When the Weight Isn’t on the Bar
The gym was already awake when Alicia arrived.
Not loud, never loud this early, but alive in that familiar way. The hum of treadmills. The distant clatter of plates being racked. The low murmur of conversation between people who didn’t need to fill silence just to prove they belonged there. She liked mornings like this. They didn’t ask anything of her except to show up. Alicia rolled her shoulders as she walked in, gym bag slung over one arm, hair pulled back tight and practical. The mirrors caught her reflection from every angle, not cruelly, not kindly, just honestly. No lights. No crowd. No expectations beyond gravity and effort. For a long time, this place had been her refuge. And for a while after that, her escape.
Today, it felt like neutral ground.
She hadn’t planned on talking to anyone. The intention was simple: move weight, breathe, leave. But plans had a way of dissolving when Alex Jones leaned against the squat rack like he’d been there all morning waiting. He raised his coffee cup slightly when he saw her. “You’re early.”
She snorted. “You’re old. You wake up early.”
“Rude,”” he said mildly. “Accurate, but rude.”
Alicia dropped her bag and stretched her neck, rolling it side to side. “You stalking me now?””
“Nah,” Alex replied. “I just figured if anyone was going to try and out-lift their thoughts today, it’d be you.” That earned him a look. Not sharp. Not defensive. Just tired enough to be honest.
“Is it that obvious?”
Alex shrugged. “You either come in smiling like you’ve conquered the world or quiet like you’re trying not to drown in it. Today’s the second one.”
She exhaled through her nose, the kind of breath that gave something away. “Didn’t know I was that transparent.”
“You’re not, But I’ve been doing this a long time. The gym tells on people if you listen.”
Alicia loaded plates onto the bar, one side at a time. The sound grounded her. Metal on metal. Familiar. Reliable. “I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t put much effort into convincing either of them.
Alex watched without interrupting, arms folded loosely. “Want a spot?”
“For the bar or the conversation?” she asked.
“Dealer’s choice.”
She hesitated, then nodded toward the bench. “Sit. I’ll talk.” Alex obeyed, setting his coffee aside. Alicia rested her hands on the bar but didn’t unrack it yet. Her reflection stared back at her, focused, composed, someone who looked like she had it together. Funny how easy that was to fake. “I thought I was failing,” she said suddenly. Alex didn’t react. Didn’t rush her. Just listened. “My family. Austin. The kids.” Her jaw tightened. “I felt like no matter how much I did, it wasn’t enough. Like I was always one mistake away from everything collapsing.”
She finally lifted the bar and stepped back, rolling her shoulders under the weight. Not lifting yet. Just holding it. Alex nodded slowly. “That’s a heavy place to live.”
“I didn’t realize how deep I was in it,” she continued. “I thought if I just kept pushing, harder matches, longer days, less sleep, I could outrun the feeling.” She dipped slightly, testing her balance. “Turns out you can’t.”
Alex smiled faintly. “Nope. It waits.”
She racked the bar without completing the rep, stepping forward with a frustrated sigh. “Everyone rallied around me. Austin. My mom. Even the kids in ways they don’t realize.” She swallowed. “They didn’t tell me I was failing. They told me I wasn’t alone.”
“That’ll mess you up worse than criticism,” Alex said. “Because now you can’t pretend.”
Alicia laughed under her breath. “Exactly.” She leaned against the rack, wiping her hands on her towel. “I’ve spent so long being the strong one that I didn’t know how to stop.”
Alex’s expression shifted, not pity, but recognition. “You know,”” he said slowly, “when my career first took off, I thought strength meant never needing anyone. I burned a lot of bridges like that.”
Alicia glanced at him. “Your family?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “They didn’t understand the travel. The injuries. The emotional whiplash of being adored one night and forgotten the next.” He shrugged. “Truth is, I didn’t understand how to explain it without sounding selfish.”
“So you stopped trying,” she guessed.
“Bingo.” He looked down at his hands. “And one day I realized I was surrounded by people in locker rooms who knew me better than the ones who loved me.”
Alicia frowned. “Did you fix it?”
Alex shook his head slightly. “Some things you fix. Some things you accept. My family loves me, but they’ll never fully get this life. And that’s okay.” He looked back up at her. “What matters is the people who choose to understand.”
Her chest tightened. “My kids are amazing,” she said quietly. “All of them. They don’t care about titles or schedules. They just care if I show up.” She smiled softly. “And Austin… he never once made me feel like I had to earn my place.”
Alex nodded. “That man’s a good anchor.”
“He is.” Her voice wavered. “Which scares the hell out of me.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
She hesitated, then said it. “Because what happens when he needs me the way I needed him?” The question hung between them.
Alex didn’t answer immediately. He stood instead, stepping closer, voice lower. “You talking about his shoulder?” She nodded.
“I’ve been so focused on surviving my own spiral,” Alicia admitted, “that I haven’t really thought about what it’s going to be like when he’s ready to come back. When he’s scared. When he doubts himself.” Her fingers curled into her towel. “I don’t want to be the strong one only when it’s convenient.”
Alex studied her carefully. “You know support doesn’t always look like encouragement, right?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes,”” he said, “it looks like patience. Letting someone heal at their pace instead of your timeline. Letting them be angry. Or afraid. Or slow.” That landed harder than any weight.
“You think I won’t be?” she asked, not defensive, just searching.
“I think,” Alex said gently, “you’re used to being the one who carries. And when roles shift, it can feel like weakness instead of balance.”
Alicia swallowed. She pictured Austin frustrated, sidelined, watching from the outside. The way she hated being still. The way she filled silence with pressure. “I don’t want to rush him,” she whispered. “I don’t want to project my fear onto his recovery.”
Alex smiled. “Then don’t.”
She scoffed softly. “That simple, huh?”
“No,” he corrected. “That intentional.” He stepped back, gesturing toward the bar. “Lift.” She did. One clean rep. Then another. Alex continued, voice steady. “You don’t have to be perfect to be supportive. You just have to be present. Let him struggle without trying to fix it. Let him come back when he’s ready….not when you think he should be.” She racked the bar again, breathing hard.
“I’m scared I won’t recognize him if he changes,” she admitted.
Alex’s gaze softened. “You won’t lose him. You’ll meet a version of him who survived something.” That thought settled differently. Not frightening, just real.
Alicia wiped sweat from her brow. “I spent so long thinking home was something I had to pass,” she said. “Like a test I could fail.”
Alex nodded. “It’s not.”
She smiled faintly. “It’s a place you show up for.”
“Exactly.” She slung her bag over her shoulder when they finished, the gym slowly filling around them. As she headed for the door, Alex called after her. “Hey, Alicia.” She turned. “You’re doing better than you think. Just don’t forget…..support goes both ways.” She nodded once, firmly. Outside, the air was crisp. Alicia sat in her car for a moment before starting it, hands resting on the wheel, not heavy this time. Steady. She wasn’t failing. She was learning how to stand beside the people she loved, not in front of them, not carrying them, but with them. And that felt like real strength.
Expectations
We hear the unstable sounds of a casino. The bright lights of the casino floor shine and pulse as Alicia Lukas walks through the main floor. A black leather jacket over the top of a red and black top and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans on her body as she looks around with a small smile, stopping and looking at the roulette tables. She chuckles and shakes her head because sitting down there would be a little bit too on the nose. Instead, she makes a left turn down a hallway and out into another room where she approaches a blackjack table, taking off her leather jacket and putting it on the back of the chair. She sits down, putting a handful of chips on the table, dealing in.
”I’ve never been one to make excuses. In fact, I have tried to be one of the more transparent when it comes to this business and this division. I have always criticised those who end up losing a match and turn up the next week or the next time they are booked and act like it doesn’t affect them. Like the loss is negated by them simply living. And I stand by my statements. A loss should affect you, a loss should strive to make you better. And that is why I’m built different than a lot of the other women in this business and this company. When I lose, it forces me to learn a lesson. And when I first came into this company, my losses were few and far between. The run that I went on was one of the best that this company had ever witnessed, and it allowed me to win all sorts of awards while also being looked at as a legend.”
She shakes her head before checking down and getting another card. She tilts her head, looking at the Queen as well as a five of hearts and a three of spades. She nods, holding on what she has before continuing.
”But, as time goes on, losses stack up a little more and you have to practice what you preach. I’m not going to sit here and ignore the fact that I lost to Bella Madison. Honestly? I’m proud of her. Three or four years ago, Bella Madison beating me would have been impossible. She wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t on the same level as me. And even if I am a little bit slower, I am still one of the best professional wrestlers in this fucking company and Bella was able to beat me. So I am extremely proud of her. And now she’s going on to bigger and better things, facing a woman who has been dominant in her own right in a hardcore match. And while I’m going to greatly enjoy watching that, I don’t know if I’m going to be happy or sad at the time. You see, I have my own match to contend with. I have my own moments to look at.”
“I have been very vocal about my dislike of the roulette division in the past. But being a part of it, feeling the chaos and knowing that I’m able to take another championship off the list, it is something that is allowing me to have a renaissance in my career. Maybe one day I will be able to go for the SCW World Bombshells Championship again, but right now it just simply isn’t a possibility. Because I’m not good enough. And I will freely admit that. I’m not ready to go back after that world championship. I’m not ready to step up and be a part of that division. I am part of the roulette division and that is where I’m staying.”
“As its champion, I will do everything I can to elevate this title. It is the purpose and responsibility of a champion to make sure that the division that they are in gets pushed to the forefront. It doesn’t matter if it is for a championship that is considered to be the top title or a mid title or an entry-level title.”
“A championship only matters if the champion makes it matter. There have been too many in this business that believe a championship makes the woman instead of the woman making the championship. I’ve seen it time and time again in this business, in every single division, whether it is the Internet Championship, the Roulette Championship, or the World Bombshells Championship. And also in the men’s division, it happens every single year. Someone will win a championship and think they’ve made it. They’ll think that the hard work is done and they will get lazy. And then everyone suffers. So I refuse to allow that to happen. I refuse to be the one to make the Roulette Championship and the division as a whole look like a joke. So I will defend this championship against anyone and everyone and do the best that I can to make it a prize worth holding.”
Alicia looks over at the dealer who flips his cards over, revealing 17. He then gives himself a card and goes bust. He slides Alicia some chips and then starts to get ready for another round. She gets two kings, opting to split them, getting a six of diamonds with one and a five of spades with the other. She hits on both, getting a four of hearts on one side, holding at 20, and getting a two of diamonds on the other, getting to 17. She nods and hits again, going bust with the other side.
”And there is definitely someone who wants to hold this. My opponent at Inception, Alexandra Calaway. And what can I say? I’m glad that you’re getting another opportunity. I’m glad that someone who really wants this is getting a shot. Because at High Stakes, you really wanted to get your hands back on this championship. I saw it in your eyes when we stood across the ring from one another. I felt it each time you came at me in that match, and I heard it in your voice when you cut a promo on me before we got in the ring leading up to it.”
She pauses as the dealer flips his cards over. He ends up going bust, not able to match her 20. She gets some more chips and continues to play before clearing her throat and turning to her left.
”You said that you didn’t expect to make it back. You didn’t expect to get a shot at the Roulette Championship after all of your failed attempts. But truthfully, who else would it be? Look around the roster. Who else would be deserving of it, Alexandra? And I’m not saying that to blow smoke up your ass. The truth is that you are one of the most deserving. But now you have to ask yourself if you are going to be able to beat me? You have a strange way of telling us your accomplishments, going through how you’ve lost and screwed up every single major shot at a championship you’ve had, but then telling us that you fighting over and over again is how you become a legend.”
“No honey….no…”
“Look, I am all for people admitting their losses and showing that it affects them, but saying that the fact you keep on getting up and fighting is what makes you a legend is a drastic misunderstanding of what that is. I’m a legend because I’ve won. I’m a legend because I’ve beaten some of the best in the business, been the world champion, broken records, and won awards. That’s what makes me a legend. And while I’m on the topic of beating some of the best, the names that I’ve beaten are the best. They are women who are in the Hall of Fame.”
“But you?…”
“You seem to believe that women like Jesse Salco and Bobbie Dahl are some of the best. Really? Those two? You really have no idea, do you? I was ready to start throwing out words like respect and honour with you, and then I hear you say things like that. It honestly hurts my soul. Alexandra, you have been in this business for a very long time and you throw so much bullshit hyperbole out there that no one can take you seriously.”
She wins another hand, getting more chips slid over in front of her as she leans back on her chair.
”Thing is, we all have to play the hands that we are dealt, don’t we, Alexandra? While I can admit you deserve another opportunity at the Roulette Championship, I can’t sit here and say that you are going to impress me with anything that you’ve done or said. You and I got into the ring at High Stakes and I was able to walk out as the Roulette Champion. I was able to defeat you and I had the championship held high, and now we are heading into another match because your effort earned that. Your effort. Think about that for a moment. You lost, but you lost in such a way that makes the company believe you have earned another championship match.”
“Interesting, isn’t it? You lost so well that they are giving you another shot at me. It’s almost like they pity you. Instead of making you earn this through contendership matches or a tournament, you are just getting another championship match against me. And hey, I am sure that you are going to do everything you can to walk out as the Roulette Champion. And maybe, just maybe, you are going to be able to. And if you do, Alexandra, I will be the first person in line to shake your hand, tell you that you deserve it, and raise your arm up while you hold the championship.”
“But…”
“I will also be the first one to verbally destroy you if you lose. This is going to be your last opportunity against me. If this company somehow thinks that you are going to get this endless run of Roulette Championship matches against me, then they are very, very mistaken. You lose to me? And you are done. While I am champion, you do not get another opportunity. If they try and force me to sign a contract where I face you for that championship again, I will not sign it. People might think that makes me a coward. People might think I will be making excuses or running from you. But the truth is that I just don’t want to go through this again with you. I don’t want you getting infinite title shots because you are the only one that they deemed worthy to face me.”
“So, at Inception, you now have it. You have it all laid out in front of you. Use it as motivation, use it as a bit of fuel to come after me even harder than you did before. I’ll be waiting, Alexandra. I’ll be waiting to see if you really can be who you seem to believe yourself to be, or if you are going to be a failed legend, facing a real one.”[/color
Preperation
The barbell settled into Alicia’s hands with a familiar heaviness, knurling biting gently into her palms as she lifted it from the rack. She didn’t rush. Never did anymore. The old instinct, to explode, to prove something with speed, had softened into something more deliberate. She stepped back, feet shoulder-width apart, posture precise, breath measured.
Down.
Up.
The mirrors caught her movement, clean and controlled. No wasted motion. No audience. Just effort. It was always like this now. The gym didn’t demand perfection, only honesty. The weight never lied to her. It didn’t care about her name, her past, or the things people whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear. It only responded to what she gave it. As she lowered the bar again, her thoughts slipped, not forward, not outward, but back.
The smell came first.
Not rubber mats or disinfectant, but incense, faint and stubborn, clinging to the air no matter how many windows were opened. Old wood floors polished smooth by decades of bare feet and falls. The sharp snap of bodies hitting canvas. Japanese voices she barely understood then, clipped and precise, cutting through her uncertainty like blades. She exhaled as she lifted.
Japan.
The dojo hadn’t looked like much the first time she saw it. No glamour. No banners announcing greatness. Just a low building tucked away from the city, quiet in a way that felt deliberate. Sacred, almost. Alicia had stood at the entrance with her bag slung over her shoulder, heart racing, convincing herself that nerves were excitement.
She’d been wrong.
Inside, everything felt bigger. Not physically, but spiritually. The walls carried history. Every scuff mark on the floor felt earned. And standing there, a young woman thousands of miles from home, Alicia had never felt smaller. She racked the bar and wiped sweat from her forehead, chest rising and falling as the memory sharpened. Back then, she’d been sure of only one thing: she didn’t belong. She remembered the way she bowed too stiffly, unsure if she was doing it right. The way her accent tangled around the language, how she nodded more than she spoke, afraid of saying the wrong thing. She remembered being watched—not unkindly, but critically. As if the room itself was assessing her worth.
She had followed her father’s footsteps across an ocean, carrying his legacy like armor, believing it would protect her. It hadn’t. The trainers hadn’t cared who her father was. The women she trained with certainly hadn’t. Respect wasn’t inherited here. It was extracted—slowly, painfully, rep by rep, fall by fall. Alicia picked up a pair of dumbbells now, arms burning as she moved through controlled curls. The pain was familiar, grounding. It anchored her to the present even as the past unfolded.
She remembered her first week.
How her body screamed every morning. How she woke before dawn, muscles stiff, bruises blooming along her arms and ribs like unwanted flowers. She remembered sitting on the edge of her futon, staring at her hands, wondering if everyone else felt this broken, or if she was just weak. She had never been the strongest. Never the fastest. Never the most naturally gifted. And she had known it. That knowledge had followed her like a shadow. Every drill. Every critique. Every time she was corrected…again, while someone else moved on. Alicia had learned quickly that Japan didn’t coddle insecurity. If you hesitated, you were left behind.
So she learned not to hesitate. But confidence didn’t come with that lesson. Only fear. She finished the set and leaned forward, hands on her knees, breathing hard. A younger Alicia flickered in her reflection, eyes wide, jaw tight, trying desperately not to cry in front of people who expected toughness, not tears. She had cried anyway. Just not where anyone could see. The showers had been her sanctuary. Hot water masking the sound. Steam hiding the tremble in her shoulders. She’d press her forehead to the tile and ask herself the same question over and over.
Why am I not good enough?
At the time, she thought the question would motivate her. That if she could just figure out what was missing, she could fix it. She didn’t understand yet how dangerous that mindset was—how it carved worth into something conditional. She loaded plates onto the leg press now, heavier than before. Her legs trembled as she pushed, thighs burning as the weight moved.
Push.
In Japan, pushing had been everything.
She pushed through exhaustion until her vision blurred. Through language barriers and loneliness. Through the humiliation of being corrected publicly, through the silent disappointment she imagined every time she fell short. She pushed because stopping felt like failure, and failure felt like erasure. But there were moments, small ones, when something else crept in. A nod from a trainer after a clean sequence. A quiet “ii desu” muttered under someone’s breath. The first time she wasn’t the slowest to get back up. The first time someone trusted her to take them through a drill without hesitation.
Those moments didn’t erase the doubt. They just punctured it. Alicia locked out the press and held it there, legs shaking, jaw clenched.
She had stayed in Japan longer than she planned. Not because she felt ready, but because leaving felt like admitting defeat. Somewhere along the way, though, survival turned into belonging. Not acceptance. Belonging came later. But survival was enough at the time. She released the weight and sat up slowly, heart pounding. Sweat dripped down her temples, her breathing loud in her ears. She smiled faintly. That scared, immature young woman hadn’t known what she was becoming. She’d thought greatness looked like fearlessness. Like never doubting. Like never hurting.
She knew better now. Alicia moved to the mat and stretched, muscles protesting as she eased into the movements. Her body didn’t recover like it used to. She felt that truth every morning. In the way old injuries whispered instead of screamed. In the extra time it took to warm up. In the patience she had learned, not by choice, but by necessity.
She wasn’t as good as she used to be.
The thought didn’t sting the way it once had. Because she was also more. More aware. More grounded. More capable of seeing the full picture instead of just the next obstacle. She had won world championships. Traveled the globe. Etched her name into history in ways that girl in Japan couldn’t have imagined without laughing at the audacity of it. And yet. What mattered most wasn’t what she had conquered. It was what she had endured without losing herself.
She sat there, stretching hamstrings that protested loudly, and allowed herself something she hadn’t in a long time. Grace. Not the performative kind. Not the kind granted by fans or headlines or legacy speeches. But the quiet kind you give yourself when you stop measuring your worth against who you used to be. She had chased perfection once. It had nearly broken her. Now, she chased presence. Alicia stood, gathering her things as the gym continued around her, oblivious to the journey she had just taken without ever leaving the room. The weight today hadn’t been on the bar. It had been in memory. In reconciliation.
She paused by the mirror one last time.
The woman staring back at her wasn’t fearless. She wasn’t invincible. She wasn’t the best version of herself she’d ever been.
She was real.
And she still had something to offer.
Alicia nodded once, to the reflection, to the past, to the girl in Japan who had stayed when leaving would’ve been easier.
Then she walked out, steady, grounded, carrying the kind of strength that didn’t need to be proven ever again.
Break
”You talk about ghosts like they chose you.”
Alicia can’t help but chuckle, she’s leaning against a wall one lake up with her foot flat against it, tight fitting black jeans and red and black converse give way to a black leather stud belt and a black crop top. Her long hair down except for a few parts on the side that are braided and dangling down.
“Like the walls whispered your name. Like the past reached forward, grabbed you by the wrist, and anointed you as something inevitable. That’s not destiny, Alexandra. That’s desperation dressed up as romance. You wandered through the Flamingo like a pilgrim looking for permission. You stared at reflections, listened to echoes, begged history to notice you. You spoke to dead men because the living ones already measured you, and found you wanting. You wrapped yourself in blood-soaked nostalgia because it’s easier than admitting the truth”
“You’re not chasing me. You’re chasing your failures.”
“You say I walk into this like it’s another photoshoot. Another headline. Another moment where the world tells me I’m untouchable. That’s cute. That’s convenient. That’s the version of me you need to exist, because the real one ruins your whole narrative. I didn’t get here because I look good under lights. I got here because when the lights hit, I perform.”
“You think grace means softness. You think composure means ignorance. You think confidence is vanity because you don’t understand what it feels like to stand in the center of the storm and not flinch. You call that superficial because you’ve never owned a moment, you’ve only survived them. You keep saying you need this. You need the title. You need validation. You need redemption. You need to rewrite losses that still live rent-free in your head. And you’re right about one thing: that does make you dangerous. Just not in the way you think.”
She pushes off the wall stepping forward as she moves toward the bright flashing lights of the Las Vegas strip
“It makes you reckless. It makes you emotional. It makes you predictable. I don’t need this match to mean anything more than it is. I don’t need to bleed for clarity. I don’t need to pace the floor replaying imaginary violence to convince myself I belong. I already know who I am. That’s the difference you keep tripping over. You confuse obsession with purpose. You confuse instability with honesty. You confuse suffering with strength. And worst of all, you confuse mythology with inevitability. You talk about Vegas like it decides who wins. Like this city crowns monsters and buries kings in the same breath. Like the Flamingo itself is some divine judge weighing souls and handing out verdicts soaked in neon and blood.”
“Vegas doesn’t decide anything, The ring does.”
“History doesn’t swing first. I do. You want to frame this as survival versus vanity. As hunger versus entitlement. As monster versus muse. That’s not insight, that’s projection. You need me to be shallow so you can be deep. You need me to be unaware so you can feel enlightened. You need me to underestimate you because you already underestimate yourself. You don’t fight for the future. You fight to escape the past. Every word you spoke was about what you’ve lost. Every threat you made was about what you’re afraid to lose again.”
“You say you don’t sleep before moments like this. You pace. You plan. You replay bones hitting canvas until it feels like music. That’s not clarity. That’s fixation. That’s a mind stuck on one outcome because it doesn’t trust itself to adapt when things don’t go to plan. Champions sleep. Champions rest. Champions walk into matches knowing they can adjust, endure, and outlast. You’re wired because you’re scared of silence. Because in the quiet, all that’s left is the truth: you don’t know who you are without this title. You don’t know how to exist without something to claw for. You don’t know how to stand still without feeling irrelevant.”
She closes her eyes and starts to laugh, stopping as she gets to one of the streets going down the main Vegas strip. Crowds of people go by, Alicia simply folds her arms over her chest and continues, the different flashing lights casting a shadow on her face.
“So you call yourself a monster. Monsters are easy. Monsters roar. Monsters threaten. Monsters rely on fear because they can’t rely on consistency. Everyone already expects you to be unstable. Everyone already whispers about you backstage. Everyone already braces for chaos when your name is on the card. That’s not an advantage. That’s a warning label.”
“You think being unpredictable makes you dangerous, but unpredictability is just another pattern when it’s all you have. I don’t need to guess what you’ll do, I just need to wait for you to do too much. Because you always do. You say you’re not here to end my career, just my reign. That you’re here to take back what you believe is owed to you. Like the title wronged you. Like history owes you interest on past failures.”
“The title doesn’t owe you anything. It doesn’t belong to your pain. It doesn’t belong to your sacrifices. It doesn’t belong to your need. It belongs to the person who can carry it without letting it define them. And that’s not you. You call the Bombshell Roulette Championship a sacrifice. You talk about grabbing it like it owes you money. You talk about dragging me into the deep end and holding me there until panic sets in.”
Another chuckle and another shake of the head, her bright blue eyes shining as she puts up a single finger as if she’s admonishing Alexandra.
“Here’s the part you don’t understand.”
“I don’t panic. I don’t crack when things get uncomfortable. I don’t fold when the pressure shifts. I don’t need fear to feel honest. You think pressure comes from knowing everything wants to take something from you. You think you’re calm because you’ve made peace with the worst parts of yourself.”
“No.”
“You’re calm because you’ve accepted chaos as an excuse. I’m calm because I trust myself. I don’t need ghosts leaning in close to listen. I don’t need dead men nodding in approval. I don’t need to pretend I’m part of some violent lineage to feel legitimate. I’ve built my legacy in the present, against living, breathing opponents who thought the same things you do. You want to be remembered. I already am. You want to carve your name into history. I’m writing the future. You think this stops being a match and becomes a reckoning.”
“For you, maybe.”
Her mouth twists into an arrogant grin
“For me, it’s just another night where I step into the ring, assess the threat in front of me, and dismantle it piece by piece. No theatrics. No sacrifices. No mythology. Just execution. You can pray the ghosts like you. You can listen to walls that don’t talk. You can convince yourself that this city rewards monsters. But when the bell rings, none of that steps between the ropes with you.”
“” do.”
“And when it’s over, when you’re staring up at the lights, listening to the crowd you said didn’t matter, you won’t be thinking about Bugsy Siegel. You won’t be thinking about Vegas. You won’t be thinking about history or destiny or sacrifice. You’ll be thinking about the moment you realized the truth. That you didn’t lose because the city chose me. You didn’t lose because the ghosts turned on you. You didn’t lose because you weren’t dangerous enough. You lost because you needed this. And I didn’t. And that is why I am the Bombshell Roulette Champion.”
“And you never will be.”