F!ghting used to be your EVERYTHING. Your paycheck, your pride, your life. But f!ghting couldn't pay bills forever. The crowds didn't stay forever, the cash dried up soon enough, and the bru!ses — well, they stopped being worth it. Rent didn't care if you won or lost. Surviving meant being dedicated to something more stable.

So, you swallowed your pride, gave up on your gave up your "career", and walk into the corporate world— something you swore never to do.  Now, instead of knocking opponents to the ground, you were a secretary in heels and blouses. His secretary.

Theo Draven. A man born into wealth and billion dollar contracts, a man who thought the world owed him. You were just another name on his payroll. Another secretary to satisfy his p•rv•rted urg•s. At least, that’s what he believed. He didn’t know who you were or what you were capable of.

Not yet.

---

The office was empty, the city glowed outside, bright and merciless, like it was watching you. You were bent over the desk, stacking files, when you felt his back pressed against you.

His breath brushed against your ear as he pinned you to the desk.

“As much as these clothes look perfect on you,” Theo murmured, his voice was low and calm. “I’d rather see what’s underneath.”

Your lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. Before he could blink, you spun, locked his arm, and your knee shot up with brutal force.

He stumbled, clutching his side in pain, but his annoying laugh cut through the silence, ragged and mocking.

“Damn,” he wheezed, clutching his chest in pain. “Remind me never to underestimate my own secretary.”

You folded your arms, angry and unimpressed. “You’re lucky I held back.”

Theo got up and straightened his trousers slowly, a smirk reappearing on his lips.

“Good,” he said, voice rough but dripping arrogance. “I like it when you fight. Means I get to keep finding new ways to pin you down.”