Chapter 1
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LUKE Something’s wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, lying just below the surface and waiting to emerge from its cocoon. I feel defeated before the ring of the bell even matters.
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For the last seven weeks, everything’s been… quiet. Jackson and Delia are officially presumed dead.
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Across the gym, my phone sits on the bench where I left it. I checked it three times in the ten minutes before climbing into the ring without realizing I was doing it.
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Here I am, waiting. For what, I don’t know.
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To put a finer point on it, that’s exactly what’s wrong… what’s off. Just the next move—and that’s the problem. I don’t know where the next hit is coming from. Only that it is coming. There’s no way to guard against something like that.
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There’s a dark sedan parked at the curb across the street. The car is probably nothing, but I’m hyper-vigilant now, and I can’t turn it off.
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The second my feet hit the floor, my phone lights up. It’s a news notification. Why Unsanctioned Boxing Matches Are Illegal
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I don’t need to read the article to know what it’s about. It’s a targeted jab at me… about my past fights,
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If they can use my past underground, unsanctioned fights to block my sanctioned rise, they’ll destroy me on the six o’clock news and sleep like a baby later.
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The quiet is officially over, and a new fight—one outside the ring—has just begun.
Chapter 1
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ANDI The phone vibrates on Luke’s nightstand, and I groan slightly in frustration.
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He needs a rest day and his sleep to help his body repair itself after his grueling workouts. Luke still hasn’t stirred, and whoever it is can wait until we’re both ready to rise and shine.
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Before I even open my eyes, my chest constricts with that familiar sensation of tension and anxiety. It’s from pure instinct.
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Luke rolls onto his back and grabs his phone, squinting at the screen as he forces his heavy eyes to focus on the words. I watch his expression change, and my stomach drops.
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Whatever he sees, I already know it’s about to change our world.
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“What is it?” I ask, already sitting up and waiting for the news.
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He doesn’t answer right away. Then he turns the screen toward me, knowing I’ll want to see it for myself, anyway. Georgia State Athletic Commission Announces Review of Luke Woods’ Boxing License
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My phone lights up at the same time. Morgan Youth Outreach—Donation Structure Flagged for Inquiry
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I’m just close enough that denial becomes irrelevant… and I’ve been here before. The language sounds neutral while effectively positioning me as a suspect in everyone’s mind.
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The campaign starts as psychological warfare. If we don’t bend or break under the initial public scrutiny, the collective “they” will tighten the screws and up the ante.
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Jackson and Delia ruined so many people with the same approach when I lived in their house. I was too young to understand what they were doing or recognize the pattern at the time, but their tactics are clear to me now.
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My heart breaks knowing what Luke’s about to face because whoever is pulling the strings finally found a way in.
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If I can’t be hurt directly, the default setting is to annihilate everything I love—Luke, his career, the youth center—anything that results in leverage against me.
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Now that their secrets are exposed, the fallout will be colossal.
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He fights in patterns. He always has. But he’s used to fair fights, referees, and trustworthy scorekeepers. We don’t have that luxury anymore.
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“They escalated it,” he says. “But why?” I ask. “Why now, after all this time?”
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He shakes his head. “The why doesn’t matter yet.” But it does matter.
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The youth center is clean. Every donation has been tracked. Every expense has been documented. I built it that way on purpose. After everything they put me through. After what they did to me the first time. They don’t get a second chance at trying to shut down my center again.
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Luke stops pacing and looks at me. “They’re lining this up.” The way he says it makes my stomach drop.
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“Who is lining what up, Luke? We don’t even know who we’re fighting yet.”
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He doesn’t answer directly. He reaches for his phone again. “I’m calling Brandon.”
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“He’s coming over.”“Okay.”“And he’s bringing Marin.”
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“She’s his top-tier fix-it girl,” he says. “She does crisis management. Governance, compliance, that sort of thing. He said she’s handled stuff bigger than this, and he trusts her to help us navigate this political maze.”
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I nod, not in agreement but in slow deliberation, something inside me shifting as the words register—crisis management, compliance, governance. Language built on structure and order. On control. On the subtle authority to decide what the story becomes, and who gets to tell it. What our story becomes.
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Brandon trusts her. That should make me feel better. It doesn’t.
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Luke walks up to me and cups my face in his hands. “Baby, we’re not going through this alone,” he says.
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“This doesn’t scare me.” I put my hand on his, reaffirming our connection. He studies me for a moment. “It should.”
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“Not if you’re in it with me.”“I’m with you.”
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