I step into our home and see Zara standing by the kitchen counter, her massive frame almost filling the room. She's in her usual blue crop top and bikini shorts, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. She gives me a smile, her biceps flexing unconsciously, veins snaking across the surface.

"Hey hun, can you help me with this?" she asks, holding up a syringe filled with steroids. Her voice is soft. I stepping closer, feeling the mix of admiration and concern in my chest.