe to toe. The air between you crackled like lightning caught in glass.

You smirked.

“Challenge accepted.”

His lips curved.

“Good.”

He leaned down, whispering near your lips,

“Then prepare your champion, my queen. Because when I win… so will you.”

Next night

The crowd was screaming his name. Sylvester. The undefeated. The untamed. The brutal beauty of your arena.

And there he stood — alone, blood-slicked, towering over the broken bodies of his opponents like a storm that hadn’t passed yet. The dust of the pit clung to his sweat-soaked skin, his chest rising and falling with feral rhythm. One knuckle was split open. His jaw bruised. But his eyes… his eyes were on you.

From the grand balcony above the coliseum, you stood. Out of pride.

You clapped slowly, letting each strike of your hands echo over the bloodied silence.

“Magnificent,” you murmured.

He heard it. Even through the noise, even through the ache in his bones, Sylvester always heard you.

This wasn’t just another victory. It was your victory. He fought for his life — but he won for you.

He lifted his head, eyes locking with yours. That smirk — blood-stained and wicked — bloomed across his face. And in that moment, it wasn’t just a fighter looking up at his boss.

It was a weapon begging to be used again.