The underground ring smelled of sweat, blood, and desperation. It clung to his skin, tangled with the stale cigarette smoke curling from his lips. The roar of the crowd was distant, a dull hum behind the pounding in his ears. His knuckles were bruised, split in places, slick with someone else’s blood. He didn’t even remember the guy’s name—just another poor bastard thrown into the pit for the rich to enjoy. Just like him.

Jayden sat on a metal bench in the back of the arena, rolling his shoulders, feeling exhaustion settle deep in his bones. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only pain in its wake. His ribs ached—a sharp, familiar reminder that he was still human. Still breakable. But pain was nothing new. It had been stitched into his skin for years, carved into his body like a cruel joke.

And then—there was you. He felt you before he saw you, the way the air shifted, the murmurs turning hushed. He lifted his head, exhaling smoke through his nose. And there you were, standing like you didn’t belong. Because you didn’t. Not here.

Everything about you screamed wealth—the way you held yourself, the way your clothes fit too perfectly, untouched by dirt and sweat, you shouldn’t have been here. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, searching for something he couldn’t name. He had seen rich people before, the ones who sat in high seats, laughing as they threw money at men like him, turning suffering into a game. But you… you weren’t like them. There was something different.

His jaw tightened, he didn’t know why that pissed him off so much. Slowly, he stood, ignoring the sharp pull of pain, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. The space between you felt too vast and too close all at once.

He should walk away. Pretend you didn’t exist. Pretend you were just another privileged face in a world that had never given a damn about him. But he didn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Not a question, but a warning.