Then Konstantin’s gone.
“So…where is Aleksei?”
Kirill smirks, lifting a glass from the cup holder. “You’ll see.”
His answer does nothing to ease the tightening in my chest. My hands twist in my lap as the crowd grows louder.
The match ends. One man collapses to the ground, and the other lifts his blood-soaked fists in victory. My stomach turns.
When the second match is announced, I register the first name, something Russian, and it doesn’t mean anything to me. But as soon as the second name is called, my heart slams into my ribs.
“Aleksei Marinov.”
“Oh my God. He fights?” I ask Kirill, jerking forward in my seat.
My eyes dart to the entrance of the ring, and there he is.
“He used to. A lot,” Kirill says. “But he hasn’t in a while, not until you.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
Kirill laughs. “Never mind. Just watch. He never loses.”
Aleksei emerges from the shadows like a nightmare I haven’t stopped dreaming. Shirtless. Blood streaked across his shoulder, maybe from an earlier fight. His face is a mask of violence. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp and deadly.
He hasn’t seen me yet. But I can’t stop staring, like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Then the fight begins.
Every movement he makes is calculated destruction, his fists landing with precision, his body a weapon. He doesn’t flinch or pause. He hits like he’s exorcising something, like every strike is meant to silence the war inside him.
Blood splatters from his opponent. Still, he doesn’t stop. He goes harder.
Watching him like this feels wrong, like I’ve stumbled into a moment I was never meant to see. But beneath the brutality, I see it: the way he takes a punch to his torso without blocking, like he wants the pain. Like he needs it.
My lungs forget how to work.
Because I want him to win. I want him whole. I want him safe.
The crowd roars with every hit, but it’s background noise. All I can focus on is him. The sharp flex of his muscles, the way he dodges each swing without even breaking rhythm. And when the other man starts to falter, Aleksei just keeps going, methodical and merciless, until the man hits the ground with a sound that silences the room for half a breath.
Aleksei doesn’t stop. He circles once, making sure it’s over, then stands tall under the harsh lights. His chest rises and falls steadily, not a single trace of blood on his face. He looks like he could go another ten rounds and walk away untouched.
Then…he turns.
Our eyes meet.
The noise fades, every shout dissolving into a dull hum. The air between us tightens, and it’s like the whole world pulls taut around that one look. His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers there. Disbelief, maybe. A quiet jolt that mirrors the one tearing through me.
My heart kicks painfully against my ribs, and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. Neither can he.
He doesn’t move toward me. Doesn’t say a word. He just stares, frozen in place, like the fight, the crowd, all of it ceases to matter.
And that’s when it happens. The punch comes hard and fast.
“Aleksei!” I shout.
But it’s already too late.
