~*~Reunion~*~
Paris, One Week Before Into the Void
Charles de Gaulle Airport
The rhythmic hum of arriving flights echoed through the terminal, underscored by the occasional ding of an overhead announcement. Bella Madison adjusted the strap of her oversized tote bag for the third time, her fingers twitching with nervous anticipation. Her eyes scanned the crowd just beyond the international arrivals gate, searching for one face—no, two—that would make her whole world light up again.
Next to her, Malachi O’Connell sipped at a lukewarm espresso, equally focused, his foot tapping unconsciously on the polished tile. He looked calm to the untrained eye, but Bella could tell by the slight tension in his jaw that he was just as antsy as she was.
"Do you think she missed us?" Bella asked with a crooked smile, trying to ease her own nerves.
“Knowing our daughter, she’s probably already plotting how to take over the Eiffel Tower,” Mal replied dryly, though there was a twinkle in his eye.
Bella chuckled, the laugh easing the tightness in her chest. She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.
“You know she’s going to pretend she didn’t miss us at all,” she said.
“Absolutely,” Mal agreed with a nod. “She’ll act like she runs the show now.”
A burst of movement at the gate made them both straighten. A flight had just landed, and a wave of travelers spilled out into the terminal. Tourists with neck pillows still clinging to their shoulders, businesspeople glued to phones, sleepy-eyed children dragged along by equally exhausted parents.
And then—there she was.
“There’s my girl,” Bella whispered, already halfway in motion.
Máire came toddling into view, her curly hair a bouncing halo as she held tightly onto her grandmother’s hand. Aileen O’Connell, as elegant and sharp-eyed as ever, wore a soft smile as she guided the almost two-year-old through the throng of people. The moment her granddaughter spotted Bella and Malachi, she let out a gleeful squeal and launched forward.
“Mama!”
“Hi, baby!” Bella cried, dropping to her knees with open arms just in time to catch her.
Máire barreled into her with all the force and excitement of a tiny hurricane. Bella held her close, breathing in that familiar, comforting scent of baby shampoo and crumpled toddler travel. She pressed kisses to her daughter’s cheek while Máire babbled and pointed excitedly.
Mal was next, scooping them both into a tight family hug, placing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head and another on Máire’s forehead. His voice was quiet when he spoke.
“Home again.”
Aileen arrived moments later, watching the reunion with warm eyes and a soft, tired laugh. “Well now, that’s the welcome I hoped for.”
Bella stood, still cradling Máire in her arms. “You spoiled her, didn’t you?”
“I educated her,” Aileen corrected with a mockingly stern tone. “And maybe a little spoiling. But she was an absolute angel.”
Mal took their bags while Bella wrapped her free arm around Aileen for a hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of her,” Bella said sincerely.
Aileen gave her a firm squeeze in return. “She’s easy to love. And I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Paris with the O’Connells and the Madisons? How could I say no?”
As they began to head toward the exit, Bella grinned, her heart full. “Wait until you meet up with my mom. You two have so much to catch up on and are either going to become best friends... or team up and run us both into the ground.”
Aileen laughed as she gave Mal a sideways glance. “Well, I do like a strong woman who can keep my son in line.”
Bella winked. “So does she.”
The group continued on toward the car, reunited at last and ready for the final days before Into the Void. And as the family stepped out into the glowing Parisian sun, Bella felt something settle inside her—a peace, a purpose. She was whole again.
And soon, the world would remember why that made her dangerous.
~*~Later That Evening~*~
A cozy Parisian flat overlooking the Seine
The apartment was alive with the soft clatter of cutlery, quiet conversation, and the gentle sound of Máire giggling as she padded barefoot across the wooden floor, trailing a plush duck behind her. The nearly two-year-old had taken quickly to the flat, exploring every corner with endless curiosity.
At the round dining table, Aileen O’Connell and Laura Phoenix sat together, their wine glasses half-full as they looked on with warm smiles. It had been a few years since they last shared a room, but time hadn’t frayed the bond forged through family—and now, through their shared granddaughter.
“I swear she’s gotten taller since this morning,” Aileen said, shaking her head with a chuckle. “Must be all that New York sunshine.”
“She’s growing too fast,” Bella replied, leaning over from the kitchenette to drop a small plate of cheese and bread on the table. “Feels like I blink and she’s onto the next stage. Walking. Talking. Climbing everything she’s not supposed to.”
“Definitely a Madison,” Laura teased.
“Excuse me, that would be Madison-dash-O’Connell,” Mal corrected playfully as he entered from the hallway, scooping Máire up with ease and tossing her gently into the air. The toddler squealed with delight.
Aileen beamed at the sight, then turned to Bella. “Thank you again for this week. It means so much to be here with you all.”
“Of course,” Bella said, taking her seat beside her mother. “There are times it feels like we barely get to see you, except for those video calls. I wanted you to spend time with Máire more than anything and well....Paris means a lot to me and to Mal as well… and I wanted this week to be more than just a lead-up to the match. I wanted our family here. To remind me what matters.”
Laura’s expression softened as she placed a hand on Bella’s arm. “You’ve made a beautiful life for yourself, honey. And you’ve earned every piece of it.”
Bella gave a quiet nod, her eyes flicking to Mal as he sat on the rug with Máire, building a tiny tower of blocks. “It hasn’t always been easy. There were a lot of times I didn’t think I’d get here.”
Aileen looked over, curious but respectful. “Back in Paris?”
Bella leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I mean, Mal tries to get us back here every so often but- This city changed me. It’s where I really started to find my voice—not just as a woman or a student—but as me. There was a time I let other people define me, control the narrative. People like Reverend Synn.”
Laura’s brow furrowed at the name, but she said nothing.
Bella continued, her tone thoughtful. “Even Mercedes, back in the day. That first feud with her… it lit a fire in me. I stood up for myself. Proved I wasn’t just a placeholder or was riding on my mother’s name. I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that I belonged. And now, here we are. Years later, and I’m the Internet champion. She’s the challenger.”
Aileen gave a small, approving nod. “And I imagine you’re going to remind her of that.”
Bella smiled—not smugly, but with a quiet, earned confidence. “Oh, I will. But more than that… I’m going to remind myself, too.”
Máire waddled up then, clutching a single block in her hand and holding it out proudly.
“For me?” Bella asked.
Her daughter nodded solemnly.
She took it, held it gently in her palm, and exchanged a look with Mal. “Thank you, princess.”
Máire gave a somewhat toothy grin before she toddled her way back to her daddy.
There were still challenges ahead, always would be—but in that moment, surrounded by family, Bella Madison felt centered. Rooted. Ready.
~*~ Spotlight in the City of Light~*~
Paris – Midweek Before Into the Void
Studio: Bonjour Matin Live!
The morning light spilled in through the tall studio windows as cameras rolled and stage assistants whispered final cues. The warm hum of Paris awakened just outside, the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance behind the show’s iconic floor-to-ceiling glass backdrop.
“Five seconds,” a producer called out in French. “Quatre… trois…”
The bright studio lights intensified just as the show’s theme music faded.
“Bonjour à tous, and welcome back to Bonjour Matin Live!” the poised French host smiled directly at the camera. “This weekend LIVE at the Accor Arena Sin City Wrestling will close out their Viking Era Tour with the ALWAYS thrilling supershow, Into The Void IX. Today, we’re joined by a very special guest — an international wrestling champion, world traveler, and someone who proudly calls Paris her second home… please welcome SCW Bombshell Internet Champion, Bella Madison!”
The applause cue sounded softly as the camera panned to Bella, seated gracefully across from the host. She wore a sharp white blazer over a black fitted top, the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship resting on a display stand beside her. Her posture was poised, but relaxed — confident.
“Bonjour, Bella,” the host greeted warmly.
“Bonjour,” Bella replied with a bright smile. “Thank you so much for having me.”
“It’s our pleasure. You’re back in Paris — not just to enjoy the city — but to defend your championship at Into the Void this weekend. What does it mean to be doing that here, of all places?”
Bella leaned in slightly. “It means the world to me. Paris is where I finished college. It’s where- Where I found myself. Where my husband and I fell in love. It’s always been more than just a city for me — it’s where I learned to stand on my own. So, to return here, 6 years later, with this championship… it feels like coming full circle.”
The host nodded, intrigued. “And your opponent, Mercedes Vargas, is no stranger to you.”
“No, she’s not,” Bella answered with a knowing smile. “We’ve been down this road before. Back then, I was still learning to speak up, still finding my edge. Mercedes tried to break me, even bully me— the same way she’s broken a lot of women in this business. But I didn’t just survive her. I stood up to her in the loudest way possible AND I beat her. And now, with everything we’ve both been through… it’s only fitting that we meet again here.”
The host smiled with admiration. “You speak like a warrior.”
“Because that’s exactly what I am. The world of professional wrestling is not for the meak. This whole tour has been called the Viking Era Tour, every single one of them in their own way were great warriors. It’s great way to honor them.”
The camera zoomed in slightly as the host continued.
“One last question. There are a lot of young fans — especially young girls — watching right now. What do you hope they see when they watch you walk into that ring this weekend?”
Bella’s eyes lit up with the question. “I hope they see someone who was told she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t tough enough, wasn’t right enough — and did it anyway. Someone who didn’t fit into a mold, who made her own path. I want them to know that you don’t have to be what they expect. You just have to be you.”
The host smiled. “Beautifully said.”
Then, as the show began to wrap, he leaned toward her with one final prompt. “Would you mind addressing your Parisian fans in French before we go to break?”
Bella nodded without hesitation. She turned slightly toward the camera, a smile playing across her lips — warm, fierce, and full of pride.
“Je vous invite toutes et tous à venir me voir défendre ce championnat ici, dans la ville qui m’a tant donnée. Paris est ma maison de cœur — et ce week-end, je vais me battre comme la guerrière que je suis pour conserver ce titre. Venez voir une vraie Bombshell briller sur votre sol.”
The applause came naturally, rising with her words. The host gave an approving nod, repeating, “Magnifique.”
As the show transitioned to commercial, Bella sat back, her smile lingering.
She wasn’t just passing through Paris.
She was staking her claim.
Outside the Studio – Bonjour Matin Live!
The studio lights dimmed behind her as Bella stepped off the set, exhaling the kind of breath you only let go of after you’ve said everything you needed to say.
She rounded the corner and spotted them instantly.
Malachi stood tall near the studio’s lobby windows, cradling a wriggling, giggling Máire who had just about enough patience for grown-up things. Aileen, ever the anchor of calm, was crouched beside them, tickling the little girl’s feet and chatting warmly with a young production assistant in halting but charming French.
Bella’s smile bloomed as she approached. “There’s my girl,” she said softly.
Máire turned at her voice, face lighting up as she reached her arms toward her mother. “Mama!”
Bella scooped her up with practiced ease, pressing a kiss to her dark curls as Mal stepped forward, brushing his hand along Bella’s lower back with a proud grin.
“You were great in there,” he said. “Could hear the passion in your voice, even from the greenroom.”
She leaned into him, her arms wrapped tightly around their daughter. “Felt good. I needed that.”
They didn’t get far.
A ripple of camera flashes followed by sharp, rapid French voices broke the moment like a snapped wire. A handful of reporters — tipped off by the morning show appearance — had swarmed just outside the studio entrance. Phones, lenses, and microphones pointed like arrows.
“Bella! Bella Madison! One word on Vargas!”
“Is it true you might leave wrestling soon? Focus on family?”
“Was that your daughter? Is she going to follow in your footsteps?”
Mal stiffened beside her. Aileen stepped slightly in front, putting herself between the crowd and her granddaughter with the grace of someone who’d done this dance before.
Bella’s jaw tightened.
She was used to attention. The spotlight. The scrutiny. But this—this felt different.
Máire squirmed in her arms, tucking her head against her mother’s shoulder at the sudden noise. Bella adjusted her grip and turned, shielding the toddler from the bursts of flashing lights.
“That’s enough,” Bella snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos like thunder.
She didn’t shout.
She didn’t have to.
The force behind her words made the media pack falter.
“This—” she said, gesturing toward Mal, Aileen, and Máire, “—is not for you. You want to ask about my match? About my title? Fine. Do it inside the arena, where I’ve signed up to be in the spotlight. But if you can’t respect this boundary—then you don’t get a damn word from me.”
No translator needed. Her body language did the talking.
The reporters slowly backed off, muttering amongst themselves as security finally moved to corral them away from the glass doors.
Bella turned back to her family, her features still hard-edged as she handed Máire gently to Aileen’s waiting arms.
Mal rested his hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”
She looked up at him, a flicker of storm still in her eyes.
“I will be,” she said. “As long as they remember what happens when someone tries to put me—or her—in a corner.”
A beat passed.
Mal smirked. “I seem to remember what happened the last time someone tried that.”
Bella’s lip curled into a matching smirk. “I flipped the damn table.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You still do, baby.”
She gave one more glance toward the dispersing cameras before turning fully back to her family. Her daughter giggled again, delighting in some secret joke with Aileen.
Let them write whatever headlines they wanted.
Bella Madison wasn’t here to be a tabloid.
She was here to be a champion.
And Paris would see that with crystal clarity.
~*~Breathe~*~
Later that Evening – Their Paris Apartment Balcony
The city shimmered in soft amber beneath a velvet twilight sky, the Eiffel Tower a distant silhouette against the warm haze of summer.
Bella sat on the narrow balcony, a blanket draped around her shoulders, legs pulled up into the oversized chair. A nearly forgotten cup of tea rested on the small table beside her, steam long since gone. The air was quiet—save for the faint music of the city below and the occasional hum of a passing car.
She didn’t move when the glass door behind her slid open.
Mal stepped out barefoot, a soft grey hoodie clinging to his frame and his hair still damp from a late shower. In his hands, two glasses of wine. He offered one to her, his fingers brushing hers as she accepted.
“Máire’s asleep,” he said, settling beside her in the other chair.
“Out cold?” she asked.
“Like a light. Your mom wore her out with that dance party in the living room.”
Bella smiled at the image. “She’s got moves. She gets it from me.”
Mal snorted. “Right. Nothing to do with my award-winning Irish footwork.”
Bella finally looked at him. Her expression was soft now—eyes tired, but calm.
“Thanks for today,” she said.
He took a sip of wine. “Didn’t really do much.”
“You kept me grounded. You always do.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken things. The city lights twinkled like stars below, and Bella watched them for a long while before finally speaking again.
“It still gets to me, you know,” she said quietly. “The way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m this… box they’ve already labeled and taped shut.”
Mal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve never fit in a box, mo ghrá. That’s what makes you impossible to ignore.”
“I used to try to fit. To shrink myself down so I’d be easier to handle. But I’m tired of doing that.” She looked at him then, her voice firm. “Especially now. I’ve got too much to fight for.”
He reached over, threading his fingers through hers. “You’ve already won, love. Not just the title. But this. Us. Máire. Your voice. Your strength.”
Bella blinked quickly, her eyes misting—but she didn’t let the tears fall.
She just squeezed his hand tighter.
“Paris always feels like it brings me back to myself,” she murmured. “Even with the cameras, the noise… this city reminds me of the girl I was. The one who still believed she could do anything.”
“You’re still her,” Mal said. “Just stronger now.”
She looked over at him again—really looked—and saw not just the man who first kissed her on a bridge six years ago, but the one who’s been in her corner ever since. Through every storm, every high, every match, every moment.
Bella let out a slow breath and finally leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder.
The world could wait.
Tonight, she just wanted to breathe.
~*~Rules of Engagement: The Truth About Legacy~*~
The camera crew had long since finished their setup in the quiet studio space just outside of Paris, where SCW had rented a small but elegant venue for promo shoots leading up to Into the Void. It was minimalist—white walls, black floor, a single spotlight casting a halo down over the woman seated center stage.
Bella Madison sat perfectly still in the chair, posture poised, the SCW Bombshell Internet Championship resting across her shoulder. It gleamed under the light, a reflection of both her physical strength and emotional endurance. Her fingers tapped a steady rhythm along the metal plate. Calm. Controlled. But behind her steady eyes was a storm.
“Legacy,” she said, voice low but sure.
She let the word sit there, soaking in the silence.
“That’s what this match is about for you, isn’t it, Mercy?”
The nickname rolled off her tongue with deliberate sharpness—mocking and familiar all at once.
“Every word that comes out of your mouth these days is about what you’ve done. All the titles. The accolades. Hall of Fame status. Always dragging the past into the spotlight like it still belongs to you. You’ve always been good about the records and the past instead of focusing on what ACTUALLY matters.”
She shifted slightly, her expression shifting from calm to calculated.
“But here’s the problem with legacy—when that’s all you’re holding onto, it means you’re not building anything new. The things that actually matter, and that is not only the current events but the future of his business. And when you step into the ring with me, you’ll find out real quick that the past doesn’t mean a damn thing if it can’t keep up with the present.”
Her hand tightened on the title.
“You haven’t beaten me, Mercy. Not once. You’ve never pinned me. You’ve never made me tap. Our record? It’s solidly in my favor. Two wins, four draws... and nothing for you to show for it but excuses.”
Bella lifted her chin slightly, her voice growing firmer.
“You treat this championship like it’s your last shot at relevance. Like it’s some symbol you can use to prop yourself up and say, ‘See? I still matter.’ But I’m not here clinging to this title like it owes me something. I honor it. I elevate it. Every match I’ve fought with this on my shoulder has been a lesson in survival—and growth.”
She paused, breathing deep, eyes narrowing with focused fire.
“You can call me a villain if you want. There is somewhere along the way that we play the villain in someone’s story. You can act like I’ve changed, like I’m colder now, tougher. Guess what? You’re right. I had to get meaner. I had to stop asking for space and start taking it. I got tired of being told how to act, how to fight, how to exist.”
Her voice cracked, just slightly—not with weakness, but with a powerful honesty that came from living through the doubt, the criticism, the second-guessing.
“I’ve faced every fear they told me would break me. And I’m still here. Stronger. Smarter. Sharper.”
She stood slowly, the chair creaking beneath her as the light followed her movement. The championship never left her shoulder.
“I’ve watched people like you treat others like stepping stones. I’ve watched you try to do it to me. And I put you in your place then—just like I will again.”
The fire in her voice was unmistakable now.
“You want this championship? Earn it. Don’t talk about your legacy—be better than it. But spoiler alert, Mercy…”
Bella stepped forward into the camera’s eye, lowering her voice to a steady growl.
“You’re not.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth—confident, unapologetic.
“I’m the one who defines this title now. I’m the one the locker room looks to when they want to know what excellence looks like. I’ve fought my way out of the shadows of giants—hell, of my own mother’s legacy—to carve out something that’s mine. And I’m just getting started.”
She looked straight into the lens, no pretense, no gimmicks.
“This title stays with me. And after Into the Void, so will the undeniable truth that Bella Madison didn’t just beat you again…”
She let the silence build.
“She buried your legacy with a smile.”
The spotlight faded to black.
And then her voice in the dark.... “Actually I’m not done yet. Let’s have a change of scenery, shall we?”
The top of the Eiffel Tower at twilight, Paris spread out like a canvas behind her. The wind dances around her leather jacket, her Bombshell Internet Championship draped over her shoulder. The look in her eyes? Ice cold. The fire in her voice? Anything but.
Bella Madison didn’t come here to smile.
She came here to speak.
She leans against the rail, letting the golden light cast shadows over her face as the camera rolls.
“So let me get this straight, Mercy…” Bella begins, voice sharp, deliberate, venom laced through honey, “You spent what, five solid minutes calling yourself a legend? The measuring stick? The name etched in history? I mean, did you stop for a second to take a breath—or were you too busy giving yourself a standing ovation, a pat on the back or perhaps a little rub of the nub?”
Her lips curl into a cold smirk as she shifts her weight, the wind snapping her hair across her cheek.
“You’re right about one thing—you’ve been around. Long enough that half the locker room had to go Google you the first time your name came up. And sure, they found the accolades. The title reigns. The soundbites. But what they didn’t find? Relevance.”
Bella’s voice sharpens as she pushes off the rail and walks toward the camera, the championship now clutched firmly in her hand.
“See, Mercedes, legends don’t have to tell people they’re legends. They don’t need a twenty-minute history lesson just to feel seen. You keep calling yourself the measuring stick like that means something—but if you’re the stick? Then baby, the rest of us are already miles ahead of you in the massive metropolises, building skyscrapers that are towering over and blocking out the sun to your so-called legacy.”
Her glare hardens.
“You talk like I’m clinging to this title. You think I’m desperate? Oh no, sweetheart. You’ve got it all twisted. I earned this. I’ve defended it. I’ve bled for it. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with monsters and matriarchs, and I’m still standing here holding it. Because I’m not just a transitional champion—I’m the reason this championship means something again. And you? You want to ride that wave back into the spotlight like it’s still 2017.”
She scoffs, lifting the title, letting it shine beneath the fading sun.
“You call me cute. You say I’m hungry. You think that makes you dangerous because you’re not? Newsflash, Mercy: hunger is what keeps you sharp. It’s what separates the fighters from the fossils. And if you think your experience is enough to beat me?”
She leans in close to the camera. The venom comes out sweetly now—deadly and undeniable.
“Then you’re not experienced. You’re delusional.”
Bella paces again, jaw clenched. She’s not angry—she’s surgical. Focused. Brutally honest.
“Let’s talk about that standard you set. You had your moment. I’ll even give you credit where it’s due. But the problem with setting a standard is that eventually, someone comes along and surpasses it. That’s me. That’s what’s happening. Right now. While you’re stuck looking backward, romanticizing your prime, I’m building mine in real time, in front of everyone, week after week, match after match, win after win.”
“Back then, you underestimated me. You thought I’d fold under the weight of your legacy. But I didn’t. I thrived. I didn’t just survive Mercedes Vargas… I learned from you. And that’s what makes this so dangerous for you now.”
She gestures to the city behind her—living, breathing, now.
“I’m not afraid of your legacy, Mercy. I’ve read that chapter. I turned the page. You’re yesterday’s headline trying to rewrite history, but I’m the headline everyone’s reading now. The only thing you’ve done consistently the last few years? It reminds people that you used to matter. And then when you are shown that you have passed your prime, you fuck off into the background to “calculate” your next move and then it’s right back to where you started. It’s like a constant circle and it seems to roll back to me now and again to prove that your calculations were very off. Like somewhere you forgot to carry the one.”
She shrugs, tilting her head, mock pity in her tone.
“And for someone who claims to thrive under pressure? Funny how you keep folding when it’s me on the other side of that ring. All that talk about comebacks and redemption? I’ve heard it before. You bring your hunger, your fire, your legacy—but the moment that bell rings? It’s always the same story. You fight hard, you fall short, and then you vanish until the next desperate encore.”
She raises the Internet Championship high now, her eyes locked with the lens.
“So come to Paris. Step into the ring with me at Into the Void. Show the world what your legacy really looks like when it crashes into my era. You want to prove you’re still the woman to beat?”
A dangerous grin spreads across her face.
“Then I guess it really sucks for you that you’re staring at the woman no one can.”
The camera lingers on her for a beat—queen of the moment, champion of the present—before she delivers her final blow.
“You’re not the measuring stick, Mercy. You’re the cautionary tale.”
“Not just for the title. Not just to beat you. But to remind the world—and maybe remind myself—that the journey was never about becoming the next Mercedes Vargas.”
A final, piercing stare.
“It was always about becoming the only Bella Madison.”
“And I’m gonna leave you with one thing that has been floating in my head. I’ll see you all Sunday.”
It’s up to me to make it real.
Outwork, outshine, outlast.
Push harder—then go further.
How will I shape today?
Life doesn’t give second chances.
Stand tall. Don’t fold.
Lead with strength and kindness.
Time is precious. Don’t lose it.
I am the only one who can hold me back.
Be unstoppable. Get stronger.
See life with clarity.
What would Mom do?
What would Dad remind me?
Take only what’s needed.
Keep goals realistic.
Give without expecting.
See what others lack.
Be grateful. Always.
What truly matters at the end?
Stand firm in your values.
Never back down.
Ask: what’s the honorable path?
Treat others how I’d hope to be treated.
Don’t accept mediocrity.
Accept what’s beyond control.
Push limits, then go further.
Lead with love, always.
Into the Void.
Paris.
Where legacies live… and die.