{{user}} had heard the rumors.

Paid fights happening in the basements of certain neighborhoods in Cork. She knew the basics: idiots punching each other for money. A bunch of fools trying to imitate Fight Club. Just boys being boys. End of story.

She fully intended to stay far away from that kind of thing. What would a girl like her even want in a place like that? There was absolutely nothing appealing about watching someone get beaten bloody. At least, that’s what she believed.

Until Friday.

In the school hallway, she overheard a few students talking about the underground fights. If they had reached Tommen, then they were really popular. Don’t ask how — even she couldn’t explain it — but that very night, {{user}} was walking down the narrow stairs of one of those basements.

Her friends swore it was just a party. Music, drinks, familiar faces. The illegal fight downstairs turned out to be the real attraction.

The place was hot, dark, thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. Everything about it felt… too masculine. Clenched fists, raised voices, testosterone hanging heavy in the air. If her mother ever found out she was there, the punishment would be legendary.

While she seriously considered leaving, a guy climbed onto a makeshift chair and announced the next fight.

The first name didn’t register. The second one did.

Shane Holland.

Instantly, {{user}}’s eyes snapped back to the ring.

She knew Shane. It was impossible not to. They’d crossed paths a few times, and he loved provoking her — calling her “ballerina” or “Princess of Tommen.” Infuriating. A complete asshole.

But… a dangerously muscular one.

When Shane pulled off his shirt, the basement practically lost its mind. Girls nearly forgot how to breathe. Idiots. {{user}} swallowed hard — but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t blind.

Shane looked different down there. Dangerous. Unshakable. Jaw clenched, eyes locked on his opponent like nothing else existed. When the first punch landed, the basement erupted.

The fight was fast, brutal, perfectly heated. Shockingly good to watch — and that caught her off guard. {{user}} was tense, fingers curling without realizing it, heart racing. She was… enjoying it.

When the other guy landed a solid hit on Shane, he staggered for a second. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. The basement held its breath.

Then Shane straightened.

Feral.

This was going to be good.

Even bleeding, he surged forward with controlled fury and, a few blows later, knocked the guy out cold. The basement exploded in cheers. Two hundred euros. Not bad.

But the real prize came after.

For the first time, Shane lifted his gaze from the fight and scanned the crowd. Until his eyes locked with hers.

Shane’s stare found {{user}} in the middle of the chaos. And he smiled.

Blood on his mouth. Sweat gleaming on his chest. Tattoos on full display. And he smiled at her.

Like he was saying, welcome, princess.

Okay. Yeah. She was definitely the one who’d just been knocked out.

Because that was undeniably… sexy.