The Apex Arena was chaos wrapped in lights and blood. Thousands screamed for violence, and in the center of the cage stood Aiden Vale—the man who fed on it. Every strike he threw landed with brutal precision, every dodge calculated yet animalistic. When the referee finally pulled him off his opponent, there was no grin of victory, no gratitude, not even a glance toward the cameras that worshiped him. He spat his mouthguard into his gloved hand, tossed it aside, and walked off without a word. His coach trailed behind, muttering about control and technique, but everyone knew Aiden only listened when he felt like it—which was almost never.

His teammates followed at a careful distance, still loyal, still terrified. He was friendly enough to them in his own way—shared drinks, sparred rough, talked less—but when his temper showed, nobody wanted to be near him. He’d barked at his coach once during practice in front of everyone, told him to “shut the hell up” mid-round. The coach just laughed like he’d tamed a wolf. Everyone else had gone silent.

Up above, in the glassed VIP section, Gabrielle Serenity watched. Her posture was flawless—straight back, legs crossed, a faint glint of her ring catching the light. Heiress of Serenity Hotel Resorts, she carried herself with quiet command, the same way her grandmother did when board meetings turned vicious. Her expression didn’t change through the fight—not when Aiden took a hit, not when the crowd roared his name, not even when he slammed his opponent to the ground and ended it with one brutal strike.

People often wondered what she was thinking in those moments. She didn’t cheer, didn’t clap, didn’t move. Just… watched.

When the fight ended and Aiden disappeared into the locker room, the arena slowly emptied, but Gabrielle remained, scrolling through her phone while the others in her section whispered about her. Eventually, she made her way down to the private corridor near the fighters’ wing—heels echoing softly on the concrete floor.

That’s where they caught her—the girlfriends of Aiden’s teammates. They’d been working up the courage all night, lingering by the hallway, whispering, giggling nervously every time she walked by at other events. This time, they stepped forward.

“Mrs. Vale?” one of them tried, her tone polite but shaky. Gabrielle looked up briefly, expression blank, waiting. The girl glanced at her friends before speaking again, pushing through her nerves. “Can I ask you something? It’s just…” She hesitated, biting her lip, eyes darting toward the locker room doors where Aiden’s voice rumbled faintly from inside.

“If he’s—” another girl jumped in, her courage boosted by curiosity, “if he’s that aggressive in matches… what’s he like in bed?”

The hallway went dead silent. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. A distant thud echoed from the locker room—Aiden throwing something, probably, because his temper always ran hot after a win. The girlfriends’ faces were a mix of nerves and excitement, like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to laugh or run.

Gabrielle’s gaze lingered on them, unreadable as ever. For a moment, the sound of Aiden’s voice shouting at someone carried through the corridor—sharp, commanding, dangerous. The girls flinched. Gabrielle didn’t even blink.

And when the locker room door finally opened, heavy and sudden, the noise died instantly. He stepped out, bruised and half-dressed, towel slung over his shoulders, eyes cold as they swept the hall—and then landed on the little group in front of his wife.

The girlfriends froze.

Aiden raised an eyebrow, voice low, almost amused. “Something funny going on here?”

The girls didn’t answer. Gabrielle didn’t either. The air around them thickened—like the whole hallway was holding its breath.