A lot to consider, before leaving for Ibiza
Calaway Estate
Dallas, Texas

“But if I stay here… I don’t want to keep doing the long-distance shuffle. Not just for me but for you and in a way for Ashlynn.”

“I’m not trying to rush anything,”

"It’s just...the idea of waking up next to you, not having to count days or flights or FaceTimes...it sounds like something real. Something we could build. Together.”

Alexandra had LJ had just hung up after a very deep phone call. She hadn’t expected him to ask something so big. It’s true, they had just crossed the year mark a few weeks ago. His need for them to be there with him, to build something real together.

She sat in the quiet after, her fingers loosely wrapped around the phone, heart still echoing his words. They filled the corners of the room like sunlight trying to reach her, but they didn’t quite warm her completely. There was love there, deep and steady. She felt it every time he said her name like it mattered. And the way he talked about a future, their future, not just some vague dream, but a life he wanted to create with her. With Ashlynn.
But that’s what made it harder.

Ashlynn. Her whole world wrapped up in a sixteen-year-old who was already balancing on the edge of adulthood. Confident. Bright. Guarded in ways only teenage girls could be. She had roots here, friends she’d grown up with, teachers who understood her, a social circle she trusted, and a rhythm to her life that Alexandra had worked hard to protect. Taking her away from all that? From everything she knew? It felt like tossing a stone into still water and bracing for the ripple.

Still, the memory of LJ’s voice lingered, warm, steady, full of hope. And God, she wanted that too. Waking up to someone who chose her every day. Building something with hands that wouldn’t let go. She could see it: Sunday mornings with quiet coffee, Ashlynn rolling her eyes at their stolen kisses in the kitchen, a life full of ordinary moments that didn’t have to be packed into weekend visits or countdown clocks.

But love came with risk. And being a mother meant holding two hearts in her chest, not just one.
She rubbed her temple, torn between longing and responsibility. Was it fair to even consider asking Ashlynn to start over at sixteen? To leave the place where she’d kissed her first boyfriend, bombed her math midterm, cried on the bathroom floor after a fight with her best friend?

Alexandra leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full of possibilities, each one asking her to be brave in a different way. What if Ashlynn hated her for this? What if she pulled away? What if this love, this rare, hard-earned, beautiful thing, unraveled under the weight of reality?

And yet... wasn’t that the gamble of love? That sometimes it asked you to leap, not because it promised a perfect landing, but because the person waiting on the other side was worth the fall?

She sighed and stood slowly, glancing down the hallway where Ashlynn’s door was closed, music leaking faintly from behind it. Her daughter, her world. This conversation, when it came,  would matter more than any she’d had with LJ. Because if they went, they’d go as a we, or not at all.

One conversation at a time, she told herself.

And maybe... just maybe... the rest would follow. For now she needed to focus, she needed to prepare for her match. Bella and Victoria wouldn’t be easy on her. But no one could be harder on her than she herself was at this moment.

---

Short and Simple
Hotel
Monaco

A panoramic drone shot glides over the glittering Monaco coastline. The moonlight shimmers on the water, the yachts are lit like floating palaces, and the distant hum of music from the casinos fills the air. The camera slowly pushes in on the balcony of the Hôtel de Paris. Alexandra Calaway stands there, black silk robe over her exquisite frame, long hair flowing in the breeze, a champagne flute in her hand. She stares out at the city with the calm confidence of someone who already believes she owns it.

"Monaco, The crown jewel of the Riviera. A place where fortunes change hands over the spin of a wheel, where billionaires and movie stars mingle in champagne lounges, where every balcony hides a story worth telling. And tonight, this balcony, this view, this story, belongs to me.”

She takes a moment to look over the railing at the view below. The bright lights of the city, the roar of the nightlife below.

“Look down there, the streets are alive. Laughter, music, the shuffle of chips, the clink of glasses. They came here for a taste of luxury but me? I didn’t come to taste it. I came to take it.”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and soaking in the night time air, the sound around her. Breathing it all in she continues.

“And in just a matter of hours, luxury won’t be measured in diamonds or bank accounts. It’ll be measured in blood spilled under velvet ropes. It’ll be measured in broken bottles and shattered egos. Because tomorrow night, in the main event, it’s a VIP Lounge Brawl. Boy do I pity Christian when this is over. Bella Madison. Victoria Lyons. And Alexandra Calaway. One winner. One ticket punched straight to Mykonos, where Kayla Richards and her precious title will be waiting for one of us lucky women."

She swirls the champagne, eyes locked on the glittering coastline.

"You know, I’ve wrestled all over the world. Tokyo. London. Vegas. But there’s something about Monaco that feels somehow fitting. This city understands status. It understands power. It understands that not all women are created equal. Some of us are born to rule and some are born to kneel. Tomorrow night, I will remind the world which category I belong to. But before we get to the fight, let’s talk about my opponents, shall we?"

She leans against the balcony rail, her voice softening but her smirk sharp.

"Bella Madison. Let’s start with you. Because unlike the other name on that list, you’ve earned a certain level of respect from me. You’re a fighter. You don’t hide behind excuses. You don’t need to stab someone in the back to get ahead. You’ve been in wars and you’ve walked away stronger. And I respect that. Truly. In a business full of pretenders, you’re one of the few who can look me in the eye and mean it when you say you’re coming to fight. But here’s the thing about respect, Bella, we both know, respect doesn’t mean mercy. It doesn’t mean I’ll pull my punches. If anything, it means I’ll give you the very best version of Alexandra Calaway and that is not a gift, it’s a death sentence. We both know this.”

She hated that she had to go up against Bella, because she did have quite a bit of respect from Alexandra. That wouldn’t change things in the end though. She would go hard on Bella if it meant the win.

“When that bell rings, the velvet ropes in that VIP section won’t be for keeping people out, they’ll be there to trap you in with me. And when I drive your head through a glass drink tray, when I wrap that hookah hose around your neck and squeeze, it won’t be out of spite, it’ll be out of necessity. Because I’m not stepping into that ring to make friends. I’m stepping in to win. And if I have to break you to do it, Bella, I will."

Her smile fades. The champagne glass lowers. There’s a flicker of heat in her eyes now.

"And then there’s you. Victoria Lyons. You and I we’ve danced this dance before, haven’t we? You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. You’re like a shadow that lingers just long enough to make me want to burn the whole room down. Everywhere I turn, there you are. Whispering. Plotting. Clinging to whatever scraps of relevance you can get your claws on. And you’ve tried,  oh, you’ve tried, to make me stumble. You’ve tried to make me doubt myself. You’ve tried to make yourself my equal. But you’re not my equal, Victoria. You never have been. And the thing is,  I think you know that. I think that’s why you’re so desperate to make my life hell. Because deep down, you understand the truth: No matter how hard you claw you’ll never reach the throne again."

She sets the champagne down on the balcony railing, her voice hardening.

"I’ve never beaten you before. I’ve never embarrassed you before. But tomorrow night, it’s not just about beating you. It’s about ending this. I’m going to take that leather couch in the VIP lounge, lay you across it, and drive my knee into your skull until you stop moving. I’m going to make you wish you’d never signed the contract for this match. And when it’s over, when the champagne is mixed with your blood on that floor, you’ll finally understand… there’s no room for you in my world."

She picks the champagne glass back up, but doesn’t drink. She turns, facing the camera fully for the first time.

"The VIP Lounge Brawl, what a beautiful concept. Velvet ropes, strobe lights, champagne bottles, hookah hoses, DJ headphones, it’s like they designed it just for me. See, some wrestlers panic when you put them in a chaotic environment like that. They get distracted. They lose focus. Me? I thrive in it. Chaos is my natural habitat. When that bell rings, I’m not just going to use the weapons they hand me. I’m going to turn that VIP section into a masterpiece. Every bottle, every tray, every rope, I’ll use them all. And when I’m done, people won’t just remember the fight, they’ll remember the artwork I left behind."

She sets the glass down completely now. The wind picks up slightly. Her voice lowers, dripping with venom.

"Victoria, I’ve been patient. I’ve been composed. I've listened to every slight you have thrown in my direction and took it with class and poise. But the truth is every time I think about you, my hands itch to tear you apart. You’ve cost me matches. You’ve cost me moments. And tomorrow night, I’m going to take everything from you in return. I want you to feel it. I want you to hear the sound of the glass breaking under your body. I want to see the panic in your eyes when you realize you’re trapped. I want you to understand that when I said I was going to end you, I meant it.”

That was the truth of it. She would make sure to deal with Victoria, however she needed to. By the end of the night, that Bombshell World Title shot would be hers.

“Bella, you’ll get caught in the crossfire. And I’m sorry for that. But you knew the risk the moment you signed your name. Tomorrow night isn’t about who wants it most. It’s about who’s willing to go the farthest. And I’ve been to the darkest corners of this business, ladies. I’ve done things you wouldn’t even whisper about. And tomorrow night in Monaco, you’ll see all of it."

Her tone shifts again, calmer but still deadly.

"And when it’s over, when I’m standing there, hand raised, the winner of the VIP Lounge Brawl,  I’ll get on a plane. I’ll fly to Mykonos. And Kayla Richards, I hope you’re watching. Because I’m not coming to Greece for the sunshine. I’m coming for your title. Climax Control is just the beginning. Mykonos is the destination. And when I get there, I’ll do to you what I did to them. This is the year Alexandra Calaway takes everything."

She picks up the champagne, finishes it in one smooth motion, and sets the empty glass down with a quiet click. She leans forward, eyes locked on the lens, and delivers her final words with icy precision.

"Monaco, enjoy the show. I know I will. Because tomorrow night, the streets run gold and red."

The camera slowly fades to black, with LJ coming out to the balcony and wrapping his arms around Alexandra’s midsection and kissing the back of her head.

---

Its a simple answer Angel
Hotel
Monaco

The scene opens where the promo left off. The champagne glass is still on the balcony railing, the moonlight dancing across the water. Alexandra stands with her back to the sliding doors, her eyes scanning the horizon. The glass door behind her slides open quietly, and LJ steps out, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He closes the door gently behind him.

“You’re out here alone again. Let me guess, running through the match in your head?”

Alexandra doesn’t turn right away. She smirks faintly, still staring at the city lights.

“Always. You know me, I can’t shut it off. Especially not now. Monaco tonight. Mykonos next week. Everything I’ve been fighting for could be decided in the next seven days.”

LJ walks up beside her, resting his elbows on the railing. For a moment, they just stand together, listening to the faint sounds of the city below.

“I get it. I do. But I also know, when you’re chasing the next big thing, everything else starts fading into the background. But there are bigger things that we need to discuss, certain questions that have been asked.”

That makes Alexandra turn her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, not in anger, but in that sharp, analytical way she does in the ring.

“Don’t. You know Ashlynn and you are my whole world. You both are. But right now, I’m—”

“—Right now, you’re Alexandra Calaway, wrestler, Bombshell, contender. But what happens when you’re not in fight mode? What happens when the match is over? Have you given any more thought to what I asked you last week? About you and Ashlynn moving to Vegas with me?”

Alexandra looks away, back out over the harbor. She grips the railing a little tighter, her nails tapping lightly against the metal.

“I’ve thought about it. Believe me, I have. Vegas is tempting. I mean, you’ve built a life there. And Ashlynn would love the change, new schools, new energy. But LJ, you know what that move would mean. Vegas would be home base, and home base means commitment. It means, less running, less chasing every booking around the globe. And I’m not sure I’m ready to slow you down. Not yet. You are young, but I know that this, us, is real.”

LJ turns toward her fully, his expression gentle but firm.

“I’m not asking you to stop being who you are. Lord knows I’m not, hell I’m here too. I’m asking you to give yourself and us a foundation. You’ve been living out of suitcases for years and long flights home to Dallas, Angel. Always on the move, always somewhere else. Vegas could be the one place you come back to. A place where Ashlynn knows her bedroom’s always waiting for her. A place where I’m always with you. No more long flights and scheduled facetimes.”

Alexandra exhales slowly, her gaze drifting down to the empty champagne glass.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is as simple as breath love. You just have to decide what matters more chasing the gold every second of every day, or having something solid to come home to when the chase is over.”

A beat of silence. The waves crash softly below.

“Let me get through this VIP Lounge Brawl. Let me get through Mykonos. If I win that title shot, everything changes. I just, I can’t divide my head right now. Not when Victoria’s in that match. Not when Bella’s in it. But after, I promise. We’ll talk. And I’ll give you an answer.”

LJ studies her for a moment, then nods. He leans in, kisses her temple, and rests his forehead against hers briefly.

"Fair enough Angel. Just, don’t take too long to decide, okay? Because I’m all in on this. On us.”

Alexandra finally turns fully toward him, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips.

“Me too.”

They stand together for a long moment, the city lights reflecting in their eyes. Then, from somewhere down on the streets of Monaco, the distant sound of music swells, a reminder of the world still moving around them. The camera slowly pulls back from the balcony as the scene fades to black.

Preparing for the Trip
LJs Place
Las Vegas, Nevada

The last of Alexandra’s gear was packed, the suitcase zipped, and her boots resting on top like a final piece of armor. The soft hum of Las Vegas nightlife filtered through the window as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, mentally checking off everything for the trip. It was strange, in a way, how much calmer she felt this year compared to last. Experience had softened the edges of uncertainty. She knew what was waiting on that ship. The chaos. The fans. The long days and wild nights. But this time, she wasn’t walking into it with that same heavy weight on her chest. Across the room, LJ sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone absently before setting it down. His duffel bag sat mostly empty at his feet.

“Are you sure you’re packed enough?” she asked, glancing at the bare bag with a teasing smile.

He looked up and smirked. “I’m not the one stepping into the ring in the middle of the ocean. I figured out a few shirts, a pair of shorts, and one dress outfit in case they try to get fancy.”

“You’ll need more than that. It’s Summer XXXtreme. There's sun, saltwater, and the kind of mayhem that eats clean clothes alive.”

LJ chuckled and stood, walking over to her. “Yeah, but I’m not on the card. I’m not working. I’m just... yours this time. Bodyguard, emotional support, maybe a glorified luggage handler.”

Alexandra’s smile faded into something warmer, softer. “You’re more than that. Just having you there makes everything feel more grounded.”

He shrugged, but the faint pink in his cheeks gave away how much that meant to him. “Still feels weird, though. Not being booked. Not being part of the show. I’ve spent so much time fighting for a spot that stepping away, even for a week, messes with my head.”

She nodded in understanding. “It messed with mine last year. I wasn’t sure I even belonged on that cruise. I kept second-guessing everything, Ashlynn, the matches, the fans, being out at sea with no safety net. But it ended up being one of the best things for me. Because I stopped trying to be perfect and just... showed up. Did my thing. And people noticed.”

“You got everyone talking,” he said. “And now they’re expecting you to outdo yourself.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said, stepping closer and slipping her arms around his waist. “What I care about is being focused, being me. And this year, I get to have my partner there. Not as a tag team, not as an act, just as someone who has my back.”

LJ rested his chin on top of her head. “Always. Even if I’m the guy in the crowd with the overpriced drink yelling too loud.”

She laughed against his chest. “You’d be the best part of the crowd.”

For a few moments, they stood there in silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them. This trip wasn’t just about the cruise or the matches—it was about taking a step forward, together. With Ashlynn staying with Cassandra and Dhillon for the week, there was finally room for Alexandra and LJ to breathe as a couple.

“I think I needed this more than I realized,” she said quietly.

“The cruise?”

“No,” she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his. “This time. With you. Without everything pulling us in five different directions. I’ve been going non-stop for so long, I forgot what it feels like to just be with someone.”

“You haven’t really let yourself slow down,” LJ agreed. “Even when we first got together, you were still wearing your armor.”

“I had to,” she said, her voice soft. “For Ashlynn. For survival. For my own sanity. But I’m tired of carrying that weight all the time.”

He nodded. “Then don’t. Let me carry some of it with you.”

Her eyes glistened for just a second before she looked away, blinking it back. “You say things like that and I remember why I let you in.”

“I didn’t knock gently,” he said with a small grin.

“No, you didn’t. You walked in like you belonged here. And maybe, you do.”

They sat on the bed, her hand resting over his. The bags were packed, the plans set. Tomorrow, they’d board the ship. Alexandra would step back into the spotlight, the ring, the madness of a wrestling cruise. And LJ would be right there, not as a wrestler, not as her man in the corner while she was in a match, but as her anchor.

“You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her sideways.

“Not about the match,” she said. “That’s the easy part. It’s the stuff between the matches that gets tricky.”

“Like what?”

“Like trying to remember who I am when I’m not being the performer. Like making space for us in a world that doesn’t stop moving. Last year, I felt like I was surviving. This year, I want to live in it.”

LJ leaned back on his elbows. “So we do that. You work. I support you. We steal moments in between. Breakfast on the balcony. Watching the sunset. Making fun of people in the pool.”

Alexandra laughed again, brighter this time. “God, that sounds perfect.”

“It will be,” he said. “You fight. I’ll be there. And when the lights go out, it’s just you and me. That’s what I’m looking forward to most.”

She turned, curling into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“When we get back, when the cruise is over, and real life crashes back in, don’t let me shut down again. Remind me of this. What it feels like to let someone stay.”

He kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll remind you every damn day if I have to.”

The air between them settled into something steady, calm. Tomorrow would bring the roar of the ocean and the madness of fans. Alexandra would face whatever challenge the cruise had in store. But tonight, she had something far more powerful than momentum, she had LJ. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t walking in Summer XXXtreme alone.

---

Let’s Talky Talk
The Strip
Las Vegas, NV

The camera opened on the glimmering chaos of the Las Vegas Strip. Neon signs buzzed above packed sidewalks. Tourists shouted, music blared from open doors, and slot machines chirped from every direction. In the middle of it all, walking with slow, measured steps through the chaos, was Alexandra. She was dressed in a sharp leather jacket, sunglasses covering eyes that burned with purpose, her boots striking the pavement with deliberate weight.

She didn’t glance at the noise or the spectacle. All of it faded behind her focus. The camera followed as she walked past the Bellagio fountains, the spray catching the city lights in bursts of color. She finally came to a stop beneath the glowing canopy of the Flamingo, turned to face the camera, and pulled off her sunglasses.

Her eyes locked onto the lens, cold, sharp, and surgical.

"Let’s talk," she said, voice low but firm enough to cut through the roar of the Strip.

Amelia: "The Unknown Equation"

Alexandra tilted her head, a small smirk curling at the edge of her mouth. "Amelia. The one I haven’t touched yet. The enigma. The one the fans like to call a mystery. You know what mysteries are to me? Just problems waiting to be solved."

She took a few steps down the sidewalk, weaving between a group of partygoers without breaking her stride. "We’ve never faced each other, and I know that’s been eating away at you. They’ve been protecting you. They’ve been crafting your journey like it’s a fairy tale. But here’s the thing, sweetheart, fairy tales end in horror when reality hits. And I am that reality."

She stopped again, just in front of a luxury store, her reflection staring back from the glass. "You’ve never had to bleed for your momentum, Amelia. You’ve never felt what it’s like to be broken in front of a crowd that expected more from you. You dance, you fly, you smile—and they eat it up like it’s gourmet. But when you step into the ring with me, none of that’s going to save you."

Alexandra leaned closer to the glass, staring into her own eyes before looking back at the camera. "You’re fast, you’re clean, you’ve got technique. But I’ve made careers end for less. What you’ve built for yourself—your potential, your precious image—I’m going to drag it all into the street like garbage and show the world what happens when smoke and mirrors meet substance."

The Strip pulsed behind her, but her tone never wavered. "So go ahead, Amelia. Be their rising star. Be their future. Because when the time comes, I’ll be the one who introduces you to your ceiling. And I promise, it’s going to hurt."

Joanne: "The Broken Record"

Alexandra turned a corner, walking past Caesar’s Palace, the grandeur behind her a stark contrast to the venom in her voice. "Joanne. Poor, stubborn, beautifully deluded Joanne. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? And every single time, I’ve beaten you into the floor like it’s tradition."

She rolled her shoulders, brushing past a performer on stilts without a second glance. "What amazes me isn’t that you lost. It’s that you keep coming back like something’s going to change. Like this time, things will be different. Like you’ve somehow evolved past the woman I already exposed."

She scoffed, glancing sideways as if picturing Joanne’s face. "You’re not evolving, Joanne. You’re decorating failure. You put up a fresh coat of paint every time I destroy you and try to convince yourself the cracks aren’t there. But I see them. Every twitch in your eye when my name is brought up. Every forced breath you take when they ask about your losses to me. You’re not fighting to win. You’re fighting to survive. And I’ve got bad news, survival isn’t enough anymore."

Alexandra stopped beneath a massive LED billboard flashing championship belts and highlight reels. She didn’t even look up. "I don’t hate you, Joanne. You’re not worth that. What I feel is pity. Because no matter how many times you crawl back into that ring, hoping this time you’ll rise. I’ll be there to remind you that some stories end the same way, every time."

She looked into the camera with icy finality. "And your story? It ends with me."

Andrea: "The Thorn in My Side"

Now Alexandra’s walk had slowed. Her pace was deliberate. There was weight behind her steps as she passed the Mirage. The lights flickered above her, like sparks trying to find fuel. "Andrea," she said, the name alone carrying tension. "You’re the one that stays with me. The one who got through."

She stopped, folding her arms. The tension in her jaw said everything. "You’ve beaten me. Not often. But enough. Enough to leave a scar. And that’s why I don’t take you lightly. I don’t dismiss you. I respect you, but that respect comes with a price. Because every single time I’ve tasted defeat by your hand, I’ve carved a new weapon out of it. I’ve built new armor. You sharpened me without realizing it."

She stepped off the main sidewalk and onto a quieter stretch of pavement, where the Strip’s noise dulled just slightly. Her voice dropped. "But here’s where we differ, Andrea. You were satisfied with the win. You wanted the moment. I wanted domination. You got the applause. I want the silence that comes after I leave my opponent broken."

Alexandra turned her head slightly, her profile lit by the passing glow of LED lights. "You’re dangerous. But now I’m smarter. Meaner. Colder. You won’t find the same Alexandra you beat before. She’s dead. I buried her myself."

She looked back into the camera, the storm behind her eyes ready to break. "And when we meet again, Andrea... I’m not walking away with a win. I’m walking away with you. Shattered. Humbled. And finally... beneath me."

Kate: "The Identity Crisis"

Further down the Strip, Alexandra came to a halt near a street performer dressed like a living statue. She stared at it for a moment, blank, unmoving, artificial. Then turned back to the camera.

"Kate. You know, I’ve faced chaos, I’ve faced strategy, I’ve faced rage—but you? You’re not even a finished thought. You’re half of a character sketch, barely colored in, and every week you show up with a new coat of confusion like that’s going to make you interesting."

She stepped forward, slicing through the crowd with presence alone. "You think being mysterious is the same as being compelling. It’s not. It’s exhausting. No one knows who you are not even you. You spend more time reinventing your image than refining your craft. And while you're out there figuring yourself out, I’m going to crack your ribs one by one."

The sign for The LINQ blinked erratically behind her. "You're a walking question mark hoping the world doesn’t notice you’ve got no answer. But I noticed. I see the cracks. I see the fear. You’re not dangerous. You’re desperate. Desperate to matter. Desperate to be something other than a filler name on someone else’s win column."

She looked into the camera again, deadly calm. "You’re not a mystery, Kate. You’re a delay. A pause before something real. And I’m going to press play... and erase you."

Diamond: "The Forgotten Victory"

Alexandra now neared the end of the Strip, where the lights grew thinner and the tourists scarcer. She paused at the base of a blinking casino marquee, her silhouette sharp against the fading neon.

"Diamond. Ah, Diamond... the one I’ve already beaten. And yet, here we are again. Trying to shine like you weren’t already dulled. You want another shot? Fine. I’ll remind you what it felt like when I shattered your illusion the first time."

She brushed her hair back, the Vegas wind teasing it loose. "They say diamonds are forever. But you? You cracked. Under pressure, under fists, under me. You fought like you were precious. But I saw through the sparkle. I saw the fracture. You’re costume jewelry, Diamond. All flash, no foundation."

Alexandra began walking again, slower now, like delivering the final eulogy. "There’s no revenge story here. No grand comeback. You can train all you want, bleed all you need to, but when you step into that ring again, nothing will have changed. I’ll put you back in your place like muscle memory."

She stopped, turning toward the camera one last time. "So bring your shine. Bring the defiance. Bring the hope. I’ll crush it again. Not because I need to, but because I can."

She slipped her sunglasses back on, the city lights gleaming in the lenses.

"Vegas is all illusions. But I’m the only truth walking this Strip. Remember that."

With that, Alexandra turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Same Stage, Different Fire: A Birthday on the Road to Summer XXXTreme XIII”
Alexandra’s Blog
Denver, Colorado

Here we are on another stage, another place and another time. It’s my birthday weekend and I’m spending it here, typing out this blog for whoever happens to read it. It’s strange what your mind decides to latch onto when the clock turns over on your birthday. Some people look for balloons, gifts, the occasional half-hearted hug from people they pretend not to resent. Me? I woke up this morning with a sharp sense of clarity, the kind that only comes with age, pain, and a long string of victories that still don’t seem to satisfy. I didn’t want cake. I didn’t want candles. Even though I know I’d get them. They aren’t the most important things in my life, that’s the people I choose to have in it. Hell, I didn’t even want peace. I wanted confrontation. I wanted to feel something real, because the truth is... peace has never really looked good on me.

I think that’s the biggest thing about all of this.. The unknown.. The unexpected. I feel like this match is a gift. One I can’t take for granted. I refuse to do that. I got a stroke of luck when I won the Queen for a day match. It reminded me of what I need to do, of what I must continue to do. It gave me a new perspective.  A new sense of purpose. A Goal.

And wouldn’t you know it? Life — or the universe, or fate, or maybe just a lazy booking committee — delivered the perfect gift: a rematch against someone I’ve already beaten so many times, I’ve lost count. Her name doesn’t even sting anymore. It doesn’t inspire rage or respect. It doesn’t shake me. It just... lingers. She’s like a ghost that refuses to understand it’s already dead. I keep sending her back into the dark, and she keeps crawling back into the light thinking the ending’s going to change this time. And now, in Denver, Colorado, on the mile-high stretch of this blood-stained road to Summer XXXTreme XIII, I get to bury her one more time. How poetic. How exhausting.

Little Miss I think I’m Hollywood and you are trash. I think I’m the main event, the be all and end all. When really, let’s just call her what she is — a repeat. A rerun. Someone I should've left behind in last season’s storyline, and yet somehow, she’s still crawling into my path like she matters. And maybe to someone, she does. Maybe there’s a fan out there who sees her as the underdog — the phoenix trying to rise. But me? I see her for what she really is. Not a threat. Not a rival. Just a necessary evil, a checkpoint on my route to something that actually means something. Still, she’s not the same as before. That much is obvious. She’s trained harder. She’s got that wide-eyed desperation now, that wild energy that makes someone believe their failure is a setup for redemption. Cute. Dangerous, maybe, in the hands of someone with purpose. But not here. Not with me. Not on this path.

Because the thing people forget about me — the thing she forgot — is that I’m not interested in playing the game the way it’s supposed to be played. I don’t align with the fan favorites, and I don’t dance with the devils just to wear their crown. I don’t owe the world a villain, and I sure as hell don’t care about being a hero. I exist to tear down the narrative. I live in the chaos between the lines. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep control of my story — even if that means becoming the monster no one sees coming. The monster she likes to play me off to me. The Queen who overlooked the self proclaimed Golden Goose. I hate to say it, if I have my way, she won’t make it out of there tonight as the winning party. But hell it’s anyone's game right? However, let’s look at the past to detect the future.

I’ve beaten her before. That’s not up for debate. Check the tapes. The record books are stained with her failures against me. I’ve left her broken on canvas, clutching her ribs, gasping for answers I never bothered to give. I’ve heard the excuses. “She wasn’t focused.” “She’s evolved now.” “She’s not the same competitor.” None of that matters. The truth is, I could walk into Denver on zero sleep, bruised, pissed off, and emotionally bankrupt, and I’d still have her number. Because when she sees me across that ring, something inside her knows. We all know this doesn’t end well for her. Knows the outcome before the first strike. Some people call that intimidation. Others call it dominance. I call it history — and history doesn’t lie.

But let me be clear. This isn’t a promo. It’s not some monologue I’m cutting into a mirror with fake bravado. This is personal. Not because she’s earned that level of intimacy, but because the timing is just too perfect to ignore. A birthday is a moment. A pause in the chaos. A checkpoint on the highway of whatever this life is supposed to be. And while most people use it to reflect on their achievements and mistakes, I use it to sharpen my perspective. To remind myself who I am — and more importantly, who I’m not.

I’m not here to make friends, though I’ve met and made some of the best friends a girl could ever ask for. I’m not here to give anyone a push, though I’ve helped others achieve greatness. I’m not the measuring stick; I’m the executioner. And on this particular birthday, the only candle I’ll be blowing out is the spark she still thinks she carries. That flicker of hope. That belief that maybe — maybe — this time she’ll break the cycle. But the thing about cycles is... they don’t break. Not for people like her. They repeat — endlessly, painfully, until you finally accept that the ceiling you keep trying to shatter is actually just the bottom of my boot.

Denver is a strange city for this chapter, I’ll admit. The air is thinner. The lights are brighter. The fans are louder, maybe. But none of that changes the fact that I walk in as the storm and she walks in trying to find her footing. That ring — that sacred six sided square where fates are rewritten and careers are ended — doesn’t care about effort. It doesn’t care how many times you’ve practiced your entrance or how tightly your boots are laced. It only cares about impact. About who leaves standing and who doesn’t. And let’s be honest: we already know how this ends.

Still, I welcome it. Not because I’m underestimating her, but because I understand the role she plays in my story. Every queen needs a few skulls to decorate the throne. Every road to greatness is paved with familiar faces who didn’t know when to stay down. She’ll bring her fire, and I’ll bring my storm. She’ll think she’s found a new level, and I’ll remind her that even at my worst, I’m the cliff she always falls from.

I don’t fear being tested. I invite it. But there’s a difference between a test and a rerun. There’s a difference between being pushed and being pestered. And as I stand on the edge of Summer XXXTreme XIII, eyes locked on something bigger, something worthy — I know I can’t afford distractions. I can’t afford sentimentality. I can’t let a ghost from the past pull me out of alignment. But I’ll give her the fight she’s hoping for. Not because she’s earned it. But because I like to remind people what reality feels like when you strip away the fantasy.

And fantasy is all she has left. She fantasizes that this is her time. That all the training, all the losses, all the quiet humiliations were just setups for the big redemption. That narrative works in movies. Maybe even in books. But in this world — in my world — there are no fairy tale endings. Just final chapters written in blood and steel. And if she thinks for one second that my birthday is going to soften me? That sentimentality is going to slow me down or open the door to mercy?

She’s already lost.

I don’t do mercy. I don’t do grace. What I do is walk into arenas, steal the oxygen out of the room, and make sure the only thing the audience remembers is the name Alexandra Calaway — burned into their memories like smoke in their lungs. And if I have to remind her of that one more time in Denver, so be it. Because when the lights hit, and that bell rings, and she’s staring at me from across that ring, all that “growth” she’s been clinging to will vanish. All that bravado? Gone. What she’ll see is a force she can’t tame, a chaos she can’t outthink, and a woman who doesn’t give a damn about underdog stories or redemption arcs.

She’ll see the same thing she saw every other time I put her down. She’ll see the truth. And the truth is... I’m still here. Unchanged. Unbroken. Unapologetically cruel when I need to be, indifferent when I want to be, and untouchable no matter what version of herself she brings to that ring.

So happy birthday to me. I get to make another statement. I get to send another message to the roster, to the fans, to the whole damn industry: Alexandra Calaway isn’t going anywhere. I don’t fade. I don’t stumble. I don’t get caught up in drama or desperation.

I endure. I thrive.

And on this mile-high stop on the way to Summer XXXTreme XIII, I won’t just win. I’ll remind you. I’ll remind her. I’ll remind them. I’ll remind myself.

That this isn’t just my story. It’s a storm. And everyone who steps in the path of Alexandra Calaway?

Eventually, they drown.

---

A Love Letter in Real Time
The Ramble Hotel, Rooftop private area
RiNo District
Denver, Colorado

The night sky over Denver glowed with a velvet hush, the city lights flickering like earthbound stars below. On the rooftop of The Ramble Hotel, nestled in the heart of RiNo, two figures sat under a canopy of strung café lights, wrapped in an unlikely cocoon of blankets, half-eaten takeout containers, and the soft, flickering glow of a projected movie against a makeshift screen. The air was crisp, early summer brushing the skin with the breath of memory and promise.

Alexandra Calaway, Former Queen for a Day in Sin City Wrestling and relentless storm outside of it, lay with her legs draped over LJ Kasey’s lap. Her black hoodie was two sizes too big, sleeves swallowed over her fists, and her hair was piled in a messy bun that had long surrendered its structure. She held a fry between her fingers like a weapon, staring suspiciously at the scene playing on the wall beside them. "Seriously?" she asked, smirking as the heroine of 13 Going on 30 broke into tears in the rain. "You picked this out of every rom-com the internet could throw at us?"

LJ laughed, pulling a soda can from the cooler and handing it to her. "It’s iconic. She dances to Thriller at a corporate party. There’s something beautifully unhinged about that level of commitment."

Alexandra rolled her eyes, but the laughter on her lips betrayed her. She raised the can like a toast. "To chaos, then."

"To owning it."

The cans clinked, fizzling slightly, the sound muffled by the wind. Down below, Denver pulsed with its usual rhythm—the chatter of patios, the distant thump of bar music, the occasional rumble of a train—but up here, on their private stage above the world, the noise became ambiance.

The movie continued, dancing into its next montage, but Alexandra’s eyes stayed on LJ. Her fingers toyed absently with the fraying edge of the blanket around her shoulders. "You ever think about how weird this is?" he asked after a beat. "How all of this started in a hotel room with cold pizza and Saturday morning cartoons, and now you’re up here plotting vengeance with a view of the skyline?"

She smirked, sipping her drink. "Plotting vengeance is what I do. The skyline’s just a bonus."

"But that night," he said, "you weren’t 'Queen of Chaos.' You were just... there. Quiet. Present. A little scared, I think."

Alexandra didn’t answer immediately. The wind pulled at her hair and her silence. Finally, she shrugged. "I wasn’t supposed to be anyone that night. Just a friend. A body to fill the space. Your brother’s partner was in the hospital. You were unraveling. I didn’t have a plan."

"You brought junk food and cartoons."

"I panicked. Food and Bugs Bunny seemed safer than emotions."

LJ chuckled and ran his thumb over her knee, a soft gesture that she pretended not to notice. "You could’ve said nothing and it still would’ve meant more than anything else anyone did that week."

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "You didn’t look at me like I was chaos."

"You weren’t," he said simply. "You were comfort." He smiled, running the backs of his fingers down her jawline.
 
"I didn’t know how to be comfort. I didn’t even know how to be in moments like that without trying to fight something." She took a deep breath, her mind had been a storm that night. Seeing how Miles was over Carter. It was the same way she felt watching Miles and LJ go at it last week, unable to do anything to stop it.

"You didn’t need to fight. You just needed to be there. And you were." He gave her one of his signature smirks.

They paused, the gravity of the memory stitching a quiet peace between them. Onscreen, Jennifer Garner twirled in a pink dress, reliving her thirteenth birthday wish with wide-eyed innocence. Alexandra scoffed lightly. "Okay, but seriously—rain epiphanies? Always with the dramatic weather."

LJ grinned. "It’s metaphorical."

"It’s impractical." She giggled, but secretly enjoyed it. “We would be soaked..”

"Maybe, but... if you danced in the rain, I’d still be the idiot standing next to you trying not to slip." He leaned closer.

She tilted her head. "You’d kiss me in the rain?"

He leaned in, slow and close, his nose brushing hers. "I’d kiss you through a hurricane, Luv."

The kiss was soft. Not staged, not perfect—just real. The kind of kiss that happened when the world’s edges faded. The kind that spoke of quiet loyalty and long nights. When they pulled apart, the wind had shifted slightly. It carried something more now—the anticipation of change, of what lay beyond this still night.

Alexandra stood, stretching the stiffness from her legs, her hoodie rising to reveal a line of ink along her hip. She turned to him with a smirk. "You know... if I hit a moonwalk during my match at Summer XXXTreme, I’m blaming you."

"I’d pay to see it," LJ said, rising beside her. "You’d still make it terrifying."

"I am terrifying." She shook her head with a chuckle

"Not right now you aren’t." He gave her a sweet wink.

"Don’t ruin my brand, Kasey." She held out a hand. "Come on. Let’s give Red Rocks a preview."

He took it, and together they shuffled awkwardly into a half-dance, half-mock routine as Thriller started to play. She moved with exaggerated drama, socked feet skimming across the rooftop, arms flailing in mock-zombie rhythm. LJ mirrored her, the two of them laughing uncontrollably. There was no crowd, no judgment—only the sound of music, wind, and laughter echoing into the night.

Eventually, Alexandra paused, catching her breath, her expression softening as she looked at him. "Tomorrow I will fight a ghost," she said, quietly. "Someone who thinks she deserved a spot on my card just because she showed up a few times."

"And tonight, Angel?" LJ smiled at her.

"Tonight, I remind myself who and what I fight for." She smiled in response to him.

LJ brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "And what’s that?"

"Moments like this. Where I’m not Alexandra Calaway, Former Queen for a day. Where I’m just me and that’s enough. For you. For my daughter. For myself." She took a deep breath

They held each other then. No big declarations. No sweeping cinematic swell. Just a steady heartbeat between them. Above, the stars blinked their approval. The movie fades into the credits. The food had long gone cold. But none of that mattered. Because this—this moment, this rooftop, this accidental romance born from cartoons and crisis—was where she had rediscovered the part of herself that didn’t need to roar to be heard. Here, in the quiet heart of Denver, beneath a sky that promised storms and stars alike, Alexandra Calaway wasn’t just preparing for war. She was remembering why she fought at all.

---

The Overlooked always Overreach
Red Rocks Amphitheatre
Denver, Colorado

Scene opens at dusk atop the legendary Red Rocks Amphitheatre, the red sandstone formations glowing in the fading Colorado light. Alexandra Calaway stands center stage, her figure silhouetted against the sprawling Colorado skyline. The wind brushes her leather coat as the sky bleeds orange into deepening blue. She takes a slow breath, surveying the horizon like a queen overlooking her domain. Her eyes glint with quiet fire.

“You see this place? Red Rocks. Symbol of power. Symbol of rebellion. A space where the earth itself begs you to stand tall, to scream louder, to make your presence known. That’s exactly why I chose it — because this moment with Crystal isn’t happening in a ring, or backstage, or under some predictable spotlight. It’s opening in a space built for giants. Built for chaos. And trust me... I plan on making this venue remember my name tonight.”

She begins to walk slowly across the open stage, boots striking the stone beneath her. Her fingers graze the microphone clipped to her collar, but her voice remains raw and unfiltered.

“Let’s be honest — all this tension between us? It never boiled down to wins and losses. No, it began way before the bell sounded. It began when Crystal realized she wasn’t booked on my show — Queen for a Day. She came running, begging, insisting she deserved the spotlight I built. She wanted an invite. A pass. A hand‑me‑down moment in my kingdom. But when the message came back: “You’re not on the card,” she cracked.”

She stops center stage again, chin lifted slightly. The wind shifts, and her dark hair lashes across her cheek. She doesn’t flinch.

“She couldn’t handle not being booked. And here’s the thing — it wasn’t about punishment. It was selection. I gave opportunity to those who matched my vision. To those who understood what power looked like when it stared back at you. Crystal didn’t. She couldn’t. So she spiraled. That’s where this all began — with a whimper. Not a war cry.”

Alexandra steps to the edge of the amphitheater, gazing down over the empty stone seating, each row like a ripple in the earth’s skin.

“You think I didn’t notice her little digs on social media? The veiled jabs in interviews? The crocodile tears disguised as “passion”? But I stayed quiet. I let her simmer in her self-made stew of bitterness, because I knew — eventually — we’d end up here. And she’d have nowhere to run. Crystal calls herself a veteran. I call her a footnote. She wants to pretend we’re equals — that we’ve shared similar battles, that we’ve carried the same weight. But no. She’s someone who’s survived long enough to become her own punchline. This match, in her mind, is retribution. Redemption. A way to show the world she still matters. But you know what it is to me? An inconvenience. A waste. But still, I’ll do it. To prove the point.”

She crouches down and runs her fingers across the rocky stage floor, the grit gathering under her nails.

“I’m not looking for closure. I’m not searching for resolution. I’m here to remind her why the crown never touched her head. Why the throne never bent to her shape. Why she was never — and will never be — Queen. Let’s talk about that, shall we? Queen for a Day. My concepts. My Card. My execution. My empire.”

She rises again, standing taller now. Behind her, the last sliver of sunlight disappears. Floodlights hum to life, casting eerie shadows.

“I didn’t just create that night to hand out accolades or favors. I crafted it as a tribute to power — to ruthless brilliance. Every match was calculated. Every performer? Selected with the precision of a scalpel. I wanted the kind of night that left echoes in people’s bones. The kind that carved fear into the hearts of anyone watching. And Crystal thought she was owed a spot. Owed. Entitlement is such a rotten stench. And Crystal wears it like cheap perfume. See, real royalty doesn’t beg. Real royalty doesn’t demand a spotlight — it harnesses it, it becomes the light. I didn’t just host Queen for a Day, I embodied it. Every moment, every beat, every entrance down that ramp — I was the crown, the fire, and the fury.”

She paces now, the rhythm of her steps matching the rising tension in her voice.

“So when Crystal was told she wasn’t on the card? That was the cleanest mercy she ever received. And she turned it into a grudge. Now she wants to rewrite that moment — repaint it as injustice. But here's the truth, Crystal. That wasn't an injustice. That was a decision. That was me looking through the lens of destiny and seeing no reason to include you. That wasn’t personal. I overlooked you, because you haven’t shown you want it bad enough. Prove to us ALL that you do. That was professional. But now? It is personal. Because you made it so. You are right though, I could have put you on the card. But against whom, if I had known you wanted to face me so badly, I would have booked us in a match. Speak up more next time. Sweetie.”

She stops. Her head turns slightly, as if hearing the whisper of ghosts in the wind. The night around her grows colder.

“You made your absence a tantrum. You made your disappointment a narrative. You decided to take your bitterness and poison everything around you. And now you’re here — thinking this match, this venue, this moment, gives you back what you think you lost. It doesn’t. This match isn’t your redemption. It’s your reckoning. You think you’ve been wronged. I think you’ve been warned. And let’s be clear — this isn’t just a match in Denver. This is the prologue to Summer XXXTreme XIII. The road ends there. But it burns here. Red Rocks isn’t just a venue tonight. It’s an altar. And I’m the storm that consecrates it.”

Thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. Her hands slowly rise, arms outstretched to the sky.

“Feel that wind? That electric pulse in the air? That’s not nerves. That’s inevitability. This stage is soaked in history. In echoes of the gods. U2. The Beatles. Stevie Nicks. All voices that shook these rocks to life. And tonight — it’s mine that will echo. Not in song. In declaration. I’ve been called a lot of things. Dangerous. Relentless. Unpredictable. But tonight? I’m adding unforgiving to the list. You see, Crystal thinks this is a rivalry. It’s not. You can’t rival something you don’t understand. Chaos isn’t something you challenge — it’s something you survive. If you’re lucky. She’s walking into this with delusions of grandeur. But I’m not here to wrestle her ego. I’m here to crush it.”

She turns slowly, facing the horizon again. Lightning flashes far in the distance — a silent warning.

“I didn’t climb Red Rocks for the view. I came here to claim the storm. I came here to send a message — not just to her, but to every name on that roster who thinks they can coast on legacy and call it greatness. Legacy is earned. Not inherited. It’s not about how long you’ve been in the game. It’s about what you leave behind. And Crystal? She’ll leave behind this match. This memory. This echo of a scream lost in the canyons of Colorado. A last gasp before silence. While I? I’ll leave behind myth. I’ll leave behind prophecy.”

She steps forward once more, her voice dropping to a near whisper — as if confiding in the mountains themselves.

“Because I’m not done. Here in Denver, Colorado, The Red Rocks is the beginning. But Summer XXXTreme XIII? That’s where the thunder cracks. I plan on being there, booked or not, to make a fucking statement. That’s where the sky splits wide open. So Crystal, if you came here hoping for redemption — prepare to be disappointed. If you came here hoping to be remembered — you will be. But not for the reasons you want. Because after tonight, when people speak of Red Rocks, they won’t talk about the lights or the music. They’ll talk about the night Alexandra Calaway brought the storm. And buried a ghost.”

Final lightning flash. Fade out.

Homeward Bound
The Ramble Hotel, Alexandra & LJ’s Suite
RiNo District
Denver, Colorado

The late summer sun cast golden streaks across the vintage-style windows of the Ramble Hotel in Denver, where Alexandra sat in a quiet corner of her suite. Her hair was still damp from a shower, braided loosely over her shoulder, and she wore a faded tee and joggers — comfort after chaos. The glow from her laptop screen lit her face as it connected. Ashlynn’s smiling image appeared almost instantly, curled up on the couch at home, barefoot and dressed in a tank top and shorts, summer break in full swing.

“Hey, baby girl,” Alexandra said, voice warm but tired. “How’s home?”

Ashlynn grinned. “Loud. Damien and Mika are arguing over who gets the last ice cream bar.” She leaned closer to the camera. “You look wiped, Mom. Long day?”

Alexandra gave a small laugh, running a hand over her face. “Long few weeks, honestly. Everything’s changing faster than I thought it would.” She paused, leaning back in the chair. “PWS is shutting down. It’s official now. And my contract with EPW… it’s officially up.”

Ashlynn blinked, the smile fading into something more thoughtful. “So… that’s it? You’re done?”

“No,” Alexandra said quickly, shaking her head. “Not done. Not yet Just... shifting gears. For once, I’m not going to be everywhere at once. No more juggling three promotions. I’ve given so much of myself to all these places, but now... it’s time I focus on what really matters. That’s you. That’s LJ. That’s home.” She paused again, her voice softening. “And if I’m going to keep fighting, it’s going to be where I want to, not where I feel like I have to.”

Ashlynn tilted her head. “So you’re staying in Sin City Wrestling?”

Alexandra nodded. “Yeah. That’s where I’m putting everything now. My energy, my attention, what’s left of this fight in me. I still love this business — I always will — but I’ve realized I don’t need to be everywhere to be heard. SCW is where I belong right now.”

There was a quiet beat between them, the kind filled with unspoken understanding. Ashlynn finally smiled again. “Good. You deserve to have one lane to run in. And... I just want you to be happy.”

Alexandra’s heart swelled as she looked at her daughter’s face. “I am. Or at least... I’m getting there.” She gave a half-smile. “You know, I used to think walking away from anything meant weakness. But this? This is strength. Choosing peace. Choosing family. Choosing to fight with purpose instead of pressure.”

Ashlynn’s voice came through softly. “You’re still my hero, Mom. You always will be.”

Alexandra’s eyes misted over, but she smiled through it. “That’s all I’ve ever tried to be.”

Outside, the Denver skyline shimmered in the heat of the setting sun. Inside, Alexandra felt something rare — clarity. The scene fades out on the video call as LJ enters the room.

Before the Storm
Hotel Terrace
Paris, France

The Eiffel Tower twinkles in the near distance. A gentle wind cuts across the terrace. The rain hasn’t started yet, but the clouds hang low and heavy. Alexandra Calaway leans against the stone railing, dressed in black leather and lace, her dark makeup flawless, but her jaw tense. She stares at the horizon like it insulted her. She hated that she was going to be here alone, without him. She lets her thoughts wander to her daughter, who just celebrated her sixteenth birthday. And to him, to LJ. She hated that they couldn’t be here.

“I don’t know if I can do this alone.” Her eyes look up at the sky. They had been traveling together for so long that it was almost like second nature for them. She had already been here two days without him. “I have to.. I must carry on. It’s what he’d want.”

LJ slips in silently, making sure he’s not heard. He watches her — not just her body, but the weight she carries in her posture, her breathing, the quiet storm behind her eyes.

“Hello Angel..” He looks at her.

She shook her head as she jumped and turned around.  “LJ.. you.. You’re..”  She took a deep breath, but her gaze was millions of miles away.

“You’re somewhere else right now.” the words come out softly, a knowing smirk crosses LJ’s features.

Alexandra smiles weakly and keeps her gaze on him. “I’m five steps up a ladder… with blood on my hands and five women clawing at my ankles.” Her fingers play with the hem of her shirt.

LJ steps forward, speaking calmly. “You’ve already beaten most of them. And the ones you didn’t? You’re going to break.”

Alexandra gives him a half smirk. “That’s the plan.” She brings her gaze up, finally meeting his eyes. The hardness doesn’t leave her face, but her voice softens just slightly. “Do you think I’m obsessed?”

LJ cocks his head, rising to his feet. “With what? The match? The crown? Revenge?”

“All of it.” her hand reaching out for his, as if he was her lifeline.

He pauses, then moves to join her at the edge of the balcony. “No Angel, I don’t. I think you’re doing exactly what you were born to do. People confuse obsession with purpose. You just know what your war looks like.”

She exhales through her nose, looking down at the streets below. “I don’t just want to win. I want to make them feel it. Cassie. Julianna. The Zdunich Dynasty,  And Kat Jones. All of them. I want their ears to ring with my name long after I’ve climbed down that ladder.”

His voice is quiet and firm, his arms slipping around her waist. “And they will, luv.”

She finally leans against him slightly, her body relaxing just an inch, but that edge remains. “I don’t know how to switch it off, LJ. I don’t know how to be soft when the blood’s still fresh.”

He smiles as he grabs her chin, making her look up at him. “You don’t have to be soft with me. You just have to be real. Honestly, I kind of like it when you are rough.”

Alexandra closes her eyes. “I’m genuinely scared of what I’ll become if I keep going like this.”

LJ turns her gently to face him fully. His hands rested on her shoulders, before dropping down to her waist again. “Then become it. Whatever ‘it’ is. Queen. Queenslayer. Legend. I’ll still be here. Paris, Tokyo, hell… even Vegas. You won’t lose yourself. Not with me holding the map.”

She finally gives him a real smile, small but sharp, like a flicker of sunlight on a blade. “You always know what to say.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against hers. “Then go say yours. Go take the crown. Burn the kingdom down if you have to.”

She kisses him, quick but charged. Then she turns toward the rooftop exit, her long coat trailing behind her like war banners. She speaks to the emptiness of the night. “It’s time.”

She walks off into the night. The clouds rumble above. And LJ stays behind, watching the woman he loves vanish into the storm, knowing exactly what kind of legend she’s about to carve across Paris and Sin City Wrestling. Rain hadn’t yet begun, but the wind whispered it's warning through the narrow alleys of Paris. Even after Alexandra vanished into the stairwell, LJ didn’t move. He stood on the rooftop terrace alone, staring at the place where she’d stood — still feeling the fire she left behind.

Eventually, he moved.

He picked up her coat, black leather and still warm, and made his way down the narrow stairs. His footsteps echoed against old iron as the scent of the city crept in through the open corridors: wet stone, jasmine, and the electric promise of a storm. He found her at street level, just outside the alley that led from their building. She stood under the glow of a flickering street lamp, her arms crossed, back pressed to the cool stone wall. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t shaking. But her jaw was tight and her breathing deep — the kind that came from trying not to explode.

He whispered softly. "You left this."

He held out her coat. Alexandra looked over at him but said nothing as he draped it over her shoulders. She tugged the lapels closer to her throat, the gesture more armor than warmth.

"I just needed air." She shrugged.

LJ shook his head, his eyes fixed on hers. "That’s not all you needed."

She didn’t argue. Instead, she turned and looked up at the glowing tower behind them. The Eiffel Tower sparkled every hour on the hour — a tradition, a spectacle. But to her, it looked like a crown wrapped in a thousand tiny lies. She didn’t say that, though. Not yet.

"Do you ever wonder what it’s like? To not be like this?" She took a deep breath.

LJ he tilted his head looking at her. "Like what?"

"This… consumed. Always plotting. Always thinking about the next fight. The next step. The next name I have to rip apart before they rewrite the story without me in it." She sighed softly.

LJ stepped closer but gave her space, hands in his jacket pockets. She wasn’t asking for comfort. She was asking for honesty. "Sometimes. But I think people like us? We’re not made to sit still. We’re made to break the glass before it cuts us first."

Alexandra laughed softly under her breath — sharp, bitter. "I can’t remember the last time I won something and didn’t immediately wonder who would try to take it away."

LJ moved closer to her, leaning against the wall. "That’s not paranoia. That’s clarity. You’ve built yourself into something they can’t ignore anymore. And that scares them."

She glanced at him. "I don’t just want to beat them. I want them to remember me when they fail. I want Cassie to dream about me every time she tries to rise. I want Julianna to feel me in the bruise I leave behind. I want the Zdunichs to question every part of their legacy because they couldn’t stop me. I want Kat screaming in anger." Her voice didn’t rise. The conviction in it was enough to quiet the street around them. "I want to leave them with doubt. Because once that seed takes root, it grows like poison."

LJ smirked softly. "And the crown?"

She smiled — the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but came from a place far deeper. Hungrier. "The crown is proof. Not of power… but of victory. Of intention. Of dominance."

LJ stepped in front of her now, taking her hands in his. "You’re not obsessed, Angel. You’re evolving. You’ve been through hell — and you didn’t just survive, you built a legacy in the ashes."

Alexandra took a deep breath. "And now?"

LJ shrugged and held her close. "Now you burn the rest down."

Her body trembled slightly — not from fear, not from weakness — but from sheer restraint. Alexandra looked up at him. "I don’t know if I’m coming back the same."

LJ smirked and shook his head. "Then don’t. Come back as whatever you need to be. Just know I’ll still be here. In Paris. In Vegas. Wherever the next war takes you."

She looked up at him then, eyes gleaming. "You make it sound romantic."

LJ smirked and kissed her nose. "Isn’t it? You, out there turning ladders into altars. Me, waiting at the edge of the battlefield with open arms and a bandage."

Alexandra laughed, shaking her head. "You’re ridiculous."

LJ nuzzled against her neck, laughing softly. "And you love it."

He leaned in and kissed her — slow and full of quiet promises. Her hands slid up to his face, holding him there for a moment longer before they broke apart. "This city is going to remember me."

LJ nodded in agreement with her. "So will they. Every. Single. One."

She turned then, walking back toward the alley’s entrance with a fire in her stride that dared the night to try and stop her. Before she stepped out of view, she turned her head slightly.

"Sometimes… to destroy queens—"

LJ smiled at her and spoke. "You must become one."

The rain started as the final word left his mouth. Alexandra didn’t flinch. She walked into it like it was a coronation. And LJ stood in the shadows, watching his queen go carve her legacy out of bone and gold.

---

Midnight Strolls
Tour Eiffel
Paris, France

A thunderstorm looms just beyond the skyline. Alexandra Calaway stalks across the edge of a cathedral rooftop in the Latin Quarter. The Eiffel Tower glows defiantly behind her. Lightning flashes over the River Seine. Her boots click against aged stone as she paces beneath stone gargoyles. A ladder leans ominously near the edge, its shadow stretching like a blade. The wind picks up her dark hair. She turns to face the camera. Alexandra’s voice is calm but laced with venom.

“Paris... the city of lights, of dreams, of crowns once forged in fire and sharpened with blood. Seems fitting, doesn’t it? That we’re all coming here to fight for the right to call ourselves ‘Queen.’ And yet—one of the women I’m supposed to share a ring with? She’s already been playing royalty her whole damn life.”

She smirks, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop where a rusted gargoyle snarls out toward the city.

“Crystal Zdunich. Or Christina. Or Christina Rose. Or Crystal Hilton. Or Crystal Whatever-the-Hell-she’s-calling-herself-this-week. And her pretty little wifey Seleana.”

“You wear identities like dresses in your closet. Glittery, dramatic, outdated. You show up under the lights like you’re still the main attraction… but the truth is, ladies? Neither of you are the headliner anymore. You’re a walking fucking parody.” She walks slowly across the roof, trailing her fingers across a rusted iron ladder leaning against the stone wall.

“I’ve stood across from both of you before. And I broke the illusion. Beneath all that glitz, all that promo talk about championships, marriages, red carpets and star power — are two women desperate to still be relevant in a world that’s long since passed them by.” She stops, looking up at the full moon.

“Neither of you could beat me. You couldn’t. Because when we fought, you brought flash and I brought fire. You brought a performance… and I brought war. And when it ended? You were the one staring up at the lights. Reality hit hard. Didn’t it?” She takes a step back, breathing in deeply, the Parisian air thick with anticipation.

“You’re not the worst in that ring. Not by far. But you are the most exhausted. You’ve run so many laps around your own gimmick, you don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re not here for the fight. You’re here to preserve a legacy that’s already cracked down the middle.” She crouches beside the edge, fingers brushing a crown-shaped scorch mark painted on the stone.

“And you cling to your accolades like armor. ‘I’ve been world champion. I’ve headlined. I’ve BEEN the Queen.’ That’s your mantra. But here’s the problem with people like you two ladies. You think legacy is supposed to protect you. You think your past wins are shields. But they’re anchors. Dead weight.” She stands, turning sharply, voice rising.

“This match isn’t about who you WERE. It’s about who you are RIGHT NOW. And right now? You’re the weakest link in this chain of wolves.” She walks back toward the center of the rooftop where a single ladder stands upright, silhouetted by lightning.

“You married Seleana, dragged her into your spotlight, and now you’re both in this match together. I don’t care how much you two smile in public or what pretty little picture you paint — the second that crown starts to swing above that ring, you’ll cut her throat if it gets you ten feet higher. That’s who you two are. You don’t believe in love in that ring. You don’t believe in legacy. You believe in the image, the spotlight.” She grabs the ladder, slamming a boot against its base.

“But I’m not here to entertain. I’m not here to pose for pictures. I’m here to climb this ladder, tear the crown from the sky, and put it on my bloodied head while every woman in that ring watches their chance at glory die.” She shook her head. “And when you look up, from the mat — your face caked in glitter, sweat, and the shattered glass of your own self-image — you’ll realize something you should’ve known a long time ago…”

She climbs halfway up the ladder, standing still.

“There is no room for old royalty in the new era. You had your precious chance. You danced in the spotlight long enough. But the house lights are going down. The curtain’s falling ladies.” She glares into the camera. “And this time, you won’t get a standing ovation. You’ll get trampled under a steel ladder and a legacy that means nothing when the bell rings.”

She ascends the final rungs of the ladder until she’s at the top. She reaches up to the night sky as if claiming the crown itself. “The show’s over for you two ladies.” She looks down. Her voice drops to a near whisper.

“Time for the execution of your pathetic dynasty.”

Rain sizzles as it hits the hot stone beneath Alexandra’s boots. Thunder rolls across the Paris skyline. The Eiffel Tower glows faintly now, as clouds crawl across the moon. Alexandra steps down from the ladder, her long coat trailing behind her like a shadow pulled by gravity. She walks across the rooftop, stopping near a crumbling angel statue, its wings chipped, its face eroded by time and neglect. Her eyes lift to the storm, and her voice cuts clean through the wind.

“Kat Jones.”

She says it with no venom. No mockery. Just a deliberate, quiet certainty — like reading a name carved into a gravestone.

“You’ve been in this game for a hot minute. You’ve earned your scars. You’ve survived fires that would’ve burned others to ash. I’ve seen the work. I’ve seen the legacy. You’re not a poser. You’re not someone who stumbled into this moment by luck.”

She kneels at the rooftop’s edge. Rain collects on her gloves.

“But that’s the thing about legacy — it’s past tense. What you’ve done doesn’t matter when you’re standing under a ladder, staring up at the future.” She presses two fingers to the stone ledge, almost like she’s testing the weight of her words. “I don’t deny what you are, Kat. You’re strong. You’re focused. You’re dangerous. And that’s exactly why I’m looking at you first.”

Alexandra rises slowly, turning toward the camera. The storm behind her pulses like a heartbeat.

“You’re not walking into this like a rookie. You’re not starstruck, and you’re not soft. But what you are... is in my way.” She walks again, boots splashing gently in puddles gathering across the rooftop, each step calm, unhurried — like she already knows how this ends.

“See, everyone in this match has something to prove. A reason. An angle. A ghost chasing them. Some want redemption. Some want revenge. Some want to be seen. But me?” She stops, tilting her head slightly. “I just want the crown. I want the chance to rule this company for one whole show.”

She pauses in front of a rusted weathervane shaped like a crown, spinning wildly in the storm. Her hand grips the base, stilling it with ease. “And I don’t care who I have to break to get it.” She steps around the statue now, circling it like a predator.

“Kat, I know your type. I’ve fought your type. The battle-hardened vet. The strategist. The one who keeps her cool while others burn out. That’s your armor. You’ve made a living out of being composed while chaos unfolds around you.” She leans against the stone, rain running off her coat.

“But what happens when the chaos isn’t around you — it’s coming for you? What is it that you fight for huh? Because whatever it is, it should be ashamed of you. Because I look at you and I see a failure. A Woman who isn’t worth the time.”

She begins to walk again, her pace a little faster now, the thunder above growing louder.

“This isn’t a normal match. There’s no count-outs, no sanctuary in the ropes. It’s not about who can chain wrestle. It’s about who’s willing to shove a woman’s face into steel and climb over her bones to grab gold.” She stops again, looking up at the ladder now towering behind her. “You think being calm gives you control. But control doesn’t win wars. Violence does. Desperation does. Knowing when to throw grace out the window and become the monster.”

She turns slowly, eyes narrowed. “I’m already that monster, Kat.” She climbs up onto the parapet, her balance effortless despite the wind whipping around her.

“I’m not carrying friendships into that ring. I’m not weighed down by alliances or promises. I don’t need to play politics. I’m free. And that freedom? It makes me lethal.” She extends her hand toward the camera — fingers steady.

“You want to climb, Kat? Climb. But know this — if we meet at the top, and both our hands are on that crown, I won’t hesitate. I won’t blink. I won’t breathe before I throw you off that ladder so hard your past glories shatter with your spine.” She drops her hand.

“I don’t care if this match makes me a villain. I’m not here to play a role. I’m here to win.” She jumps down from the parapet, landing in a crouch as lightning flashes behind her. “Kat Jones... you’ll still be talked about after this. But not because of what you accomplished.”

She walks to the ladder and grips the lowest rung.

“They’ll remember the fall.”

The skyline grows darker now, the thunderstorm creeping closer. The Eiffel Tower flickers in the distance like a dying beacon. Alexandra stands near the edge of the roof again, this time framed by twin gargoyles. Her coat whips in the wind, rain running in thin rivers down her arms. She’s no longer smirking. Her eyes are focused. Cold. A fire beneath the surface. The moment is quiet but intense.

“Cassie Wolfe. The sweetheart. The prodigy. The ‘can’t miss.’”

She leans against the stone ledge, one boot pressed up behind her, casually confident.

“You got one over on me. Let’s not sugarcoat it. You walked into a ring with me and you walked out with the win. That’s the truth. And I know you’ve held that moment in your heart ever since, like a trophy no one else could see.”

She looks down at the cobblestone streets below, then turns to the camera.

“But here’s the thing about beating someone like me, Cassie — you better make damn sure I don’t get back up.” She pushes off the wall, eyes now piercing. “You didn’t end me. You didn’t break me. You just pissed me off.”

Alexandra walks toward the ladder again, placing a single hand on its side.

“You remind me of every overhyped rookie I’ve ever stepped in the ring with. So much promise. So much potential. So much talk. But the minute things get gritty, the moment your game plan falls apart — you crumble.” She starts circling the ladder, her voice picking up momentum. “You’re fast. You’re gifted. But you’re not ready to lead. You’re not ready to be Queen. You think this crown is some fairytale coronation, that all you have to do is fight hard and believe in yourself and you’ll ascend.”

She stops, slowly shaking her head.

“But this isn’t a movie. This is war. This is betrayal. This is steel on bone and clawing teeth and desperation. You think you’re climbing a ladder to glory, but baby, you’re climbing into a cage with wolves. You know.. Those same wolves you claim to be hungry like. Please pup.. That line is so old now.” She lifts a gloved hand and taps one of the metal rungs. “You beat me once. I didn’t forget. I watched the tape. I remember every second of it. And that loss? It didn’t break me. It sharpened me. Refined me. Molded me into something colder. Deadlier. And more dangerous than you’ve ever seen.”

She steps up onto the ladder, one boot at a time, slowly ascending.

“And I’ve watched you since then. You’ve grown since you arrived, sure. You’ve gotten tougher. Hungrier. But Cassie — I’ve grown into something that cannot be destroyed. Many have tried before you and many will try after..” She stops halfway up again, wind battering her as lightning forks behind her silhouette.

“You’re a spark. But I’m a wildfire.” She climbs a few more rungs, then drops back down to the roof with a metallic slam. “You beat Alexandra Calaway once. But you forge, I've got two up on you. The one who remembered. The one who studied you. Who saw every weakness in that saccharine little smile of yours. The one who’s ready to rip your legacy out from under you and snap it across her knee.”

She stalks across the rooftop again, her expression no longer calm.

“See, you still want to belong, Cassie. You want people to like you. Cheer for you. Remember you. But I already accepted the truth a long time ago — I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to be feared. Revered. And obeyed.”

She steps onto the slick ledge of the roof, facing the tower in the distance.

“You’re walking into this match thinking it’s your moment. Your rise. Your storybook climb. And you’re not even seeing the pit of knives beneath your feet.” She turns her head just slightly, voice low. “I’ll show you how this fairytale ends.”

She jumps down, boots crunching on the rooftop again. Her breathing steadies. That deadly calm returns.

“You’ve never had to make a choice like this, Cassie. You’ve never had to throw a body off a ladder just to survive. You’ve never had to betray someone mid-climb, or wrap your hands around a crown with your fingers bleeding from steel.” She picks up a loose chain from the rooftop — part of a rusted maintenance fixture — and wraps it slowly around her palm. “But I have.”

She holds the chain up to the camera.

“And when that crown dangles above us, when every Bombshell in that ring is fighting for their life — I’ll make sure you remember one thing forever.”

She tosses the chain to the ground. It hits with a metallic thud.

“Lightning never strikes twice. But I do.”

The thunderstorm is nearly overhead now. The rain has intensified, falling in sheets across the rooftop. Thunder rips through the air, echoing off the stone. Alexandra stands drenched, her coat soaked and clinging to her frame, yet she’s unmoved. The Eiffel Tower is barely visible behind sheets of rain. She’s perched at the edge of a sloped parapet now, her silhouette cast in flashes of lightning. There’s tension in her body — like a panther waiting to pounce.

“Julianna DiMaria. The name burns a little extra, doesn’t it?”

She doesn’t move, staring straight ahead into the storm, hair soaked and clinging to her face.

“You’re one of the few who’s beaten me... and had the nerve to grin about it like you’d just killed God.” She turns, slowly, lightning flashing across her face. “But you didn’t kill me, Julianna. You poked the sleeping monster underneath. And I’ve been sharpening my claws ever since.”

She begins walking across the slick stone, slow, measured, eyes locked on the ladder in the distance like a target.

“There’s something about you that’s always rubbed people the wrong way — that smirk, that dismissiveness, that ‘I’m better than all of you’ energy that you wear like a designer dress. But you know what pisses people off the most about you?”

She stops, hands at her sides.

“You’re usually right.” She gives a ghost of a smile — not admiration, but grim acknowledgment. “You’re good, Julianna. You don’t just win. You dissect. You manipulate. You know how to find the crack in a person’s armor and pry it wide open.”

She walks again, now circling the ladder like it’s prey.

“And that night you beat me? You found the crack. Exploited it. Used your arrogance like a blade and cut through me with precision. I hated every second of it.” She stops and tilts her head, her voice now rising with intensity. “But hate is a powerful motivator. And I used that loss as fuel. Because while you were busy parading around like the second coming of Sin City royalty, I was learning. Evolving. Preparing for the next time our paths crossed.”

She slams her hand against the side of the ladder, metal echoing across the rooftop.

“And now? Here we are. No more hiding. No excuses. Just six women, one crown, and nothing between us but violence and resolve.” She begins climbing slowly. “I know how you operate, Julianna. You won’t hesitate to throw anyone off this ladder — not Cassie, not Kat, not Zdunichs... and sure as hell not me.”

She pauses halfway up, gripping the ladder with both hands.

“But here’s where your plan fails — you think you’ve already won. You think your mental warfare will keep me off balance. You think the past is your weapon.” She leans her forehead against the top rung for a second, then looks into the camera. “But I’m not the same woman you beat.” She climbs another rung, her voice sharpened to a blade.

“I’m colder. I'm cruel. And I’ve been saving every ounce of that loss for this moment — the moment I bury it under your broken body at the base of this ladder. The moment I finally get to prove that I am better than you.”

She reaches the top, standing tall now, arms outstretched into the rain.

“You might be the smartest woman in that ring. The most cunning. But this match doesn’t reward strategy — it rewards pain tolerance. Risk. Sacrifice.” She tilts her head to the side. “And let’s be honest, Julianna... you’re great when you’re on top. But how well do you climb when your ribs are broken and your teeth are loose?”

She crouches down at the top, voice lower again.

“You want to be Queen because you believe you already are. But real queens bleed for the throne. And I’m ready to bleed.” She reaches upward toward the rain. “So bring your smirk. Bring your condescension. Bring that smug, sneering confidence you hide behind like a mask.”

She looks down into the camera.

“Because I’m not just coming to beat you this time, Julianna... I’m coming to humble you.” She descends the ladder, boots ringing against the steel, every step echoing like a countdown. “You built your kingdom on strategy and bravado. I’ll tear it down with brutality.”

She plants both feet on the rooftop again, breathing steady.

“I’m not the woman you embarrassed. I’m the reckoning you didn’t plan for.”

The Paris rooftop is chaotic now. Wind shrieks like ghosts between stone and steel. The rain pounds the rooftop in waves. Alexandra stands alone beside the ladder, now fully soaked, her coat billowing like wings behind her. The Eiffel Tower behind her flashes with distant lightning. Her hair sticks to her face. Her eyes burn like torches in the storm. Alexandra Calaway speaks, her voice low, controlled, every syllable laced with venom and vision

“Each of you sees that crown as a symbol of triumph. Power. Legacy. A title that cements you in history. And maybe for some of you… it’s a shiny piece of validation. A way to finally be seen. To be worshipped. To rule.”

She runs her gloved hand along the metal of the ladder, like it’s an old friend.

“But me? I don’t want the crown to wear it. I want the crown to burn it.” She looks up into the storm, rain dripping from her lashes. “I’m not climbing for celebration. I’m climbing to punish. To remind every single woman in that ring that this isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a coronation. This is a bloodletting. And when it’s done…”

She turns back toward the camera, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You’ll all look up from the floor, broken, breathless, battered — and you’ll see me above you, holding your kingdom in my hands like a goddamn guillotine.” She takes the first step up the ladder, voice calm now. Almost reverent.

“Because sometimes… to destroy queens…” She climbs another rung. “You must become one.”

She stares straight into the camera. No smile now. Just certainty. The storm rages around her violently. And Alexandra Calaway — she stands tall, unmoved, unyielding. Already wearing the crown in her mind.

Blackout.

Working through the thoughts
Hotel Room
Oslo, Norway

The hotel room is a soft nest of quiet and warmth, lit by the gentle glow of a bedside lamp. Outside the wide window, Oslo is slick with recent rain. The streetlights below stretch in long golden reflections across cobblestone, and the city, cool and damp in this Scandinavian spring, settles into night. Inside, the air is still but full of a quiet tension. Alexandra lies on her back on the king-sized bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped across her stomach. Her long dark hair fans out across the white pillow. She wears an oversized tee and sleep shorts, but sleep is the last thing on her mind. LJ, propped on one elbow beside her, watches her in the low light.

“You’re chewing on something.” LJ spoke softly. “You are rarely this quiet Love. It’s actually got me a little bit worried.”

Alexandra doesn’t answer at first. Her gaze stays locked on the ceiling, her jaw tight. “It’s Candy. This match. I know that Candy isn’t a joke. I’ve seen her bust her ass and win matches. But recently she’s not really been doing it.”

LJ glances at the clock on the table beside the bed. “Match isn’t for a few more nights, Angel. You should try and rest up before everything gets started.”

“It’s not the match. Not really. It’s what she represents.” She took a deep breath. LJ stays quiet, listening. “She’s the fan favorite really. Her return to Sin City Wrestling is still fresh. Still the crowd’s favorite flavor. They eat up every glitter-soaked entrance she makes. She could go out there and pop a confetti cannon and the whole arena would go nuclear. I’m not calling her new by any means, but they love her. And me.. I’m old news. According to at least half the roster. I’m nothing.”

LJ nodded, paying attention to her. “Hence the nickname.”

Alexandra nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Glitterbomb. Fits her. She lights up a room. Lights up a match. And she means well. That’s the kicker. She’s not some arrogant rookie. She’s kind. She’s genuine. And she respects the hell out of me and I respect her.” Alexandra pauses. A small, conflicted smile touches her lips, but doesn’t last. “Which somehow makes this harder. Because I don’t want to go out there looking to destroy her.. I just..”

LJ looks at her, running his finger tips down her jawline. “Because you don’t want to fight her?”

Alexandra laughs a little, shaking her head. “No. I want to. That’s the problem babe.” She sits up, leaning forward, her hands clasped together. Her voice is low, steady, and heavy with history. “I’ve been doing this longer than she’s been doing it too. I broke in before hashtags and TikTok spots and curated entrance gear. Back when we still had to duct tape our boots in the back of some rec center in Texas and hope someone noticed we could work.” She shakes her head, smiling faintly at the memory. “And I love this business. Still. After all the road miles, the bad bookings, the injuries, the moments where I almost walked away—I still love it. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if the crowd remembers what I’ve done.”

LJ shifts beside her. “You think they forgot?”

“No. Not really. But I think they’ve moved on. Or maybe they just see me differently now. Like a veteran. A constant. The one you respect but don’t root for. You know?” She looks down at her hands, before up at him. “I’ve had titles. Main events. Blood feuds. Classics. But this match? With Candy? It feels like I’m being asked to prove I still belong. Like my legacy isn’t enough unless I shine next to her sparkle.”

LJ reaches over, places a hand over hers. “You don’t need glitter. You’re the gold standard.”

Alexandra smirks. “Okay, that was a little corny.”

LJ cups her face in one hand, kissing her softly. “I stand by it love.”

She exhales slowly, leaning into his hand with a gaze that says it all. “It’s not jealousy. I want her to succeed. I like her. She reminds me of what it felt like when I still had something to chase. But when I stand across from her in just a couple of nights.... it’s not about beating her. It’s about reminding people who I am. Who I’ve always been.”

LJ nods, thoughtful. “And who’s that?”

“A fighter. A storyteller. Someone who didn’t wait for permission to be great. I carved my space. And I want her to know that when we lock up. Not because I need her approval, but because I want her to understand the ground she’s walking on. It was paved by women like me.” She rubs at her face, then lets her hands drop, her voice softer now. “People call me a trailblazer. Say they grew up watching me. I hear that a lot these days. And it’s an honor, but also—I’m not done. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to be seen. Still. Now.”

LJ slides closer, kisses her shoulder. “Then take that ring with you Angel, and own it. Let her shine. Let the fans scream for her. But when that bell rings? Remind everyone that you’re not fading into history. You’re standing right there. Present. Powerful.”

“Not a memory. Or an afterthought.”

LJ smirked, nodding his head. “Exactly.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Rain picks up again outside, tapping gently on the windowpane. The city is hushed, waiting. Just like her. “Promise me something?”

LJ smiles at her. “Always.”

“If I walk out there at Climax Control and the crowd cheers louder for her... if the signs say "Team Glitterbomb" and not my name…” She hesitates. “Remind me afterward that I still matter. Even if they don’t shout it.”

LJ meets her eyes. “You matter before the entrance. Before the bell. Before the pop. You matter in every quiet moment you gave this business your heart when no one was watching.” He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “But I think they’ll remember. At Climax Control, now, and forever. They’ll see you. Maybe more clearly than ever.” He chuckled and pulled her in tightly. “I can think of a way to show you how important you are.”

“Oh? How’s that?” She smirked.

LJ pulled her into a heated kiss. The tension in her chest softens, something so simple caused it to fade from her body as if it was nothing. Outside, Oslo breathes in twilight. The rain fades to a whisper. The street below is empty now, lit by pools of golden light. A city in slow rebirth. At Climax Control, the bell will ring. And Candy will explode into the ring like joy wrapped in stardust. The fans will erupt. They always do. But Alexandra will be there too—steadfast, grounded, burning with the fire of everything she’s survived. And when the glitter settles, she will still be standing. She always has been.

---

No more Smoke. No more Sparkle.
Vigeland Sculpture Park
Oslo, Norway

The wind howls through Vigeland Sculpture Park, biting at the exposed skin like an unwelcome guest. It cuts through Alexandra's coat, making her feel smaller than she really is, a tiny figure moving against the vast, unforgiving landscape of stone. Her boots crunch against the gravel, each step echoing with a force that seems at odds with the silence that surrounds her. The statues stand still, frozen in time, their stone faces watching her as she passes, silently judging, silently knowing.

This place is sacred. Every inch of ground beneath her feet has been walked by souls who have faced the brutal reality of existence, whose pain and suffering have been immortalized in cold stone. Here, there are no distractions. No glitter. No noise. No sparkle. Only the truth. And it’s this truth that Alexandra has come to confront today. She stops in front of a statue of a mother and child, their forms twisted in a frozen scream. The mother’s arms are wrapped protectively around her child, but their struggle is so painfully obvious in the curvature of their bodies, in the anguish captured forever in stone. Alexandra stands there for a long time, her fingers brushing against the cool, rough surface, feeling the weight of their grief.

“You think you know pain, don’t you, Candy?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “You think you can hide behind your theatrics, your glitter bombs, your smoke and mirrors. But pain—real pain—isn’t something you can mask with sparkles. It’s not something you can dance around with a gimmick. It’s something you endure. Something that changes you. Something that leaves a scar, permanent and unyielding.” She took a deep breath. “Etched in stone.. forever.”

Her breath comes in slow, measured inhales as she stares into the face of the statue. “This mother... She's protecting her child, yes. But in that protection, she’s giving everything of herself. She’s sacrificing herself in ways we both definitely understand, Candy. You hide from your sacrifices. You hide from the pain that comes with it. You hide from the truth. But here, in this place, truth is all there is. And truth... truth never lies.”

She takes a step back from the statue, her eyes narrowing. There’s a deep, gnawing ache in her chest that she can’t ignore. For years, she’s lived with this pain. The pain of loss. The pain of rejection. The pain of betrayal. She carried it inside her like a wound that never healed, covered it with layers of armor and steel. But the truth is—pain doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it. It lingers. It festers. And Candy? Candy never had to face her own pain. She’s spent her whole career running from it. Hiding behind the mask of glitter and flair, of chaos and noise. But Alexandra knows better. She’s seen it all. And she won’t let herself be distracted by it any longer.

“Pain is what we dabble in—but for some of us, it’s more than that. It’s what we live in, breathe in, bleed in. In this business, greatness isn’t handed out for style points. It’s earned by taking that pain—every bruise, every crack in the armor—and wielding it like a blade. We don’t hide behind glitter bombs and staged cuteness, hoping to blind or distract our opponents. That might’ve worked for you so far, Candy. It might’ve fooled the crowd, fooled your past opponents into mistaking chaos for skill. But our match? That will be different. You won’t turn me into another highlight reel casualty. I won’t be your sparkle-stained victim. I won’t let what you’ve done to others ever happen to me.”

With a sharp breath, she turns, her coat swirling around her as she moves toward another statue—a figure of a man, frozen mid-motion, his body wracked with suffering, his hands outstretched as though reaching for something, anything. His body is contorted, his face etched with the marks of struggle and pain. Alexandra stares into his eyes, feeling the intensity of the emotion etched into the stone. The despair. The hopelessness. The raw humanity that is so often buried under layers of bravado and distraction.

“This is a struggle, Candy,” she says, her voice a little louder now, as though she’s finally allowing herself to speak the words she’s held in for so long. “This is what it looks like when you fight for something real. When you fight against the world that tries to break you. This man, here, he’s not pretending. He’s not putting on a show. He’s not hiding behind fake smiles and glitter. He’s fighting.”

Her fists clench at her sides, the tension building inside her. The fury. The rage. The realization that Candy, for all her bravado, for all her tricks, has never had to truly fight someone like Alexandra in a very long time. Her last two showings weren’t so top notch, like Alexandra had seen out of her before. Not the way Alexandra has. Not with the kind of desperation, the kind of raw determination that comes from facing down a life that has nothing but pain to offer. Candy hides behind her gimmicks, her distractions. She turns everything into a performance, a spectacle. But what happens when the show ends? When the crowd isn’t there to cheer her on? When the lights go out and the world is left with only the truth of who she really is?

“You’re a fighter, Candy, that I know.” Alexandra spits, her voice thick with contempt. “But you’re also a distraction. A joke. You paint over your fear with glitter, with glitter bombs and fireworks. But that’s all it is. A distraction. You’ve never faced someone like me, violence and beauty in a fiery package, Candy. You’ve never been tested, pushed to your very breaking point. And I’ve been watching. Watching and waiting for the moment when you run out of tricks. When you’re finally left with nothing but the cold, hard truth.”

She feels the truth of her own words settle deep inside her, like a weight she’s been carrying for years. This battle—this fight with Candy—isn’t just about proving herself to the world. It’s about proving to herself that she can face the truth. That she can look into the darkness and not flinch. That she can stand in the cold, silent embrace of the statues around her and know who she is, without the distractions, without the glitter. She walks past another statue—this one of a man lifting a child, his face straining with effort, his body bent with the weight of the world. Alexandra’s eyes follow the curve of his body, the strain in his muscles, the quiet desperation in his expression. She can’t help but feel a pang of recognition. This statue, in its raw emotion, in its pure struggle, is something she’s familiar with. It’s something she’s felt in her own soul, in her own bones.

“I know what it’s like to carry that weight,” she whispers, her voice almost breaking. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, to feel like every step is a struggle, every breath a battle. And you, Candy? You think you can outrun it. You think you can dance through it. But you can’t. You’ll never be able to outrun the truth. And when the show’s over, when the glitter fades, you’ll be left with nothing.”

Her hands shake now, her chest tightening as the weight of her own words sinks in. She’s standing at the foot of the Monolith now, its jagged, towering form looming over her. The Monolith—a symbol of life and death, of struggle and transcendence. It rises from the ground like a monument to everything Alexandra has ever fought for, everything she’s ever believed in. And it’s here, at this moment, that she realizes the true significance of her battle with Candy. This isn’t just about winning. This is about surviving.

"You ever really stop and look at this thing?" she says, nodding up toward the Monolith, its tangle of bodies clawing skyward. "It’s not graceful. It’s not clean. It’s desperate. Every one of them is fighting, pushing, climbing just to be seen—just to survive. That’s what this match is, Candy. That’s what it really is. Not a show. Not a stage for sparkles and stunts. It’s the struggle. It’s everything I’ve bled for. I’ve fought my way up from the bottom, with nothing but pain and grit holding me together. You? You danced your way into the spotlight. You lit up arenas, made people laugh, made 'em feel good. But when we meet in that ring—when it’s just you and me—none of that’s gonna save you. You can’t glitterbomb your way past this kind of storm. This match, it’s not about tricks. It’s about who wants it more. Who’s willing to crawl, to scratch, to suffer to stay standing. And I promise you—I’m not here to make art. I’m here to carve my truth into the stone, and it starts with breaking you."

She presses her palm against the cold stone of the Monolith, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She feels its texture under her fingertips—rough, uneven, as though it has been shaped by the very forces of nature itself. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation fill her senses, grounding her in the present. This is the truth. This is where she belongs. This is where she stands, unshaken, unbroken.

“You think you’re a storm, Candy,” she says, her voice low but fierce. “You think you can ride the chaos, that you can hide behind the noise. But storms pass. Glitter fades. What am I? I stain. I stay. I make people realize I’m not going anywhere. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve exposed you for what you really are, you’ll be nothing more than a footnote. A footnote in the story of who I am. The woman who endured. The woman who faced down the truth and stood tall.”

She takes one last look at the Monolith, its towering form casting a long shadow over her. And then, with a final glance at the statues surrounding her, she turns and walks away, her steps measured, her heart steady. The statues watch in silence, their faces frozen in time, but Alexandra knows—knows that this is the moment she’s been waiting for. This is the moment when everything changes.

“See you Sunday Glitterbomb..”

The wind howls again, but this time, it feels different. It feels like something is stirring, something is awakening. And when Alexandra walks away, the sound of her boots crunching against the gravel is the only thing that matters. The truth is here. The battle is here. And she won’t be distracted anymore. Each step pressing her truth deeper into the gravel, leaving behind not just echoes, but scars.

Spoken Truth
Calaway Estate
Dallas, Texas

A warm glow from the lamp casts soft shadows. Alexandra sits on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, while LJ lounges beside her, his arm draped over the backrest. The game had been hours ago, but the conversation lingered in her mind, gnawing at her. Alexandra exhales and begins to speak.

“You didn’t even flinch earlier. When that mom started asking questions.” She looked over at him, placing her wine glass on the table.

LJ shrugged and gave her a smile.  “I barely noticed. Nosy people exist everywhere, Angel.”

Alexandra laughs softly, trying to shake off the nerves, knowing this conversation was about to get deep. “Yeah, well… she wasn’t just being nosy. It was about us. Our age difference. That’s what they were all going on about.”

LJ’s smile softens as he shifts to face her more directly. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? What they are saying about us?”

Alexandra hesitates, swirling the wine in her glass. “It shouldn’t. I don’t want it to. But sometimes, it just… it sticks. People look at us, and I know what they’re thinking. And honestly I love you, I do. I know I shouldn’t care what they think.”

LJ leans in close to her, holding her face in his hands. “Love, Let them think whatever they want. It’s our relationship, not theirs.”

Alexandra nods, but her gaze is still uneasy. “I know, but—” she pauses, searching for the right words. “LJ… I worry. Not about what they think, but about you. About us. One day, you might realize that I’m holding you back.”

LJ frowns a bit at her. “Holding me back from what Angel?”

Alexandra takes a deep breath and speaks. “From having a family. Kids. The kind of future you deserve.”

LJ exhales, dropping a hand to reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Alexandra, listen to me. If I wanted something else, I wouldn’t be here. I’m with you because I want to be with you. Not because of some expectation of what my life is ‘supposed’ to look like.”

Alexandra looks at him, vulnerable, unsure, but there's something in his voice—steady, certain—that makes her chest tighten. “I just don’t ever want you to wake up one day and regret this. To regret us, would hurt in so many ways. I just don't want you to miss out on everything in life.”

LJ shakes his head. “The only thing I’d regret is not loving you the way I do. You’re not holding me back, love. You’re my future, not some roadblock to it.” He leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together.

A beat. Alexandra searches his face, looking for hesitation, but there’s none. Slowly, she exhales, nodding.

Alexandra smiles softly. “You always know exactly what to say.”

LJ gives her a goofy grin. One that causes her heart to flutter, then he speaks. “That’s because I mean every word.”  He took a soft breath.  “I do have to leave you for a few days, I have to go see Miles about that thing.”

“What?” She shivered.  “Right before our big matches at Blaze of Glory? Just promise we will get some training time together.”

“Hey, we will see each other pretty quickly. I’ll meet up with you in Tucson. I’m going to want to see you so badly after all that. Right now, I’m here with you and that’s exactly where I want to be.”

The two of them continued to share a few moments, just looking into each other's eyes. They let themselves slip into a comfortable silence. After some time passed, Alexandra spoke up again, needing to let him know that she wasn’t afraid of their future, despite other’s displeasure with it.

“I want to be right here with you. But my question is, will you follow me when I go rogue?” She focused her gaze on his and the silence fell between them.

He squeezes her hand again before leaning in, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. Alexandra closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to believe it—to trust in what they have. Outside, the night continues, but inside, there's warmth, there's love, and for now, that’s enough. To know that their words didn’t bother him, brought comfort to her. Right now.. That was enough.

---

The Queen and The Queenslayers Past
Queenslayers Blog
Dallas, Texas

For the past year, Victoria and I stood on opposite ends of a battlefield, both of us determined to wear the Bombshell Roulette Championship around our waists. We pushed each other to limits neither of us knew existed. We fought, we bled, and we sacrificed, all in the name of glory. And in the end, it was Victoria who took the title. I can admit that. I can admit that I shifted my focus, set my sights on new horizons, while she clung desperately to her so-called reign like a Queen terrified of losing her throne.

That’s the thing though, every Queen’s reign eventually ends, either in bloodshed or death, or being overthrown. You see I don’t want to be the Queen, I just want your tyranny to end. I have cheered everyone who has gone up against you, hoping that one of them could do it. But it’s clear now, that in order to get through to you, drastic measures must be taken. It’s going to have to be me who gets the message through to you. You are not a Queen, you are not above everyone else just because you got a title reign. Those come and go, but I’m not going to sit here and tell you something you should have known ages ago.

Now let’s get one thing straight—just because my focus expanded to Bombshell World Championship dreams, doesn’t mean my eyes ever left her delusional little kingdom and her reign of terror. The rumors that I took my eyes off the prize are not true. I’ve kept my sights on all the titles that we have available to us as the Bombshells of the Sin City Wrestling roster.  I've watched as she paraded around SCW, pretending to be untouchable, acting as if she is the one and only ruler of this division. But every reign has its end, and Victoria, yours is long overdue.
You crossed the line when you screwed me out of the Elimination Chamber. You didn’t just take an opportunity from me—you declared war. And if you thought for even a second that I was going to let that slide, then you’re more delusional than I thought. I tried to let you see the error of your ways through the lesson’s you were given in the ring. Tried to show you how a Queen should be. However, it seems that you are so beyond help that now, I must step in and dethrone you once and for all. I must topple your kingdom and prove that I am still everything I say I am.

I have waited, watched, and prepared for this moment. Every smug look you’ve given, every arrogant promo you’ve cut, every time you’ve walked around as if you were untouchable—it’s all led to this. Every time you bragged in the past few months, every time you put others down to make yourself look better. You think you’ve won, that you’ve secured your place as the Queen of SCW, but you’ve only built your empire on borrowed time. And that time is up.

I’m coming for you, Victoria. I’m coming to tear down everything you’ve built, to shatter the illusion of your power, and to remind everyone exactly who I am. You may have won the battle back then, but the war is far from over. Your kingdom is crumbling, and I will be the one to bring it all crashing down. Brick by brick, I will destroy your reign, and when the dust settles, everyone will see the truth—you were never a queen. You were just a fraud sitting on a throne that was never meant to be yours. You think this will be the end and you are right. I’m telling you right now, I will end it for us. I’m taking everything from you, in a way that is finite and everyone will know.

When you decided that you were going to step into my match and get involved you took it upon yourself out of jealousy. You were mad that I had given you space and time to hold that title close, to fall in love with it, to soak in the adoration to feed your ego, because let’s face it, the fun part will be to destroy you. To see the light leave your eyes when you realize your reign came to an end and you couldn’t succeed at passing the reigns of others.

XOXO,
Alexandra Calaway

---

Staging a Coup
Lyons Den
Charlotte, North Carolina

*buzz buzz*

Alexandra’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she walked next to the waterfront. Her mind was wrought with everything going on in her life. The loss at Climax Control, Victoria Lyon’s interference which cost Alexandra her shot at the Elimination Chamber, but led to them being in another match together. Despite her love for LJ, the women at her daughters lacrosse game still had her on edge.

*buzz buzz*

She didn’t look at it, fearing it would be LJ or Miles, trying to get her to come back to talk about what had happened. She knew where that stood. She was too old, LJ deserved better, younger.. Someone who could give him the life he deserved. One filled with happiness and children, not this, not her. But she also knew that LJ wouldn’t let that stand. He would fight for her, just like she would him.

*voicemail*

Her walk came to a halt when the calls continued. But would she answer this time? Would she allow them to see her in this vulnerable state she was in. Between the slew of people who had issues with her relationship and this battle with Victoria, she was barely keeping it together. She knew something deep inside of her had snapped and this road she was about to take, would he stand by her side or would he turn away.

*buzz buzz*

She pulled her phone out, looking down at it. “Alexander Lyons” for a moment she almost doesn’t pick it up. Wanting to shut the whole world out. But if anyone would understand her, it would be him, her dark brother.  She let out a soft sigh and clicked the bright green answer button with a deep sigh.

“Alexander..” her voice was devoid of any happiness, like their past few calls had been. She was clearly dealing with something.

“Alexandra.. Are you alright sis?” He questioned, “you don’t sound like your usually chipper self.” There was that concern she was used to.

She knew he cared, but at that moment, she didn’t. She was hurting. “I told LJ he deserved better, younger.. Someone not me.”

“You what? Alexandra why?” He sounded concerned. “You.. you don’t know what he’s thinking. Maybe all that stuff you worry about so much, doesn’t concern him. He’s not him Alexandra.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not why you called.” She took a deep breath. “What’s up? I know we need to catch up. Sorry I haven’t been checking in.”

“Can you meet me at the Lyons Den?” He spoke quickly. “I have something I think you might like. Let’s just say, sister, you’ll want this.”

She took a deep breath. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. See you soon.” There was a slight concern she could be walking into a trap, but she trusted Alexander.

The call ends.

Fifteen minutes pass before Alexandra walks up, seeing Alexander Lyons leaning against a wall. The two share a quick look before he puts his hands on her shoulders, causing her to look at him.

“Sister, while I know this may not help everything going on in that head of yours, perhaps, this will lead to your healing. While I may not be there to help you as I would like, perhaps this is a way I can.” He holds up a key, offering it to her.

“What’s this?” She looks at him confused for a few moments. She looks at the crown keychain and tilts her head looking at him. “Oh Alex.. you didn’t?”

He rocked on his heels and shrugged his shoulders. “You know where my loyalties lie.”

She gave him a smile, before looking over at the door he pointed at. “Is that?” She turned towards the door.

He nodded. “Why don’t you go find out?” He leaned forward, whispering in her ear.

She walked towards the door and unlocked it, opening it she was greeted with Victoria Lyon’s throne and crown. She tilted her head, a dark smirk crossing her lips as she turned her head to look at Alexander. “Thank you, brother..”

Stepping forward, she ran her hand over the fabric. A dark smile crossed her face as she reached down, picking the crown up, turning it in her hand before she placed it on her head. She texted a number and nodded.  “I have some friends coming, they are going to transport this for me.” She looked at him. “Won’t this get you into some shit with her?”

“She shouldn’t leave her keys laying around. She also shouldn’t store it in a shared place.” He smirked, leaning on her shoulder. “Eye for an eye, sister. She cost you that Elimination Chamber spot. Now you take something from her.”

“Thank you Alex. I know this could bring her wrath down on you. The fact that you are still willing to have my back even in the face of that, means a lot to me.” She wraps him in a hug, knowing this isn't normally their way. But it felt right.

“Don’t mention it.” He nodded. “I’ve always had your back. Always will. She thinks she’s a Queen, bring her the dark sorceress, born in blood, bathed in it, and forged in darkness. Bring her to see her falsehoods.”

Alexandra’s friends start to show up and they load the throne into the back of a big black van. She turns to him and nods. “Do you want to come with us?” She hands him the key, watching him lock it back up. “I fear leaving you here when she finds out.”

“I’ll be fine.” He nodded. “Go get your revenge, sister. Worry about me later. Keep your head on the game and your feet on the ground.”

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.” She vowed to Alexander Lyons, the man who had just betrayed his family.

She wouldn’t openly admit it, but tears stung at her eyes, thankful there were no cameras to catch this betrayal, Victoria would have no way to attack him for it before she could get back to his side. Knowing that Victoria would take this out on him bothered her. But she also knew how deep their bond flowed. Alexander had Alexandra’s back, she saw him as her brother. Blood of her blood as far as she was concerned. He had just risked a lot for her. She wouldn’t let him down and when Victoria came for him, she’d be at his side.

---

Hey Queenie, got you something
Middle of Nowhere in the Desert
Tucson, Arizona

The scene opens in the dead of night, a vast empty desert under a pitch-black sky. The air is thick with the scent of gasoline and burning paper, the only source of light being a small fire contained in a rusted metal barrel. The flames flicker, illuminating a stack of photographs resting in Alexandra’s gloved hands. Her fingers slowly trace over each image—Victoria Lyons standing tall, championship raised high, moments of her success frozen in time. One by one, Alexandra lets them slip from her grasp, watching as the fire hungrily consumes them. Behind her, positioned at the heart of this desert view, is Victoria Lyon’s throne—dark, regal, an embodiment of her so-called reign. But now, it is drenched in gasoline, waiting for its final act. The scene is set for destruction. The end of an empire.

"Victoria… Dear Queenie, our sweet beloved Queen of The Bombshell Division. You thought yourself untouchable. You wrapped yourself in illusions of grandeur, convinced that your throne meant something. That the Bombshell Roulette Championship made you a Queen. That your victories solidified your rule. But look around you now. Where is your kingdom? Where are your loyal subjects? All I see is ash, smoke, and the remnants of a lie you sold to yourself."

She picks up another photo, tilting her head as she examines it. It’s a shot of Victoria standing over a fallen opponent, sneering in triumph. That opponents face was unnoticeable, face down on the mat.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite. Look at you, soaking in the adoration, reveling in the illusion of invincibility. But here’s the thing about illusions, Victoria… they only last as long as no one dares to shatter them."

She smirks, flicking the photograph into the fire. The flames engulf it in seconds, the image warping and curling into nothingness.

"And I? I am here to shatter everything. Everything you built for yourself is about to disappear from around you. Did you know that all castles came with pull pins? A way for the royal to kill everyone including themselves in mere seconds. I’m that pull pin. I am going to bring your kingdom crashing down around you."

She turns to the camera now, her expression dark, her voice slow and deliberate.

"You took from me, Victoria. You cost me my rightful place at the Elimination Chamber. You stole from me, thinking there would be no consequences. That I would simply move on. But you underestimated me. That was your first mistake. Your second mistake? Believing for even a second that this—" She gestures to the throne, "—makes you powerful. That it grants you dominance over me or anyone else. That it means anything. But you see, Victoria… I don’t need a throne. I don’t need gold. I don’t need validation. I am beyond that. I am not some pampered monarch, waiting to be worshipped. No, I am something much, much worse. I am the storm that wipes empires off the map. I am the reckoning that Queens like you fear in their final hours."

She steps closer to the throne, running her hand over its surface. The gasoline glistens in the firelight, its scent potent, heavy.

"But you? You still want to know, don’t you? You still want to know who betrayed you. Who handed me the keys to your kingdom. Who opened the doors for me to march right in and lay waste to everything you’ve built."

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. Victoria had to pay for what happened. An eye for an eye right?

"That paranoia must be eating you alive. The doubt creeping in. Is it someone you trust? Someone close? Or maybe... just maybe... this was always going to happen. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe your so-called kingdom was always built on a foundation of sand, waiting for the tide to come in and wash it all away."

She lifts a crown—but not Victoria’s. No, this one is different. Made of twisted, rusted barbed wire, its sharp edges glint in the firelight. A mockery of her royalty. A symbol of suffering.

"I never wanted your crown, Victoria. I never needed your throne. No, I built my own. I forged my own crown—one of pain, sacrifice, and blood. And unlike you, I am willing to bleed for what I want."

She places the barbed wire crown atop her head. A thin line of crimson appears where the metal bites into her skin, but she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she smiles. It’s something deep, dark and unsettling.

"You claim to be the Queen. But I? I am the executioner. And this? This is your sentence."

She pulls another match from her pocket, flicking it to life. The tiny flame dances at the tip, its warmth barely a fraction of what is about to come. She holds it just above the throne, letting the anticipation build, letting the moment stretch.

"Long live the Queen? No."

She drops the match. The throne ignites instantly, the flames roaring to life, consuming the seat of Victoria’s so-called power. The wood crackles, the fire climbing higher, devouring the last symbol of her reign. Alexandra watches, unmoving, as the throne is slowly reduced to embers.

"Long live the revolution."

She turns her back to the inferno, walking away as the fire rages behind her. The screen fades to black. The scene cuts back in, but now Alexandra stands at the edge of the area, the glow of destruction reflecting in her cold, darkened eyes. The wind howls, carrying embers into the night sky, scattering them like fallen stars.

"You thought I crossed a line, didn’t you, Victoria? That I went too far? That I should be afraid of the wrath of a ‘Queen’?"

She scoffs, shaking her head. There was no fear in her eyes or in her voice. If anything, Alexandra’s gaze was something that resembled her old self, the thing she had pushed deep down inside. A part of her she had tried to bury, to fix herself. But she realized there was nothing to fix.

"No, Victoria. You should be afraid of me. Because I just proved to you, to the entire world, that I don’t need a title to hold power. I don’t need a throne to be dangerous. And most importantly… I don’t need permission to take what I want."

She steps closer to the camera now, her voice lowering, dripping with venom.

"You built your reign on deception, manipulation, and betrayal. You hide behind others. You let them do your dirty work. You let them shield you from the consequences of your own actions. But now? Now there is nothing left to hide behind. No throne. No kingdom. Just you… and me."

Her lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk.

"And I want you to feel that. I want you to feel the emptiness, the loss, the nothingness that comes with realizing you are no longer in control. That everything you built, everything you thought you ruled over, is gone. And when that realization sinks in? When you feel that panic creeping up your spine? When will you finally understand what it means to be powerless?"

She tilts her head, voice barely above a whisper now.

"I want you to remember that it was me who did this to you. And I? I’m just getting started."

She holds up one last, unburnt photograph. It’s of her and Victoria, from a time long past—before the war, before the betrayal. For a moment, something unreadable flickers in Alexandra’s eyes. Then, without hesitation, she drops it into the fire.

"Run, Queenie. Run while you still can. Because the coup isn’t coming."

She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle.

"It’s already here."

The final shot lingers on the burning throne, the last remnants of Victoria Lyon’s reign collapsing into cinders. Alexandra disappears into the night, leaving nothing but fire and destruction in her wake. The screen fades to black one last time.

LJ's 23rd Birthday Bash

The energy in the penthouse was electric. The bass of the music pulsed through the floor, mixing with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses as the intimate group of friends and family gathered to celebrate LJ’s 23rd birthday.

Miles had gone all out, determined to make up for the birthdays he had missed with his younger brother. The suite was decked out with lights, balloons, and even a ridiculous oversized banner that read “Welcome to LJ’s Quarter-Life Crisis” in bold, glittery letters. Carter had groaned when he saw it, but Miles had just grinned, knowing it would get a reaction out of his brother.

Seated at the center of the chaos was the birthday boy himself, LJ, leaning into Alexandra Callaway’s touch as she draped an arm around his shoulder. If anyone noticed the way he kept stealing glances at her, or how his fingers would absentmindedly trace her wrist whenever she was close, no one mentioned it. Also no one cared.

And then, Kristjan “Fenris” Baltasarsson made his grand contribution to the evening: a few bottles of the infamous Snake Venom beer—boasting one of the highest alcohol percentages in the world. The moment he set them down with a smirk, LJ’s eyes lit up with intrigue, while Miles' immediately darkened with concern.

“Absolutely not,” Miles stated firmly, arms crossed over his chest. “This is the shit that I warned you about. He fed Lachlan Kane this stuff for his bachelor party and we had to hold him up for him to marry Sierra!”

K just laughed, he was the only one that remembered the night well, “Milo, man, I think we are all genuinely curious as to how the kid can handle his alcohol. He hasn’t done too bad so far.”

Miles just shook his head, “Mate, I cannot believe that you brought this. I thought you were out!”

“Arrived just in time yesterday.” K shrugged, “Whatta say LJ? Think you can handle it?”

LJ scoffed, already reaching for a bottle. “I’m twenty-three, not twelve. I can handle a little beer.”

Carter snorted, sipping his own drink. “That is not a little beer.”

Aron Baltasarsson, who had been quietly enjoying himself all evening, nudged his brother. “I mean… technically, it’s his birthday. If he wants to try it…”

Fenris grinned wickedly. “Exactly. Let the kid live a little.”

LJ popped the cap off the bottle, lifting it in a mock toast before taking a deep swig.

Silence.

For a moment, everything was fine. Then, suddenly, LJ’s eyes widened as he coughed and wheezed, slamming the bottle down as his entire body tensed.

“Holy—what the hell is that?!” LJ gasped, grabbing onto Ally’s arm for support. “That’s not beer, that’s gasoline!”

Ally chuckled softly, shaking her head. She could tell things were going to get interesting. 

Kristjan burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as Aron smirked beside him. “What? Too strong for you?”

Miles sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “This is why I didn’t want you to try it.”

But LJ, ever determined, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stubbornly reached for the bottle again. “Nah, I’m fine—I got this.”

The second sip didn’t go much better. This time, his face twisted in pure agony as he nearly fell forward into Ally’s lap. Carter was full-on cackling now, while Miles was torn between exasperation and amusement.

“Oh my God,” Ally murmured, shaking her head as she patted LJ’s back. “Happy birthday, baby. Try not to die before midnight, okay?”

LJ lifted a shaky thumbs-up, still wheezing as Fenris gave him a proud nod. “Attaboy. Now finish the bottle.”

Miles groaned. “I hate you all.”

The night carried on in much the same fashion—filled with laughter, ridiculous dares, and an ever-so-slightly intoxicated LJ trying his best to keep up with Fenris, much to Miles’ horror. But amidst the chaos, there was something undeniably warm about it all.

For the first time in a long time, LJ wasn’t just surviving—he was living. And surrounded by people who cared about him, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

By the time the party wound down, LJ was absolutely trashed. The Snake Venom had done its job, and he was slumped against Ally on the couch, grinning like a fool. His normally sharp, playful wit had dissolved into an endless string of affectionate compliments and slurred declarations of love.

“Ally… Ally, you’re so pretty,” LJ murmured, pressing a sloppy kiss against her temple. “Like, I dunno if I ever told you, but… wow. You’re, like, the most gorgeous person… ever.”

Ally, tipsy herself, giggled as she tried to steady him. “Oh, babe, you are so drunk.” Even though her face was bright red. The rosy hue brought because of LJ’s words. Right now, the thoughts of their impending match were non-existent.

Miles, standing over them with his arms crossed, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, no shit. There’s no way either of you are going anywhere tonight.”

Carter snickered from the other side of the room. “You sure you don’t wanna just leave them here on the couch? I feel like it’d be a valuable lesson in drinking responsibly.”

“Not happening.” Miles shook his head, already moving to help LJ up. “Come on, little bro, let’s get you to the guest room before you start confessing your undying love to the lamp.”

“I LOVE THAT LAMP,” LJ declared dramatically, pointing at the decorative floor lamp in the corner.

Kristjan and Aron were doubled over laughing, while Ally just buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

With some effort, Miles and Ally managed to get LJ into the guest room. He flopped down on the bed, dragging Ally down with him. “Stay,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re warm.”

Ally sighed, but smiled, curling up against him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not going anywhere.” She shook her head, curling up with him. “Too drunk.. Not irresponsible.”

Miles stood in the doorway, watching them for a moment before shaking his head in amusement. “Happy birthday, kid.”

---

Back to Business

The scene opens on an Abandoned Warehouse – dimly lit and unsettlingly quiet. The camera flickers as if the feed is unstable, the frame shaking slightly as it focuses on Alexandra sitting in a steel chair in the middle of the room. Her hair is damp, strands sticking to her face, eyes locked onto the camera with an unnatural intensity. The dim glow of a single, flickering light above casts shadows across her face. In the background, the sound of metal scraping against concrete echoes—it’s LJ, wrapping his hands with tape, his eyes cold and calculating. But this? This is Alexandra’s moment. Her war. Her confession.

"Have you ever felt it? That low hum beneath your skin? That whisper in the back of your head, telling you that everything is about to go up in flames? Oh, I feel it. I feel it crawling through my veins, wrapping around my ribs like barbed wire, tightening every second we get closer to that match. Victoria… Vincent… you have no idea what you’ve done. You took something from me. And now? Now I take everything from you."

She tilts her head, a slow smile creeping onto her face, but there’s nothing friendly about it. It’s the kind of smile that belongs to someone who enjoys the suffering that’s about to come.

"Victoria, you stood in my way. You slithered into my world, whispered your way into the title picture, and took MY Bombshell Roulette Championship. And I let it happen. I let it happen because, for one damn second, I thought this company, this industry, had some kind of order to it. I thought if I fought hard enough, if I clawed my way up, I’d get my shot the right way.”

She shook her head, she knew that her words run true.

“But that’s not how this works, is it? No. No, because you don’t play fair, Victoria. You don’t win wars—you steal victories. You don’t conquer—you manipulate. And now? Oh, sweetheart, now I don’t give a damn about fair. I don’t give a DAMN about rules. All I give a damn about is, destroying you."

She leans forward, gripping her knees, her breathing becoming sharper, erratic, before she suddenly stops—pausing like a predator waiting to strike.

"You made sure I didn’t get into the Elimination Chamber. You made sure I didn’t get my shot at the World Championship. You stacked the deck against me, made damn sure I stayed beneath you. The next time you saw me, I took a chance from you. You’d think we’d be square but no. Now? Now we’re walking into a fight where you CAN’T run. Where you CAN’T stack the odds in your favor.”

She bit her lip for a moment, her eyes focused on the camera before her. She knew that Victoria would learn. Win or lose, the lesson would be learned. Alexandra was far from done with her.

“You and your dear, sweet twin brother… against me and LJ. I wonder, Victoria… I wonder how much Vincent really understands about you. Does he know you’re nothing without that title? Does he know that the moment you lose it, the moment I rip it out of your grasp, you’ll be nothing but a whisper, a footnote, another name on my list of failures I’ve erased? Does he understand what’s coming? Or is he just another lamb to the slaughter?"

She exhales sharply, shaking her head with a soft chuckle, one that carries no amusement.

"Vincent. Listen to me. I need you to hear me, I need you to understand exactly what you’ve been dragged into. Because this? This is NOT just another match. This isn’t just another night in the ring. This is your SISTER’S reckoning. And you? You’re just collateral damage."

She was going to try to reason with the one of them who actually seemed like he would be the one with the most common sense between them.

"LJ and I? We are NOT like you. We are NOT like Victoria. We do not play the waiting game. We do not sit back and let others write our history. We carve it into the flesh of those who stand against us. We take what we want. We leave nothing but destruction in our wake. And Victoria? Vincent? I want you both to close your eyes and imagine it now.”

She started to paint the picture in her mind, sharing with those who would hear this. Specifically she was focused on destroying everything Victoria truly cared about.

“Imagine what happens when that bell rings. LJ is going to tear Vincent apart, piece by piece, muscle by muscle, until there is nothing left but regret. And me? Oh, Victoria, I am going to make you feel every bit of agony that you inflicted on me. Every ounce of pain, every stolen opportunity, every breath you took thinking you were above me—I am going to take it all back with interest."

Her breathing is slow, controlled, but her eyes tell another story. There is madness behind them. Pure, unfiltered, unchecked madness.

"Have you ever been hunted, Victoria? Ever felt that moment where you realize that no matter where you run, no matter how fast you are, something is always two steps behind you? You’re about to. Because when I step into that ring, I am not coming to wrestle. I am not coming to entertain. I am coming to watch the light fade from your eyes as you realize that you… are… nothing without that title.”

She shrugged, her body controlled in its movements. Her hands clenched into fists, there’s a coldness to her, like something is bubbling just below the surface.

“And what happens when I beat you in this match? What happens when I pin your shoulders to the mat, when I make you tap out, when I force you to stare up at those lights, wondering how the hell I could have done this to you? What happens when you see the truth? That you were NEVER better than me. That your little championship reign? It was just a borrowed moment. I was always coming back for what was mine. And now? Now the time has come, to dethrone the Queen.. To Slay her.”

Alexandra suddenly stands, knocking the steel chair backward as it clatters against the concrete floor. She steps toward the camera, gripping the edges as if she’s speaking directly to Victoria’s soul.

"You want to continue to be at the top of the mountain? You want to pretend you’re untouchable? THEN SHOW ME. Because when that bell rings, I am not just fighting to win. I am fighting to break you. To ruin you. To make sure that when Blaze of Glory comes, you won’t even have the strength to hold that title, let alone defend it. You took my gold. You took my shot at the World Championship. And now, I take something from you. I take your pride. I take your confidence. I take your damn sanity.”

She shrugged, not that Victoria had much sanity left. Was Alexandra ready to do what must be done to get the job done?

“And Vincent? I suggest you get real comfortable living in your sister’s shadow. Because after this match, after I pin Victoria in the middle of that ring, she’s going to need someone to remind her that she was ever anything more than a failure."

She laughs—a slow, eerie chuckle that grows into something unsettling, something bordering on unhinged.

"Oh, Victoria… you shouldn’t have taken from me. You should have left well enough alone. Now? Now you’ve got a problem you can’t solve. And the only way this ends… is when I say it does."

LJ finally speaks from the shadows, stepping slowing. Sunglasses covering his eyes even in the dark but his voice still carries a heavy weight.

"The dust has settled from the wild night that was my birthday, but there’s no time to dwell on celebrations. Besides, I'm still hung over and in pain but we need to focus. The stakes are high, and Climax Control is right around the corner.

I've been through hell lately, we BOTH have been through absolute hell—mentally, physically, and emotionally. Logan Hunter has tried to break me, but the problem is... I'm still standing. And now? Now, well...Vincent the bad part of this is, I'm done playing games.”

LJ takes a deep breath, slowly removing his glasses and looking down at his hands. Alexandra nodded in agreement with his words.

“This Sunday, teaming up with Ally to take on the Lyons Twins. Victoria Lyons, the so-called ‘Queen,’ has had her fair share of battles with Ally, and that’s fine. They can claw at each other all they want. But me? I need to focus on and get my sights locked on Vincent Lyons Jr.

Vincent, the newcomer, the fresh face, the latest in the Lyons dynasty to walk through the doors of SCW. And for some reason, people expect me to be impressed. To care about who Vincent is and where he came from.”

LJ looks up with those blue eyes shining bright.

“Spoiler alert: I don’t.

I'm not about to be one to welcome you into SCW, to welcome rookies with open arms. Because the last time we welcomed in a newbie, I have had someone who cannot shut up and her bitch of a boyfriend being an absolute pain in my ass. I'm not here to play gatekeeper or extend an olive branch. No, I'm here to carve my own path, to take what’s mine, whatever that may be in SCW, and to make damn sure that everyone who steps into that ring with him learns exactly what he’s about.

Vincent? He’s stepping into my world. And that means pain.”

LJ looks at Ally and she nods as he steps forward and continues to speak.

“I have no personal issues with Vincent, no vendetta. But the moment that bell rings, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is proving a point. That after everything, after every war, after every battle, I am still here and more dangerous than ever.

Vincent might think he’s ready. He might think that his last name means something. But considering who I am, it should be obvious that I don’t give a damn about names. All I cares about is results. And the result at Climax Control? Vincent Lyons Jr. is going to get a harsh, painful welcome to SCW.

We are walking in as a team. And while Ally’s focused on settling the score with Victoria, I'm making one thing crystal clear—

Vincent Lyons Jr. is stepping into the lion’s den.

And he’s not making it out unscathed."

Alexandra grins one last time, eyes wide, breathing unsteady, before leaning into the camera and whispering:

"Welcome to your reckoning, Victoria. See you soon."

The screen cuts to black with a sharp static hiss.

Reunited
Harry Reid International Airport
Las Vegas, Nevada

The Las Vegas airport buzzed with the usual chaos of travelers coming and going, the rhythmic sound of rolling suitcases and garbled flight announcements filling the air. Alexandra adjusted the strap of her purse as she and LJ stood near the baggage claim, waiting for Ashlynn’s flight to arrive.

“She should be here any minute,” Alexandra said, her voice laced with excitement. “I know she’s going to be excited to see you and Miles, and of course Carter.”

LJ nodded, glancing at the arrival screen. “Flight’s on time. You sure she’s ready for this? Big weekend for all of us.”

Alexandra chuckled. “She’s been looking forward to it for weeks. You know how she is—always wanting to be part of the action.”

LJ smirked. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Alexandra playfully nudged him. “You’re not wrong.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she regarded him. “So, how are you feeling about Logan Hunter?”

LJ exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Confident, but I’m not forgetting what he did to me. That attack wasn’t just a cheap shot—it was personal. I owe him for that, and I plan on making sure he regrets it.”

Alexandra nodded, her expression darkening slightly. “I know. You need to be careful, but I also know you can handle yourself. I’ve been keeping a tab on Bea Barnhart, replaying what things went wrong and right before. I’ve faced her before, beaten her three times. I know what to expect.”

LJ gave her a knowing look. “Babe, you don’t just ‘outwork’ people. You obliterate them.”

She smirked. “Well, I do try.”

LJ took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s going to be a hell of a night for both of us. But before all that, there’s something else that’s kinda crazy to think about.”

Alexandra raised a brow. “What’s that?”

“This is the first time all three of us are going to be at my place.” LJ mentioned, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “We are all usually at your place. I’ve never had you both there at the same time.”

She blinked, realization dawning on her. “Oh wow… you’re right. I know she’s going to love being near you.”

LJ chuckled. “You think Ashlynn’s gonna be cool with it? I mean, she’s already given me the ‘you hurt my mom, I break your legs’ speech.”

Alexandra laughed. “That sounds like her. She’s protective, but she likes you, LJ. And I think she’s excited about spending more time with us. This is just new for her.”

LJ smirked. “I like her fire. Wonder where she gets it from.”

Alexandra leaned in, touching his cheek. “Hmm, I wonder.”

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, the noise of the airport fading into the background. For a moment, everything else disappeared—until a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh gross… no one wants to see their mom making out!” Ashlynn cried out.

Alexandra and LJ pulled apart instantly, turning to see Ashlynn standing there, her arms crossed, her suitcase at her side. Her expression was a mix of amusement and exaggerated, yet playful disgust.

Alexandra cleared her throat, smoothing her hair. “Ashlynn! You made it!”

Ashlynn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, just in time to be scarred for life, apparently.”

LJ chuckled. “Hey, Ashpops.”

Ashlynn gave him a look. “We’re going to have to set some house rules. Number one—no PDA in front of me.”

Alexandra grinned. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Ashlynn huffed but smiled as she hugged her mom. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, sweetheart.” Alexandra hugged her tightly.

LJ reached for Ashlynn’s suitcase. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a big weekend ahead.”

As they walked toward the exit, Ashlynn glanced between them and smirked. “Just… keep the mushy stuff to a minimum, okay?”

Alexandra laughed. “No promises.”

LJ grinned. “Yeah, you might just have to deal with it, kid.”

Ashlynn groaned dramatically, but her smile never faded as they stepped out into the bright Vegas sun, ready for the weekend ahead.

---

Keep Playing Pretend
Fremont Street
Las Vegas, Nevada

Scene opens on Fremont Street in Las Vegas, Nevada. The neon glow of the casinos, the sound of slot machines ringing in the background, and the chatter of tourists create a lively atmosphere. The camera pans through the crowd before focusing on Alexandra Calaway, standing near a street performer breathing fire. She watches for a moment, unimpressed, before turning her attention to the camera.

"Vegas. The city where people gamble it all, thinking they’re about to hit it big—only to walk away with empty pockets and shattered dreams. Fitting, isn’t it, Bea? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to you at Inception VII. You’ve been running your mouth, acting like you’ve got this all figured out, but what you don’t realize is that you’re the fool sitting at the table, betting against the house. And newsflash, sweetheart—I am the house. Bea Barnhart, darling. You’ve been searching for any chance in the world of beating me. I have to give you credit, you’ve been trying to find a way to get to me, yet nothing you are saying is really affecting me."

She smirks, stepping away from the fire performer as the camera follows her through the bustling street.

"You’ve spent so much time bragging about our little record, acting like those two wins of yours actually mean something. But let’s be honest here. You didn’t beat me at my best. You beat me in a wrestling match, where rules protected you, where structure worked in your favor. You want to talk about submission wins? Cute. But that was then, and this is now. And now? The rules are gone. No disqualifications. No count-outs. No little safety net to protect you from what’s coming. You say you don’t need weapons? That’s funny. Because after what I put you through, you’re going to wish you had used them. That’s the point of a street fight. I plan on showing you the truth, the sad one that you don’t want to face."

She took a moment to pause, thinking through everything she had experienced in her time in the industry.

“The sad truth that you don’t seem to understand is this Bea, when it comes to this, you just aren’t on my level. Yes, you are a veteran, but in order to be on my level, you need to be WELL ROUNDED. I am technical, submission, highflying and I don’t mind using a weapon when the time calls for it. Like now, I can destroy you with weapons, pin you wherever I need to, and take home another win against you. Bea, darling, after this.. I think it’s safe to say, I’ve got your number. I’ve had your number relentlessly since my first two losses to YOU. Everytime I see you in a match I’m in, haven’t you noticed I gun for you. Why do you think that is?”

She walks past a group of gamblers gathered around a street magician performing card tricks. She stops, watching briefly as the magician makes a card disappear.

"See, this guy right here? He’s got everyone fooled, making them believe in illusions. And that’s what you’re doing, Bea. You’re trying to spin this narrative, trying to make people believe that you’re on my level, that you deserve to be in the conversation for the Bombshell Roulette Championship. You’ve been there and back several times before, but when you get there, you choke. This time won’t be any different. I cannot allow that to happen. I can’t allow you to tarnish it. You think you are on that level. But just like that magic trick? It’s all smoke and mirrors. Because when reality hits? When you step into my type of match? The illusion shatters, and all that’s left is the cold, hard truth."

She smirks, shaking her head before walking further down the street, the lights of the casinos flashing behind her.

"You want to talk about whining? You want to act like I’m the one who begged for this match? Bea, please. You don’t get it. I wanted this match because I’m done listening to you run your mouth. I’m done with you thinking you’re some kind of dominant force when the truth is—you’re just a footnote in my career. You say I should be careful what I say? That I should think before I speak? Oh, sweetheart, I never second-guess myself. Because every word I say, every mind game I play, every psychological move I make—it all has a purpose. And right now? That purpose is to break you before we even step in the ring."

She stops in front of a souvenir stand, picking up a replica championship belt, turning it over in her hands before tossing it back onto the table.

"You want the Bombshell Roulette Championship? I’ve held it—twice. I didn’t just challenge for it; I took it. I’ve fought through hell, I’ve bled for that title, and I’ve cemented myself in history because of it. And you? You think a win over me gets you a shot? That’s where you’re wrong, Bea. Because at Inception VII, you’re not earning an opportunity—you’re earning a lesson. And that lesson? Is that you were never on my level to begin with."

She steps closer to the camera, her expression turning darker, more intense.

"And let’s get one thing straight—I don’t need to cheat to beat you. I don’t need shortcuts. What I do need is for you to understand that the reason I demanded this match wasn’t because I was desperate—it’s because I wanted to remind you exactly who the hell I am. I’m the nightmare you can’t shake. The opponent you can’t break. And in a Street Fight? I am unmatched."

She takes a deep breath, letting her smirk return as she watches a group of people arguing in the background, two men getting in each other’s faces before shoving one another.

"You see that? That’s how easy it is to push someone past their breaking point. And you, Bea? You’re already on the edge. You might not admit it, but I see it. The way you had to remind everyone that you won by submission, as if that somehow makes you superior. The way you needed to convince yourself that I whined my way into this match. It’s all defense mechanisms. It’s all desperation. And when people start getting desperate? That’s when they make mistakes. And at Inception VII, I’m going to exploit every single one of yours."

She steps away from the crowd, walking toward a nearby alleyway, the lights dimming as she enters the shadows. The camera follows, the sounds of Fremont Street fading slightly.

"This isn’t just about breaking the tie, Bea. This is about me proving a point. That when you step into my world, there’s no coming out the same. That when the dust settles, and the referee raises my hand in victory, you’ll finally understand that everything you’ve said, everything you’ve claimed—it was all just talk. Because when it comes down to it, you don’t have what it takes to beat me when the rules are gone and the fight gets real."

She leans in, eyes locked onto the camera, voice dropping to a whisper.

"You’ve been living in a fantasy, Bea. But at Inception VII, I’m bringing you back to reality. And in my reality? You don’t walk away victorious. You don’t leave the ring with momentum. You don’t get to move on to the Bombshell Roulette Championship. No. You leave broken. Humiliated. Defeated. And the next time you think about stepping up to me? You’ll remember exactly why they call me The Queenslayer..”

She steps back, letting the darkness surround her before finally smirking one last time.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Bea. Enjoy the illusion while it lasts. Because when Inception VII rolls around? The only thing you’ll be left with… is regret."

With that, she turns and walks deeper into the alley, disappearing into the darkness as the camera fades to black.

---

Ashlynn’s Vegas Trip
LJ’s Apartment
Las Vegas, Nevada

The neon glow of the Las Vegas Strip flickered against the windshield as Alexandra maneuvered the rental car through the bustling streets. The city hummed with life—tourists weaving through sidewalks, slot machines chiming in an endless symphony of chance, and the ever-present pulse of bass spilling from the clubs.

From the passenger seat, LJ glanced over his shoulder at Ashlynn in the back, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “How’s it feel to finally be in Vegas, Ash?”

Ashlynn pressed her face against the cool glass, her hazel eyes wide as she took in the dazzling skyline. “It’s...a lot,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “I don’t even know where to look first.”

Alexandra chuckled. “Wait till we get off the Strip. LJ’s place is just far enough from the chaos to breathe, but close enough that we can dive in whenever we want.”

LJ smirked. “Yeah, I like having my own little oasis.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking garage of a sleek, high-rise apartment complex. LJ led the way to the elevator, swiping his keycard before pressing the button for his floor. The hum of the lift was filled with anticipation, Ashlynn shifting her duffel bag on her shoulder as she glanced between them.

“So,” she mused, “how much of this trip is relaxation, and how much is Inception VII prep?”

Alexandra exchanged a look with LJ before answering. “Little bit of both. We’ve got time before the event, so we’re taking things easy tonight. You’ll get to see the real Vegas—not just the tourist version.”

The elevator doors slid open, and LJ gestured dramatically. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

The apartment was modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city skyline. A deep leather couch, a high-tech entertainment system, and a glass coffee table littered with a couple of strategy notebooks hinted at the duality of work and play. A balcony door stood slightly ajar, letting in the crisp desert night air.

Ashlynn set her bag down and turned in a slow circle. “Okay, this is way nicer than I expected.”

LJ flopped onto the couch, stretching his arms behind his head. “What, you thought I’d be living in a shoebox?”

“I dunno,” she teased, “I figured you’d have more—” she gestured vaguely, “—chaos.”

Alexandra snorted. “Oh, you haven’t seen his office yet.”

LJ rolled his eyes but waved toward the open kitchen. “Make yourself at home, Ashpops. Drinks? Snacks? I got everything.”

Ashlynn wandered to the windows, pressing her hands against the cool glass. The city stretched below them, shimmering like a dream. “This feels unreal,” she murmured.

Alexandra walked over, standing beside her. “It’s a little overwhelming at first. But it grows on you.”

LJ smirked from the couch. “And after this weekend? You’ll never want to leave.”

Ashlynn turned to him with a grin. “We’ll see about that.”

Outside, the city pulsed with energy, but inside, in LJ’s apartment, it felt like a different kind of world—a space just for them, between the lights and the legacy of Inception VII waiting on the horizon.

The Queenslayer's Vow: Alexandra's 2025 Comeback
Alexandra’s Blog
Las Vegas, Nevada

They say that every warrior has their battle scars—those moments of triumph and defeat that shape who they are and what they’re capable of becoming. As I sit here reflecting on 2024, a year of exhilarating highs and crushing lows, I’m reminded that the only way to rise is to fall first. This past year tested me in ways I never anticipated, and now, as I look to 2025, I vow to show the world—and myself—that Alexandra, the Queenslayer, is far from done.

Let’s rewind for a moment. Shall we go back to the beginning of the year? It’s been a remarkable one hasn’t it? There’s been so much going on here in Sin City Wrestling, from the forging of friendships, the foundations of a brewing love, watching two of my best friends tie the knot and then facing hardships due to peoples insanity.
2024 began with fire in my veins and gold around my waist. Twice, I stood tall as the Bombshell Roulette Champion, proving to everyone why I belong at the top of the Sin City Wrestling roster. Those matches weren’t just wins; they were wars, battles that pushed me to my limit and beyond. I thrived in the chaos, and for a while, it felt like nothing could stop me. The cheers of the crowd, the adrenaline of victory—those moments were everything.

But as they say, the higher you climb, the harder the fall. That’s the only certainty in this industry. You will have highs and lows, ups and downs, it’s a fact of life. In and out of the ring. There’s things beyond our control.
Somewhere along the way, the momentum I worked so hard to build began to slip through my fingers. Losses started to pile up, and doubt crept in like an unwelcome shadow. People began to whisper, questioning if the Queenslayer had lost her edge. And truth be told? I wondered the same thing. I wondered if my time was coming to a close, honestly I had considered retirement rather deeply. Something inside me was dying, the fire I had been carrying for twenty plus years started to crackle into dying embers. Something didn’t feel the same and it showed when I was out there.

Yet, amidst the turbulence, life had a way of surprising me. 2024 wasn’t just about wrestling—it was also the year I found something I didn’t even know I was missing: love. Meeting LJ Kasey changed everything. He reminded me that there’s more to this life than wins and losses. Together, we shared moments of joy that reignited my passion for not just wrestling but for life itself. His belief in me has been my anchor, my strength when I felt like giving up. He reignited that flame, renewed my passion for the industry, and got my ass moving forward through the losses. And while I’d like to say it showed, it didn’t.

But love doesn’t replace hunger or the drive to do better in the ring. It does however help with the doubt and the despair one can feel in the heat of the moment. It’s that hunger that’s been keeping me up at night, replaying my matches, analyzing my mistakes, and reminding me why I stepped into the ring in the first place. Wrestling isn’t just something I do; it’s who I am. And that’s why 2025 will be different. It has to be, I’m going to give this year no fucking choice. When it comes down to it, in the end, it’s all up to me.

This year, I’m not just coming back to compete—I’m coming back to conquer. The Queenslayer isn’t a nickname; it’s a promise. A promise to every opponent who steps into the ring with me that they’ll face a version of Alexandra they’ve never seen before. I’ve been in the trenches, I’ve tasted defeat, and now I’m ready to reclaim my crown.

But there’s more to my journey than just my personal battles. There’s Ashlynn, my daughter, my heart, and my driving force. Everything I do, every match I fight, every risk I take is for her. Ashlynn is my legacy, the proof that strength, resilience, and determination are in our blood. When she looks at me, I want her to see a fighter who never gives up, someone who stands tall even when the odds are stacked against her. My victories are hers, and my struggles teach her that nothing worth having comes easy.

Don’t even get me started on our new roster members, who are walking around backstage trying to make a statement, by attacking my boyfriend and several other members of the roster who made it possible for people like them to arrive. Brooke Shields and her little boy toy Logan, will get what's coming to them soon enough. You can bet on that. I will tell you right now, those two have a lot to learn when it comes to the “Wrestling” industry. But they’ll learn in time. We were all young and dumb once.

2025 is my banner year. I’m not just aiming for gold—I’m aiming to redefine what it means to be the best in Sin City Wrestling. The Bombshell Roulette Championship? That was just the beginning. The Queenslayer is ready to climb higher, to fight harder, and to show the world why I’m not just a contender but a champion.

So to my fans, my supporters, and even my doubters: buckle up. This year, Alexandra is back with a vengeance. I’ve got unfinished business, and I’ll stop at nothing to remind everyone in SCW that the Queenslayer doesn’t just play the game—she reigns over it.

Here’s to 2025. Here’s to the comeback of a lifetime. Let’s slay some queens. And the first stop is Prudence Pierce. See you in Henderson, Nevada

Xoxo,
Alexandra Calaway

---

Prudence, do you know…
Lion Habitat Ranch
Henderson, Nevada

The camera opens on Alexandra Calaway standing in front of the iconic Lion Habitat Ranch in Henderson, Nevada. The setting sun casts a fiery glow over the sanctuary, while the faint roars of lions echo in the background. Alexandra, dressed in her signature leather jacket emblazoned with “Queenslayer” on the back, stands with an aura of command and intensity.

“Here we are, Henderson, Nevada. A place where kings and queens roam—the lions. Apex predators. Rulers of their domain. It’s poetic, really, that I’m standing here in this sanctuary, because lions don’t beg for respect; they demand it. They don’t hesitate. They strike. They dominate. They thrive. And just like them, I’ve carved out my legacy with claws bared and teeth sharpened. But tonight, I’m not here to marvel at their majesty. No, I’m here to deliver a message. A warning, if you will. To one individual who dares to step into my den, who dares to question whether the Queenslayer still reigns supreme. Prudence Pierce, this one’s for you.”

Alexandra begins pacing slowly, her boots crunching against the gravel as she gestures to the lions lounging behind her.

“Let’s talk about your name, Prudence. “Prudence,” from the Latin prudentia. It’s supposed to mean foresight, caution, wisdom. You think that’s your strength, don’t you? That it’ll give you the upper hand against me. But let me tell you something about this business—our business. In that ring, caution gets you nowhere. Restraint doesn’t win championships. And wisdom? Wisdom is nothing more than a crutch for those too scared to take risks.”

She paused looking around her, before she started to pace again, her mind racing at everything that’s happened, the threats from all sides, the battles she’s been through. All of it, she wanted another chance at Bea and it was coming at Inception VII she would get that chance. For now, she would focus on what's in front of her.

“I’ve been doing this for over two decades, and I’ve seen every type of competitor there is. The reckless ones. The calculating ones. The cautious ones. And do you know what they all have in common when they step into the ring with me? They learn, real quick, that Alexandra Calaway doesn’t play by their rules. I won't wait. I don’t hesitate. I decimate.”

She stops pacing and looks directly into the camera, her piercing gaze unyielding.

“Prudence, you may think your name makes you clever. That it makes you careful. But in reality, it makes you weak. Because caution is just fear dressed up in fancy clothes. And wisdom? Wisdom is just what losers cling to when they’re picking themselves up off the mat after I’ve laid them out. You don’t belong in my world, Prudence. This isn’t a chess match where you can sit back and plan your next move. This is the squared circle. It’s brutal. It’s unforgiving. It’s where hesitation and overthinking will get you eaten alive. And let me tell you something, sweetheart: when that bell rings, I’m not going to outthink you. I’m going to outfight you.”

The faint roar of a lion in the background punctuates her words, adding a visceral weight to her declaration. Alexandra crosses her arms, her expression hardening.

“Let me remind you of something, Prudence. 2024 wasn’t exactly kind to me. I started the year with fire in my veins and gold around my waist. Twice, I held the Bombshell Roulette Championship, proving to the world that I’m not just another name on the roster—I’m the name. The one you remember. The one who sets the bar. And for a while, I was unstoppable.”

She took the time to pause, thinking things over, knowing that she needed every moment and that every single one of them, everything she had to say, needed to count.

“But then, life had other plans. Losses started piling up. Doubt crept in. People started whispering, questioning whether the Queenslayer had lost her edge. And you know what? I questioned it too. I wondered if my time was up. If the fire that had burned inside me for over twenty years was finally dying out. I considered walking away. Retiring. I thought about it hard.”

Her voice falters slightly, just enough to convey the vulnerability she’s speaking from, but it quickly regains its steel edge.

“But then something happened. I found a reason to fight again. Love, Prudence. Love rekindled my fire. LJ Kasey reminded me that life is more than wins and losses. That it’s about passion, about purpose. My daughter, Ashlynn, reminded me that I’m not just fighting for myself—I’m fighting for her. To show her what resilience looks like. To prove that no matter how many times life knocks you down, you get back up. And when you do, you come back stronger, fiercer, hungrier.”

She thought about what drives her, her daughter Ashlynn, leaving a legacy behind for her when Alexandra’s time was up. About LJ, who had her back no matter what. She had watched him win his first championship. Everything they had been building in the last eight months, was finally paying off.

“So here I am, Prudence. In 2025, I’m not just coming back to compete. I’m coming back to conquer this company. And you? You’re just the first name on my list. 2024 is the past and that’s where it’s going to stay. This is my moment, then after I finish with you, I will go on to face off against be at ”

She gestures to the lions again, their calm yet commanding presence mirroring her own.

“Do you see these lions? They’re not cautious. They don’t sit back and wait for the perfect moment to strike. They go for it. They seize what’s theirs. And when they do? There’s no stopping them. That’s who I am, Prudence. That’s what I do. I’m not here to play it safe. I’m here to dominate. To destroy. To remind everyone in Sin City Wrestling why the name Alexandra Calaway sends chills down spines.”

She steps closer to the camera, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

“Prudence, you’re stepping into my world now. You’re walking into the lion’s den, and you think your “foresight” and “wisdom” are going to save you? They won’t. All the caution in the world won’t prepare you for what happens when the Queenslayer gets her hands on you. Enough losses and doubt. When I step into that ring with you, all bets are off.”

She thought about all those who came before Prudence, everyone she had faced here in her time with Sin City Wrestling.

“You’re not the first to think you can use me as a stepping stone, oh there have been so many before you. And I know you won’t be the last. But let me make one thing crystal clear: when that bell rings, you’re going to learn why they call me the Queenslayer. You’re going to learn that Prudence isn’t a strength—it’s a weakness. And in this jungle, only the strongest survive.”

The camera zooms in on her face as she delivers her final, chilling words.

“January 2025. Henderson, Nevada. Alexandra Calaway versus Prudence Pierce. One of us will walk out with our head held high. And the other? The other will be just another victim. Prudence, consider this your only warning. The Queenslayer doesn’t just play the game—she reigns over it. See you in the ring.”

The camera fades to black, the faint roar of a lion echoing as the screen goes dark.

---

Training Together
Private Gym
Henderson, Nevada

The gym buzzed faintly with background noise—distant weights clinking, a treadmill humming—but for Alexandra, the only sounds that mattered were the rhythmic thuds of her gloves meeting the pads LJ held. Sweat trickled down her temple as her strikes connected, each one sharp and precise, a testament to years of hard-earned skill.

"Keep it moving, angel," LJ said, stepping lightly to the side, forcing her to adjust her angles. "Don’t let me pin you down."

Her lips twitched into a grin despite the strain in her shoulders. "Don’t flatter yourself there champ, this isn't our bedroom. You’re good, but still a rookie." She gave him a playful wink.

“You weren’t saying that last night..” LJ chuckled, lowering the pads momentarily to stretch his arms. "Yeah, well, this learner’s holding his own. Besides, you said Prudence is all about control, right? Gotta get you used to dodging traps."

"Fair point," she admitted, bouncing on her toes to keep her blood flowing. Prudence’s face flashed in her mind—calm, methodical, always calculating. Alexandra’s next opponent wasn’t just skilled; she was strategic in a way few wrestlers were. "She’s not going to let me set the pace. If I don’t dictate the rhythm, she’ll take over."

"Then don’t let her," LJ said, raising the mitts again. "One-two, step out, double up on the low kicks. Make her second-guess every move."

Alexandra launched into the combination without hesitation, her fists and legs moving in a seamless flow. Each strike connected with a satisfying crack, the sound reverberating through the space. LJ stumbled back slightly, laughing. "Alright, alright, save some for Prudence. She’s the one you’re trying to knock out."

"She’s going to feel every one of these," Alexandra said, her tone lighter now, but her focus still razor-sharp. "She’s not like the others. She’s got that patient style. Like she’s always waiting for the perfect moment."

"Yeah, but what happens when there’s no perfect moment?" LJ countered, stepping forward again. His voice softened, a hint of that endearing mix of admiration and concern slipping through. "You’re good at making people uncomfortable, angel. You’ve got this knack for forcing them to make mistakes. Use that. Turn it into a fight she doesn’t want."

Alexandra nodded, wiping her brow with her forearm. His words had a way of grounding her. LJ might be new to this world, but his perspective was fresh, unburdened by the weight of years in the ring. "You’re not bad at this coaching thing, you know."

"Don’t get used to it," he said, grinning. "I’m just here to keep you on your toes. Speaking of which—" He tapped the mitts together. "Show me what you’re going to do if she rushes in for the clinch."

Alexandra groaned theatrically but reset her stance. "You just want an excuse to see me pivot again, don’t you?"

LJ smirked. "Can you blame me? It’s poetry in motion."

"Flattery’s not going to save you when I kick your ass," she teased which caused a smirk and a wink out of him, launching into the drill. She practiced breaking free of a simulated clinch, pivoting sharply to the side and countering with a knee strike. Each repetition felt smoother, more instinctive.

"That’s it," LJ encouraged, his voice steady. "She’s going to hate you for that luv. And when she’s frustrated, she’ll get sloppy."

"Unless I get sloppy first," Alexandra muttered, her breath hitching slightly as she pushed through the next set.

"Hey," LJ said, lowering the pads and stepping closer. "Don’t start that. You’re the veteran here, angel. You’ve been through this a dozen times over. She’s the one who should be worried."

Alexandra paused, resting her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. "Yeah, but she’s got momentum. Everyone’s calling her the next big thing. What if I’ve already peaked?"

LJ’s expression softened, and he reached out to tilt her chin up so she’d meet his gaze. "Stop. You’ve still got fire in you, and you know it. Prudence? She’s good. No one’s saying she isn’t. But she doesn’t have what you have. She hasn’t been through the wars you have. You know how to dig deep, how to adapt. That’s what makes you dangerous."

His words hung between them, and for a moment, Alexandra just looked at him, the weight of her doubt easing slightly. She reached up and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Thanks, Love."

"Always," he said, flashing her that boyish grin that made her heart ache in the best way. "Now, let’s finish strong. Show me that left hook again. The one that nearly knocked me over last week."

"You’re never going to let that go, are you?" she said, her smirk returning as she stepped back into her stance.

"Not a chance," he replied, holding up the mitts. "It’s a badge of honor, Angel. Alright—hook, cross, pivot, then a kick. Go."

They ran through the combination again and again, LJ adjusting his position to keep her moving and thinking. Alexandra’s punches grew faster, sharper, her confidence rebuilding with each strike. By the time they finished, her shirt clung to her like a second skin, and her arms ached in the best way.

LJ dropped the mitts onto the bench, grabbing a towel and tossing it to her. "You’re ready, angel. She’s not going to know what hit her."

"Thanks to you," Alexandra said, toweling off as she gave him an approving nod. "You’re getting good at this, you know."

"Don’t let it go to my head," he said, leaning against the bench. "But seriously, you’re going to be fine. Just stick to your plan, and if she tries to throw you off, throw her right back."

She smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, LJ. For everything."

"Anytime, love." he said, looping an arm around her waist as they headed for the door. "Now, let’s get you home. Rest is just as important as training."

As they walked out of the gym together, the weight of the upcoming match felt lighter. Prudence might be a challenge, but Alexandra knew she had what it took—and with LJ in her corner, she felt unstoppable.

---

Training Time
Private Gym
Henderson, Nevada

The screen roars to life, the faint hum of fluorescent lights in the background replaced by the sharp, echoing crack of fist meeting leather. Alexandra stands in the center of the gym, a fortress of determination carved from grit and sweat. Her movements are relentless—a blur of power, speed, and precision. She slams a fist into the heavy bag, each punch reverberating like thunder. Around her, weights clink, a jump rope whips through the air, and the cadence of her breath is steady, controlled, and fierce. The camera closes in on her face, beads of sweat tracing the sharp angles of her cheekbones. Her blue eyes burn with an intensity that could melt steel. The voiceover begins, low and simmering with authority.

Voiceover: The ring isn’t just a place where matches are fought—it’s where legacies are forged. Every drop of sweat that falls, every bruise, every ache—it’s the price we pay for greatness. Prudence, you think you’re prepared, but you’ve never faced someone like me. I don’t train for applause. I don’t train for the spotlight. I train to win. I train to conquer. And when that bell rings, it won’t just be a fight—it’ll be your reckoning.

The montage intensifies, cutting to Alexandra flipping massive tires, her muscles rippling with effort. She sprints across the gym floor, driving her knees high and fast, her breath a rhythm of focus and power. A sparring partner steps into the frame, but Alexandra dominates the exchange. A quick feint, a thunderous uppercut, and the sparring partner crumbles to the mat. The music builds, heavy bass driving the scene.

Voiceover: You can analyze the tapes, Prudence. You can write out your strategies and build a game plan. But let me tell you something—plans mean nothing when your body is screaming in pain, when your lungs are begging for air, when your vision blurs from the sheer force of my strikes. That’s what I bring to the ring. Not just skill, but devastation. You’ll learn the hard way that the Queenslayer doesn’t just fight—she destroys.

The screen flashes with images of Alexandra landing punishing moves: a suplex delivered with bone-crunching force, a submission hold locked in so tight it makes her sparring partner tap within seconds, and a brutal spinning kick that sends the punching bag flying off its chain. The camera shifts again, this time focusing on her reflection in the gym mirror. Alexandra leans forward, staring at herself, her breaths heavy but controlled. Her voiceover continues, darker now, more personal.

Voiceover: I’ve bled for this. Sacrificed for this. Every moment of pain, every ounce of doubt—it’s all been fuel. This isn’t just about beating you, Prudence. It’s about proving that the Queenslayer isn’t just a title. It’s a testament to everything I’ve endured, everything I’ve overcome. When I step into that ring, I’m not just fighting for myself. I’m fighting to remind the world that I am the standard, the pinnacle, the apex predator.

The footage cuts to her lifting a barbell overhead, veins bulging as she roars through the effort. It transitions to her climbing the ropes, executing a perfect aerial move that ends with her slamming an opponent into the mat. The music reaches a crescendo as the screen cuts back to Alexandra standing in the gym. Her fists are clenched, her hands still wrapped in tape. Her breathing is steady, her body a portrait of power and preparation. She tilts her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Prudence, this isn’t just a match. It’s a warning. You’re stepping into my world, and in my world, there’s no room for hesitation. There’s no room for caution. When we meet in Henderson, I’ll show you exactly why they call me the Queenslayer. Brace yourself. Because your caution ends—and my reign begins.”

The camera lingers on her for a moment, her eyes piercing, unshakable. The screen fades to black, but the final sound—a resounding crack of her fist hitting the bag—echoes long after the visuals are gone.

Together against all odds
Hotel Room
Long Beach, California

Alexandra sat on the edge of the warm hotel bed in their room in Long Beach, California, her elbows resting on her knees. Her brown hair was down around her shoulders cascade, beachy waves draping over elegant shoulders. The intensity in her piercing blue eyes matched the tension filling the room. Across from her, LJ leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His towering frame was relaxed, but the way his jaw tightened every so often betrayed his calm exterior. She had to admit that when he did that, her heart raced.

“We need a plan,” Alexandra began, her voice sharp with determination. “After what Logan and Brooke pulled last week, it’s clear they’re not done. They’re coming for us.”

LJ nodded slowly, pushing off the wall and taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her. He reached out, placing a hand over hers. “You’re right. We can’t let our guard down, especially not at the show this week. They’ve already proven they’re willing to cross any possible line. But we’re not going to let them dictate how we move forward. We’ve got this. I believe in us.”

Alexandra’s eyes softened momentarily at his reassurance, but her expression quickly hardened again. “It’s not just about us, LJ. Harper Mason’s going to be out for blood during our match, and if Logan or Brooke decide to stick their noses in, I could end up on the mat with three people targeting me instead of just one.”

LJ’s eyes darkened and narrowed at the thought of what had happened and what could happen. “They’re not going to get the chance,” he said firmly. “I’ll be out there. I’ll have your back, no matter what. If Logan or Brooke even think about stepping through those ropes, they’ll have me to deal with. Do you believe Carter and Miles would allow that to happen either? No, we all have your back.”

Alexandra tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’ve always got my back, every single one of you do.” She spoke, her voice softening again. That was one of the biggest things, Alexandra could trust him. “But I don’t want you all getting caught up in something we can't handle. Logan’s not exactly a pushover, and Brooke— I mean, they have already taken a shot at you.”

LJ held up a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly. “I can handle them, look at what I did last week, got attacked and still went out there and won. You focus on Harper. That’s your fight. I’ll deal with the rest.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the situation hung heavy between them, but Alexandra found herself drawing strength from LJ’s confidence. He had been her rock, the steady force in her often-chaotic world, since they met.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But we need to think through every angle. If they come at us before the match… if they try to ambush us backstage… if they send someone else after us to throw us off…” She trailed off, her mind racing.

“We’ll prepare for all of it,” LJ assured her. “First, we stick together. No splitting up, not even for a second. If you’re heading to the ring, I’m with you. If you’re warming up backstage, I’m there too. We’ll be a united front. As for them hiring someone else, let’s face it, they want the glory to themselves.”

Alexandra nodded. “Good. And I’ll keep my eyes open in the ring. Harper might act like she’s a lone wolf, but I wouldn’t put it past her to team up with Logan and Brooke if it meant taking me down. I’ll need to stay sharp.”

LJ’s lips curved into a small grin. “You’re always sharp. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“While as lovely and charming as that is.” She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Flattery won’t make me forget how serious this is.”

“I’m serious too,” he said, leaning closer. “I’ve seen you take down opponents twice your size. I’ve seen you fight through injuries and setbacks that would break most people. Harper doesn’t stand a chance, especially not with me in your corner.”

Alexandra took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. She knew he meant every one of them, and she found herself feeling just a little lighter despite the storm clouds looming over the week ahead. She leaned forward and stole a quick kiss.

“We should also think about contingencies,” LJ added. “If things go south during the match, you need a way to signal me. A hand gesture, a phrase… something subtle but clear.”

Alexandra’s mind raced as she considered his suggestion. “How about if I adjust my wrist tape? That’ll look natural enough, but you’ll know something’s up.”

LJ nodded approvingly. “Perfect. And if I see you do that, I’ll be ready to step in. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Agreed,” she said, standing and stretching her arms above her head.She prayed she wouldn't have to use the signal. The movement was fluid and controlled, a testament to the hours she spent training. “Now, let’s talk about what happens after the match. Win or lose, we can’t let our guard down. If Logan and Brooke are waiting to jump us…”

LJ rose to his feet, towering over her but radiating warmth and protectiveness. “Then we fight back,” he said simply. “Together.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze. “Together.” For the first time that evening, Alexandra felt a spark of hope. The road ahead was dangerous, but with LJ by her side, she knew she wasn’t facing it alone.

As the evening deepened, the buzz of the city outside their window felt distant, like a muffled echo of the challenges they knew awaited them. Alexandra paced the room, laying out scenarios. “If we win, we can expect them to try something during the celebration. Brooke loves making a spectacle, obviously. Just look at her tweets. How does it feel knowing you got yourself a cougar?”

“I clearly don’t mind our age difference love. You of all people should know that. I love you.” LJ nodded, leaning forward on the arm of the chair he’d claimed. “And if the match goes sideways?”

“We don’t let frustration cloud our focus. No unnecessary risks. We stay on the move, control the narrative,” Alexandra replied, her voice steely.

LJ cracked a small smile. “You sound like a general planning a battle.”

Alexandra stopped, a soft laugh escaping. “Well, it kind of is, isn’t it? You’ve got to think three steps ahead in this business.”

“And that’s why you’re going to dominate, Lex,” LJ said. “When you’re out there, they’ll see someone they can’t break.”

The words settled into her chest, replacing some of the dread with determination. She knew what she and LJ were capable of separately and if you combined that as a team, there was absolutely no stopping them. It didn’t matter what storm came their way, they would face it hand in hand unwavering in their trust and loyalty.

“We’re a team in this, not just in the ring Angel, but in life.” LJ continued, rising to his feet. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we will do it together. Win, lose, ambush, whatever. We face it head-on.”

She walked over to him, resting her forehead lightly against his chest for a moment, drawing in his steadiness. “Thanks, LJ. For being here, for having my back… for everything.”

“Always, love.” he said simply, taking her face in his hands and kissing her softly. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”

As the city lights of Long Beach painted streaks across their hotel room window, Alexandra felt more ready than ever. Together, they would weather the storm, no matter where that storm happened to come from.

---

Young Gun vs Veteran again?
Beach at Night
Long Beach, California

The camera cuts in on a hauntingly beautiful scene: Alexandra, seated atop a weathered rock, her silhouette framed by the bioluminescent glow of the waves crashing onto the shore. The dark expanse of the ocean stretches endlessly behind her, its soft roar broken only by the occasional cry of distant seagulls. Above, stars scatter across the sky in an intricate, endless pattern, their light faint but steady, watching silently as if bearing witness to what’s about to unfold. The salty tang of the ocean breeze lingers, carrying with it an undeniable tension—the kind that hangs in the air before a storm.

Alexandra sits motionless at first, her back to the camera, her shoulders squared against the biting chill of the night. The glow of the waves reflects faintly against her skin, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Slowly, she lifts her head, gazing out at the endless horizon where the sea meets the stars. She speaks, her voice low but sharp, slicing through the sound of the waves like a blade.

“Harper Mason. Here we are again. You and me, staring down another night, another fight, another chance to prove who really owns the spotlight.”

She turns, her piercing eyes locking onto the camera. There’s a calmness in her demeanor, but beneath it simmers a quiet intensity, the kind of fire born from years of battles and scars.

“You know, Harper, I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately. About how it moves, relentless and unstoppable, pulling us forward whether we’re ready or not. It’s funny, isn’t it? How time changes everything and nothing all at once. Just look at us. The Young Gun and the Veteran. A tale as old as time, and yet every time we step into that ring, it feels like something entirely new.”

She rises from the rock, the hem of her jacket catching the breeze, fluttering lightly as she steps closer to the camera. Her boots crunch softly against the sand, the tide rolling in just enough to touch her feet before retreating again, as if testing her resolve.

“You and I have done this dance so many times before. One-on-one. Handicaps. Battle royals. Name the match, and chances are, we’ve been there, trading blows, trying to outlast each other. But here’s the thing, Harper: I don’t think you really understand what it means to stand the test of time.”

Her voice takes on an edge now, sharp and unyielding, like the jagged rocks jutting out from the shoreline. She points to the ocean behind her, its waves surging and retreating in a rhythm as old as the earth itself.

“You see that? That’s the ocean. It’s endless. It’s powerful. And it doesn’t stop for anyone. It’s gentle when it wants to be, but when it’s angry, it destroys everything in its path. Sound familiar?”

She lets the words linger, her smirk faint but unmistakable. Alexandra’s gaze remains fixed on the camera, her expression unwavering.

“I am the ocean, Harper. I am the tide that rises and falls, that shapes and carves and crushes. And just like the ocean, I’ve seen it all. I’ve weathered storms that would’ve sunk lesser fighters. I’ve pulled myself out of depths you can’t even imagine. And every time you’ve stood across from me, you’ve tried to pull me under, haven’t you? You’ve tried to be the tide that drowns me. But here I am, Harper. Still standing. Still fighting. Still proving that this ring, this business, this life? It’s mine.”

The wind picks up, carrying her words across the beach, as if nature itself is amplifying her declaration. She takes another step closer, her presence commanding, the glow of the waves dancing around her.

“But let’s be real, Harper. You’ve been impressive. I won’t deny it. You’ve got the speed, the strength, the hunger. And every time we’ve clashed, you’ve pushed me further, made me dig deeper, fight harder. You’ve made me question myself in ways few others have. And tonight, I know you’re coming with everything you’ve got. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You want this. You want to prove that the Young Gun can outlast the Veteran. That you can finally take me down.”

She pauses, her smirk widening into something darker, more dangerous. Her voice drops to a near whisper, forcing the listener to lean in, to hang on her every word.

“But wanting something doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Guns misfire, Harper. They jam. And when they do, they leave their wielder exposed, vulnerable, defenseless. And me? I’m not just another target. I’m the storm that’s going to make you question why you ever stepped into this fight in the first place.”

The camera shifts, following her as she walks toward the water. The tide laps at her boots, but she doesn’t flinch, her focus unbroken.

“Because tonight, Harper, it’s not about you proving yourself. It’s about me proving that I still belong. That no matter how many fresh faces come through these doors, no matter how many young guns rise through the ranks, there’s still only one Alexandra. And I’m not ready to be washed away.”

Her voice rises now, growing fiercer with each word, like the waves building toward a crescendo. She turns back to the camera, her eyes blazing with determination.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, Harper? You think you’ve studied the tapes, learned my moves, found my weaknesses? Go ahead. Bring every ounce of knowledge, every ounce of strategy, every ounce of fire you’ve got. Because when that bell rings, none of it will matter. The only thing that’s going to matter is whether you’ve got the heart to survive what I’m about to throw at you.”

She gestures to the ocean again, her voice booming over the sound of the waves.

“Because like this ocean, I don’t stop. I don’t falter. I don’t give up. And tonight, when you step into that ring with me, you’re going to feel the full force of what that means. You’re going to learn that it’s not enough to want it. You have to earn it. And Harper, I’ve spent my entire career earning it.”

The camera zooms in on her face now, capturing every line of intensity, every flicker of emotion as she delivers her final words.

“So bring it, Harper. Bring your speed, your strength, your hunger. Bring every ounce of fight you’ve got. And I’ll bring the storm. Because tonight, this beach belongs to me. This ring belongs to me. And when it’s over, when the tide recedes and the dust settles, the only thing left standing will be my hand raised in victory.”

She turns her back to the camera, facing the ocean once more. The waves crash harder now, as if echoing her words. The glow of bioluminescence shimmers around her, casting her in an almost otherworldly light. The camera lingers for a moment before fading to black, her voice lingering in the air like a final promise.

“Time and tide wait for no one, Harper. And neither will I.”