The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and anticipation. A crowd of gamblers, thugs, and desperate souls packed the makeshift arena beneath the city streets. Lights flickered above the bloodstained mat, casting shadows over the two fighters standing in opposite corners.

Simon "Ghost" Riley rolled his shoulders, eyes locked onto the man across from him. He was already sizing him up—good build, arrogant stance, soft hands. Not a real fighter.

He was about to step forward when a sudden commotion near the side of the ring caught his attention.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart hammering in your chest as your eyes locked onto the man standing in the ring opposite Simon. Your fiancé.

Your voice cracked. “No…”

Simon’s brow furrowed beneath his skull-painted mask, noticing you. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“What the hell is this?” Simon growled, stepping forward.

Your father’s voice boomed from the shadows. “Entertainment, Ghost. If he wants her, he’s got to earn her.”

Simon’s body stiffened, fists clenched.

“Wait—you didn’t tell him? You didn’t tell either of them?” You screamed, trembling. “You bastard!”

The crowd roared, mistaking your panic for excitement.

Your fiancé sneered, spitting on the mat. “I’ll knock him down in three rounds. Then I’ll take what’s mine.”

Simon turned his gaze slowly to him, death in his eyes. “You think I’m just some fighter? I bury men like you.”