**PROLOGUE; KILLIAN**

I’ve always kept my distance. It’s how I survive in this business—cold, calculated, and alone.

I don’t let anyone close enough to matter. But this partnership?

It’s messing with everything.

It was supposed to be simple—an act. Fake chemistry, all for the cameras, a way to boost our image. But somewhere along the way, those lines started to blur.

Every time she looks at me, every time she challenges me with that relentless energy, something shifts. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met—her determination is palpable, and damn if it doesn’t make me question everything.

I didn’t sign up for this.

I didn’t sign up to feel anything.

I didn’t sign up to get tangled in someone else’s world.

But she won’t back off. She refuses to let me shut her out.

And now I’m caught in this tangled mess of pretend affection, the lines starting to blur. I don’t want to care.

I can’t afford to.

I’ve learned the hard way what happens when you let someone in. When you let yourself feel too much. It always ends badly.

Still, here I am, wondering if this partnership is more than just a show. More than just for the cameras.

I don’t know how to fight this. I’ve never been good at letting people in.

But she’s different.

And for once, I’m not sure how to keep this from falling apart.

**CHAPTER ONE; KILLIAN**

The locker room smells like sweat, leather, and disinfectant, the kind of smell that’s both familiar and suffocating. I try to breathe, but it feels like my chest is too tight, like there’s something pressing on me from the inside. The sound of the crowd bleeds through the thick walls, but it’s muffled, distant. Right now, all I hear is the rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat. It’s loud, way too loud.

I look at myself in the mirror. I can barely recognize the guy staring back at me. I’ve been out of the game for too long. The man I see in the mirror is not the guy who held the title, who basked in the glow of the arena lights, whose name was chanted by thousands. That guy is gone. That guy got taken out in the blink of an eye. He was thrown aside by an injury that nearly destroyed my career.

The dull ache in my shoulder is constant, like a reminder that I’m not invincible anymore. My knees crack when I bend them, and every movement is a calculation. Will this hurt? Can I still go the distance?

I close my eyes for a second, squeezing the muscles in my jaw to hold back the frustration. But then the memory comes crashing back. The sharp snap in my shoulder. The way my arm twisted out of place. The sickening thud of my body hitting the mat. My breath had caught in my throat, my body frozen in pain, my mind screaming in disbelief.

I remember the moment I’d realized something was wrong. A small misstep in the match, and then instant pain—a white-hot searing in my shoulder, my body crumpling to the ground like a rag doll. The crowd had gone silent for what felt like eternity. And then I was on my back, staring up at the lights, everything I worked for slipping through my fingers.

The moment felt like it stretched for hours, every second dragging, each one heavier than the last. I could still hear the muffled voices of the medics as they rushed to my side. But nothing made it real until I saw the look on the ref’s face—a grimace, like he already knew what had happened before I even had the chance to process it.

I can almost feel the sting in my shoulder again. A dull, constant reminder that I’m not the man I used to be. A few months ago, I would’ve been walking into the ring with confidence. Now, I’m walking in with fear in my gut, wondering if my body will hold up.

The memories hit me hard. The sound of the snap still rings in my ears, haunting every movement. I can’t shake it. Every time I stretch, every time I try to push my body further, that voice in the back of my head is telling me to stop. To protect myself.

I force myself to breathe, trying to focus on the present, but I can still see it—the moment when I thought I had lost everything.

I try to move through my stretches, but there’s a stiffness in my joints that makes every movement feel foreign. My body’s not what it used to be, and the self-doubt creeps in again.

I press my palm to the mirror and close my eyes, taking in a slow breath, trying to steady myself. But the memories come flooding back—the sharp snap in my shoulder, the sickening thud as I hit the mat, the sharp pain that shot through my body. I hadn’t been prepared for it, hadn’t been ready for everything to come to a screeching halt. I wasn’t just out of the match. I was out of everything. Out of my career, out of the ring, out of the world I knew.

I can almost feel the sting in my shoulder again. A dull, constant reminder that I’m not the man I used to be. A few months ago, I would’ve been walking into the ring with confidence. Now, I’m walking in with fear in my gut, wondering if my body will hold up.

“Killian.”

I hear the voice before I see him. Aiden Holt walks into the locker room, his heavy footsteps familiar, grounding me. He’s been my mentor since I started, and his reputation precedes him—The Rebel King. He’s been through his own struggles, and he’s always the guy who talks about the mental game, something I’ve barely been able to wrap my head around lately.

Aiden’s the guy who’s been through hell and back, too. A former champion, just like me. But unlike me, he’s never had his career yanked out from under him. He knows the game better than anyone, and he’s the one who’s been pushing me through this recovery.

The man stands tall, a quiet force in the room. He’s got the same intense look now as he always does before a match. His messy black hair falls over his forehead, and his eyes are sharp, scanning the room, making sure everything’s in place. There’s something about the way he carries himself—confident, but not arrogant. He’s always been the type to lead by example, and right now, I need that more than anything.

“Ready?” Aiden asks, his voice calm but with that edge that means he’s not messing around.

I try to flex my fingers, but the tension’s too much. I feel the muscles in my arms pull as I stretch, feeling that familiar pain, that constant reminder of my injury. It’s a low hum under my skin, a constant buzzing in my head. Every movement, every stretch, every step forward is a gamble.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, Aiden,” I mutter, staring at myself in the mirror. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. This match means everything. Not just for my career, but for who I am. If I fail—if I don’t deliver—then what am I left with?

Aiden’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t show the concern I expect. He knows how to read me better than anyone.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, his tone reassuring but firm. “You’ve put in the work. You’ve earned your shot.” He steps closer, his hand coming down on my shoulder, a grounding touch. “You’ve been through worse. You’ll rise again.”

The words hit me harder than they should. He’s right. I’ve been holding onto the past, trying to get back to that version of me, but maybe it’s time to accept the reality: I need to rebuild.

I take a deep breath and stand up, my legs a little shakier than they should be. I grab my gloves, the leather worn and familiar, but even they feel different in my hands. The crowd’s noise is getting louder now, filling the air like a living, breathing thing. I hate that it’s so overwhelming, but I know it’s something I’ll have to deal with. I can’t avoid it. I can’t avoid any of it.

A knock at the door interrupts our conversation. I turn toward it, annoyed at the interruption, but when the door opens, I see Jason Turner, the guy I’m facing tonight. He’s been making noise about how he’s going to take me down, how I’m just a washed-up has-been. The press has been eating it up, and I’m sure he’s been loving every second of it.

“You ready for the match, old man?” Jason’s voice is dripping with sarcasm as he leans against the door frame, his arms crossed.

I stare at him for a moment, the irritation boiling in my veins. He’s younger, faster, and clearly thinks this is going to be a walk in the park. But there’s one thing he doesn’t know: I don’t go down easy.

“Do I look ready?” I ask, voice low and controlled, but there’s a fire behind it that I can’t suppress.

Jason laughs, clearly not taking me seriously. He steps further into the locker room, looking around like he owns the place. “You sure about that? You’ve been out for what—two years now? We’ll see if you can still go the distance.”

I can feel my jaw clenching, but I keep my composure. He’s trying to get under my skin. He’s trying to shake me up before the match. But I’m not going to let him.

Aiden steps in, his body blocking Jason from getting any closer. “Enough, kid,” Aiden says, his voice sharp. “Save it for the ring.”

Jason scowls but doesn’t push it. He knows Aiden’s reputation, and I know he’s not foolish enough to start a fight with him. But the words still sting. The doubt in his eyes is something I’ll carry with me into the match tonight. He thinks I’m finished. And maybe, in some ways, he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go down without a fight.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror, feeling the weight of the moment settle around me. This is it. No more pretending. It’s time to prove that I’m not done, that I still belong in the ring. I’m going to remind everyone why they called me the best.

As I turn to leave the locker room, I catch a glimpse of someone just outside the door—Brielle Hart. I see her for just a second, her bright blonde hair catching the light as she walks down the hall toward her match. She doesn’t notice me, but there’s something in the way she carries herself. Her eyes are focused, determined. She’s walking with purpose, like she’s got everything under control, even though I know she’s still finding her footing.

She looks like she knows exactly who she is. The kind of person you can’t help but watch, even if you don’t mean to.

I barely register the flicker of curiosity that crosses my mind before I’m swallowed by the noise of the arena.

The crowd outside roars louder, the lights flickering as they shine down on the stage, and I step toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I walk past Aiden, he claps me on the back. “Let’s show them who you are, Killian.”

I nod, trying to push aside the doubt that’s been creeping up on me all day. I’ve got one shot at this. There’s no turning back now.