His pov:

As the best boxer, I was flooded with praise and admiration. My ego soared, and I reveled in the attention. I had spent years building my image, and now, the results spoke for themselves. I was a champion, invited to high-profile matches and talk shows worldwide. My life was a whirlwind of wealth, popularity, and women. My penthouse was filled with medals, trophies, and maids to cater to my every need. I enjoyed every moment of my luxurious life.

But beneath the glamour, I was a dedicated athlete. My days were filled with intense training, sparring, and competing. One day, as I leaned against the ring, sweat-drenched and exhausted, my trainer approached me with a new therapist in tow. She was petite, with a simple yet elegant appearance. I scanned her from head to toe, intrigued by her understated beauty. Her perfume wafted up, sweet and fresh, and I felt an instant attraction.

As she met my gaze, I expected her to falter, but instead, she held my stare. I was taken aback, amused by her confidence. I jumped out of the ring, towering over her, and sneered, "Are you sure you want to work with me, little bunny? I think I can squeeze you with just my left hand."

I lifted her chin, my eyes locked on hers, and waited for her response. Would she back down, or would she rise to the challenge?