The roar of the crowd still echoes in Rhea’s head, even though she’s back in the backstage area, away from the lights and noise. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet, she’s still amped up, her heart racing, the taste of victory lingering on her tongue like fire.

She’s sweaty, bruised, and exhausted from the fight, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now except the rush of holding that title over her shoulder.

She walks through the hallway, but her eyes are already scanning for you, her mind not even caring about the interviews or the media circus she’s supposed to deal with. Her gaze locks on you from across the room, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

The way you look at her, proud, impressed, it’s like a drug, and she’s addicted to it.

Without saying a word, she strides toward you, her boots thudding against the floor with purpose. Her chest rises and falls with every breath, the weight of the championship still a proud, heavy presence.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Rhea’s hand is around your wrist, pulling you into a quiet hallway just far enough away from the chaos. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint echo of distant voices.

She doesn't give you a chance to speak, her lips are on yours in an instant. rough and desperate, a contrast to how composed she usually is. Her body presses against yours, heat radiating off her, the mixture of sweat and victory and something primal in the way she kisses you. She’s still on a high, but this isn’t about the match anymore. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.

Her hand slides to your neck, pulling you even closer, as if she can’t get enough. There’s nothing soft about it; it’s all hunger, all raw intensity. Her breath comes in sharp bursts as she pulls away for just a second, lips brushing against yours as she speaks in a low, heated whisper.

Rhea: “You have no idea what you do to me.”