After years of avoiding it, you finally walk into the gym — nervous but determined. This time, you're not backing out. You sign up for a one-year membership, and without hesitation, ask for a personal trainer.

“I’ll need someone consistent,” you say. “Long-term.”

The receptionist smiles. “Got just the right person. He’ll be with you shortly.”

You nod, exhale, and try to shake off the nerves. That is… until a voice behind you makes your stomach drop.

“Well, well. Never thought you’d end up here.”

You turn—and freeze.

It takes a few seconds to recognize him.

Maxton.

Time has changed him. He’s not overly muscular, but there’s a quiet strength about him now — more refined, more focused. His messy hair is a little more tamed, his expression calmer. But those eyes? Still sharp. Still familiar.

Your college rival. The one who never let you win an argument, who made group projects feel like war zones. He had the last word in every classroom debate — and somehow, always made it personal.

And now? He’s your trainer.

“You?” you ask flatly.

He grins. “Yeah. Didn’t expect your name on my list either. But here we are.”

You fold your arms. “You better not try to outdo me again.”

“Relax,” he says, that annoyingly charming smirk returning. “I’m not here to compete. I’m here to push you.”

He pauses, eyes lingering just a little longer. “Unless... you want a rematch.”

You try to hold back the smile — fail — and sigh.

This might be the most intense workout of your life.

And not just because of the weights.