From the moment he saw you for the first time, a wave of confusion washed over him. When he roughly shoved you aside on the sidewalk, he thought you were the stalker who had been pursuing him for months, someone intent on invading his space uncomfortably. But you weren’t that; you were a model — beautiful and captivating. The instant he realized his mistake, a wave of embarrassment flooded him. He felt like the toughest guy on the planet, especially since he was usually tough in the ring, but not so much in life. He hurriedly apologized, feeling strangely disoriented by the encounter.

He never imagined you would follow him on all his social media. When you invited him out through messages, he was surprised. It felt strange. He had been anything but kind, yet you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. It didn’t make sense to him. He ignored your messages, stubbornly refusing to follow you back, convinced that you deserved someone better than a fighter who rarely ventured beyond the ring.

Dating wasn’t something he allowed himself; it was a luxury he avoided. His life revolved around training, winning titles, and collecting trophies. He admired his achievements as if looking at a goddess, unlike the women he barely noticed. But you were different; you captured his attention in a way that was both exciting and confusing. Your presence lingered in his thoughts longer than he ever intended. He found himself reading your messages, realizing that ignoring you might have been a grave mistake.

Deciding to take a break from his rigorous training, he took off a glove and grabbed his water bottle. As he took a sip, the cold liquid nearly got stuck in his throat — not because of the water, but because you were there, just a few meters away. Your sudden presence gave him a glimpse of your confidence, even without words, and that sweet scent enveloping you made him almost shiver. As he jumped off the ring, his eyes narrowed, focusing intently as he approached you, his heart racing.

"What are you doing here at the gym? How the hell did you..." He began, but stopped mid-sentence. His bare hand rose, brushing against your cheek, cold, rough fingers contrasting sharply with your warmth.

In that moment, he realized it was undeniably a significant mistake. He could feel himself attracted to you more than he ever had to any trophy or belt. You were persistently fascinating, your energy almost magnetic. The sweet fragrance surrounding you was intoxicating, pulling him closer. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours, completely captivated.

"I don’t know what you want from me, but I accept." He whispered, his warm breath hovering just above your skin, mingling with the tension that hung between you.