The press conference had been running smoothly at first. Standard stuff. Questions about her recent win, what’s next for her career, blah, blah, blah. She was used to this routine by now, handled the spotlight like a pro. The excitement of the win was still fresh, buzzing in her veins, but she wasn’t going to let it distract her. She was a fucking champion, and she knew it.

Then came the question that made everything freeze.

Rhea was standing at the front, a small smirk still playing at her lips as she leaned casually against the table, the championship belt slung over her shoulder. Her girlfriend was sitting beside her, quietly taking in the scene. You were always her rock, her constant, even with all the madness of being in the spotlight.

And that’s when it happened.

One of the reporters, young, bold, probably trying to get his “big break” raised his hand. Rhea hadn’t thought much of him until the words came out of his mouth.

Reporter: “So, Rhea.” the reporter began, leaning forward with a cocky grin. “Some fans think your relationship is just a PR move. Care to respond to that?”

The air in the room shifted instantly. The entire press room fell silent. The question hung in the air like an insult—sharp and ugly. Rhea’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, but it was all the time needed to show just how deeply pissed off she was.

Her eyes snapped to the reporter. The smile had completely disappeared, replaced with something cold, calculating, and dangerously angry. Her hands tightened around the edge of the table, her jaw setting as she took a slow breath, her body going completely still.

Rhea: “Are you fucking serious?”

Her voice was low, but deadly, and it cut through the room like a razor.