Page 82 of Made for Wilde

Even the ones who usually drift through class are alert now, their eyes locked on the padded ring where they’ll finally get to test what they’ve learned.

“Remember, this isn’t about hurting each other,” I announce as I scan the room. “It’s about applying technique under pressure. Control your power. Focus on form.”

Some of the bigger guys look disappointed at this reminder. There are always a few who show up thinking boxing is just about hitting hard. They learn quick enough that precision beats power every time.

“I’ll demonstrate first with a volunteer,” I continue, eyes landing on Adrian De Luca at the edge of the group. “Adrian, you’re up.”

A murmur ripples through the class.

Adrian looks surprised, his dark eyebrows shooting up before his face settles into something more controlled.

“You’ve shown the most improvement over the past few weeks,” I explain, gesturing him toward the ring. “Let’s show everyone what consistent training can accomplish.”

The other students nod in agreement, a few clapping Adrian on the back as he moves forward. He’s been putting in extra work, and it shows. His lean frame has filled out with new muscle, his movements more purposeful than the awkward rich kid who first showed up to class. The designer workout gear still looks out of place, but he carries himself differently now.

I climb into the ring after him and shrug off my trainer’s jacket. The students’ eyes track the movement, taking in the tattoos covering my arms and chest. I’m used to the stares. The wolf pack running across my pectoral tends to draw attention.

Adrian watches me with unusual focus. He’s already in his stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

“We’ll go fifty percent power,” I tell him, reaching for the headgear hanging on the corner post. “Focus on technique, not knockouts.”

Adrian nods but doesn’t reply. His eyes have a flat, distant quality that sends a whisper of warning through my mind.

I strap on my own headgear and think back to the way Adrian reacted to seeing me and Charlotte together earlier today. I tell myself it’s just awkwardness. But now, watching the intensity in his stance, I wonder if there’s more to it.

Could Charlotte be the girl he mentioned having feelings for?

The pieces certainly fit. His family owns her beauty school. He’d have plenty of opportunities to see her, develop feelings. The thought makes my jaw clench, but I force myself to focus on the lesson.

“Ready?” I ask, raising my gloves.

Adrian nods again, and we touch gloves in the center of the ring. The class falls silent.

We circle each other slowly, testing distance and timing. Adrian’s footwork is solid, his guard tight. I throw a lazy jab to gauge his reaction, and he slips it cleanly. Good. The kid’s been listening.

I up the pace slightly, throwing combinations at quarter speed. Adrian responds well, blocking and countering with controlled precision. This is exactly what I want the class to see—technical boxing, not a brawl.

“See how he maintains his guard even while moving?” I call to the students while Adrian and I continue our measured dance. “Defense first, always.”

Adrian throws a combination that I block easily. His form is clean, and the power is controlled exactly as instructed. For a moment, I think this demonstration will go perfectly.

Then something shifts in his eyes.

The next punch comes harder than it should. Instead of fifty percent, it’s more like eighty. I absorb it on my forearms and frown at the sudden escalation.

“Easy,” I warn him quietly, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the class.

But Adrian’s already throwing again, and this time there’s real heat behind it. A hook whistles past my ear.

“Adrian,” I growl, backing up a step. “Bring it down.”

He doesn’t respond. The awkward rich kid from earlier has vanished, replaced by someone I don’t recognize. He presses forward aggressively, throwing combinations with increasing power.

I’m forced to defend more seriously now, blocking and slipping punches that could genuinely hurt if they landed clean. Murmurs start to ripple through the room as the students sense the change in atmosphere.

Adrian feints high, then goes low with a body shot that forces me to drop my guard. In that split second of adjustment, he pivots and throws a perfect right hook toward my temple.

I see it coming but not fast enough.