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The energy in the arena becomes palpable, electric. This is what everyone came to see—two fighters at the top of their game, ready to test themselves against each other in the most primitive competition known to man.

Ben's entrance music begins to play, a driving rock anthem that makes the crowd surge to their feet. I watch as my brother emerges from the tunnel, his face a mask of concentration. He moves with the fluid confidence of a predator, acknowledging the crowd's cheers but keeping his focus internal.

He looks good. Better than good—he looks like a champion.

The bell rings, signaling the start of Ben's fight. I force myself to focus on the ring where my brother circles his opponent with fluid grace. Reyes is a solid fighter, experienced and dangerous, but Ben moves like he's already won this fight in his mind.

Ben starts with light jabs, testing Reyes's defense, measuring distance and timing. Reyes responds with a cross that Ben checks easily, then follows with a combination that Ben slips with minimal movement. The crowd murmurs appreciatively at the technical display.

"He's looking sharp," Marcus observes.

I nod, watching as Ben continues to work behind his jab. Reyes is trying to establish his own rhythm, throwing heavy shots that would end the fight if they landed, but Ben's footwork keeps him just out of range.

Two minutes into the first round, Ben sees his opening. Reyes overcommits to a right cross, leaving himself exposed for just a fraction of a second. Ben steps inside the punch and lands a devastating uppercut that snaps Reyes's head back violently.

The crowd explodes as Reyes stumbles backward, his legs betraying him. Ben doesn't waste the opportunity. He follows with a precise left hook that sends Reyes crashing to the canvas, his body going limp before he hits the mat.

The referee is there instantly, waving his arms to signal the end of the fight. Ben has won by knockout in the first round, a statement victory that announces his arrival as a legitimate title contender.

"Damn," Marcus says appreciatively. "Your brother's gotten good."

I nod, genuinely proud despite the tension coiling through my body. "He always had the talent."

The arena erupts in celebration as Ben raises his arms in victory, his face split by a massive grin.

The crowd is on its feet, chanting his name, appreciating the clinical precision of the knockout.

This is the kind of performance that makes careers, the kind of statement that puts a fighter on the map.

As the celebration continues around us, I watch Vega lead Audrey from their seats, his hand possessively at the small of her back. They'll be heading to the locker room to congratulate Ben personally, which means I'll see her again within minutes.

"Let's go congratulate Ben," I tell Marcus, already moving toward the exit that will take us backstage.

The locker room area is controlled chaos.

Trainers, managers, and cornermen move with purpose while the sounds of celebration echo from behind closed doors.

The narrow hallways are packed with people trying to get to Ben's locker room, everyone wanting to congratulate the new star or position themselves for future opportunities.

By the time we reach Ben's locker room, he's already surrounded by well-wishers, including Vega and Audrey.

Ben sits on the bench, still breathing hard from the fight but grinning like a man who just conquered the world.

His hands are still wrapped, and there's a small cut above his left eye, but otherwise, he looks untouched.

"There he is!" Ben calls when he spots me, his face flushed with victory and adrenaline. "Did you see that combination in the first round?"

"Flawless," I say, clapping him on the shoulder. "You've improved."

Ben beams at the praise, then turns to include Vega in the conversation. "Couldn't have done it without my sponsor. Gio's been instrumental in getting me fights like this."

Vega nods, accepting the credit with practiced humility. "Ben has natural talent. I just provide the opportunities."

My gaze shifts to Audrey, who stands slightly behind Vega, her expression carefully neutral.

She's changed out of the red dress from earlier, now wearing a black cocktail dress that's appropriate for the post-fight celebrations.

Our eyes lock for a brief, electric moment before she looks away, a flush creeping up her neck.

"That knockout was beautiful," Vega continues, his accent thickening with excitement. "Technical precision combined with devastating power. The networks are going to love this footage."

"Reyes was tough," Ben says, unwrapping his hands with practiced efficiency. "But I've been working on that uppercut for months. Knew it would be there if I was patient."

"Patience is the mark of a champion," Vega agrees. "Speaking of which, we should celebrate tonight's victory properly."

"I'm up for it," Ben says enthusiastically. "Where did you have in mind?"

"The Summit," Vega announces. "I've already made arrangements for a private section. You should join us, Reign. And Marcus, of course."

The Summit is Cooper Heights' most exclusive gaming club, the kind of place where high-stakes poker games run all night and discretion is guaranteed.

"Great idea," Ben says. "It would be good to catch up, Reign. It's been too long."

I don't take my eyes off Audrey as I answer. "Wouldn't miss it."

Her face pales slightly, the only indication that my presence affects her.

"Perfect," Vega says, oblivious to the current running between me and his supposed fiancée. "Give us an hour to get cleaned up and head over."

"What time?" Marcus asks.

"Say, eleven o'clock?" Vega replies. "I'll have them reserve the VIP section."

"We'll be there," I confirm.

The trainer interrupts to check Ben's cut, and the conversation shifts to post-fight medical protocols.

As the group begins to disperse, Audrey glances back at me, her eyes meeting mine for a brief, charged moment.

In that look, I see a flicker of the woman who surrendered to me in San Diego.

Vulnerable, passionate, real. Then it's gone, replaced by the careful mask of Audrey Worthington, society princess and perfect fiancée.

But it doesn't matter what mask she wears. Her body remembers mine.

"You sure about this?" Marcus asks once they're gone.

I watch through the doorway as Vega guides Audrey down the corridor, his hand on her back. The sight makes something primitive and violent surge in my chest.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Vega's not going to just step aside. Guy like that doesn't give up what he considers his."

"Then he's going to learn what happens when someone takes what's mine."

Marcus studies my face for a long moment, reading the determination there. "Alright. But we do this smart. Ben's career is tied to Vega's goodwill, and your brother doesn't deserve to get caught in the crossfire."

He's right. Ben has worked too hard to get where he is, and I won't let my personal vendetta destroy his future. But that doesn't mean I'm walking away from Audrey. It just means I need to be more careful about how I get her back.

"I know," I say. "Which is why we're going to that party."

Two hours later, Marcus and I arrive at the Summit.

The building sits in the heart of Cooper Heights' financial district, a converted bank from the 1920s that maintains its original marble facade and brass fixtures.

The main floor houses the public gaming area, but the real action happens on the upper floors, in private rooms where the stakes are higher and the players more dangerous.

Vega has reserved the entire third floor for tonight's celebration. By the time we arrive, the party is already in full swing. The room buzzes with conversation and laughter, the sound of chips clicking against each other, and the soft hum of air conditioning working to clear the cigar smoke.

I move toward a corner booth that offers clear sightlines to the bar while remaining partially hidden from the main floor. "Let's find a table with a good view."

Marcus follows, settling into the seat across from me.

Ben holds court near the main poker table, still riding the high of his victory.

He's changed into a tailored suit that makes him look like a young businessman rather than a fighter, and he's clearly enjoying the attention from the various power brokers and potential sponsors who want to associate themselves with his success.

Vega himself moves through the room like a politician working a crowd, shaking hands and making introductions. He's in his element here, comfortable with the power dynamics and unspoken hierarchies that govern this world.

And there, sitting at a corner table with an untouched martini in front of her, is Audrey.

She's changed clothes again, now wearing a simple black dress that manages to be both elegant and understated.

Her hair is pulled back in a sleek style that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck, and she wears minimal jewelry—just small diamond earrings and her engagement ring.

She looks beautiful. She also looks miserable.

“So, what's the plan?" Marcus asks, following my gaze.

"I need to get her alone," I say, my eyes never leaving Audrey. "Even for just a few minutes."

Marcus nods, unsurprised. He's known me long enough to recognize when I've made up my mind about something—or someone.

"Whatever you're planning, I'm with you," he says simply. "Just like always."

The conversation around Vega's group becomes more animated, with several men gesturing toward the poker table.

I can see them trying to convince him to join the high-stakes game that's been running all evening.

Vega seems interested but keeps glancing at Audrey, clearly reluctant to leave her alone.

"He's protective," Marcus observes.

"Possessive," I correct.

We continue to watch as the group dynamics shift. Ben joins the conversation, his enthusiasm infectious as he describes the knockout again. The attention shifts to him, giving Audrey a moment to step back from the center of attention.

That's when I see my opportunity.

Ben makes his way over to our table, still energized from his victory and the attention he's receiving. "Mind if I sit for a minute? Need a break from all the congratulations."

"Course," Marcus says, sliding over to make room. "Hell of a fight tonight."

"Thanks." Ben settles into the booth, accepting the beer Marcus signals for from a passing server. "I still can't believe I dropped him that clean. Felt perfect when it landed."

"Looked perfect, too," I tell him. "That uppercut was surgical."

Ben grins, clearly still processing his victory. "Gio's already talking about bigger fights. Says this performance opens doors that were closed before."

I watch as Audrey extracts herself from Vega's grip with practiced ease across the room.

She leans in, says something that makes him nod, then slips away from the main party.

Her movements are casual, unhurried, but I recognize the subtle tension in her shoulders. She's escaping, if only temporarily.

"Where's she going?" Marcus asks quietly, noticing my attention shift.

"Restrooms," I say, watching as Audrey makes her way toward a hallway that leads away from the main floor. "This might be my chance."

Ben looks confused by our sudden change in topic, but Marcus understands immediately.

"Cover for me if Vega starts looking for her," I tell Marcus.

"Always," Marcus says with a nod.

I move through the crowd with practiced ease; years of security work having taught me how to navigate spaces without drawing attention. I keep Audrey in my peripheral vision, maintaining enough distance that she won't notice me following but close enough that I don't lose her in the crowd.

She turns down a hallway that leads to the private bathrooms, away from the noise and eyes of the party.

The corridor is dimly lit, the music from the main room muffled by distance and thick walls.

I check for security cameras, spotting one aimed at the hallway entrance but none covering the bathroom doors themselves.

I watch as she slips into the women's restroom, glancing over her shoulder once before disappearing inside. The hallway is empty now, offering a rare moment of privacy in this very public space.

This is my chance. My opportunity to get answers. To understand why the woman who gave herself to me so completely in San Diego is now wearing another man's ring. To see if the connection that blazed between us that night still burns beneath the polished exterior of Audrey Worthington.

Without hesitation, I move toward the bathroom door. I can hear the soft sound of water running, then silence. I wait a moment longer, ensuring the hallway remains empty, then push open the door and step inside.

Audrey stands at the marble sink, her hands gripping the edge as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. When she sees me in the reflection, her entire body goes rigid.

"We need to talk."