Whoever handled the decorating this year clearly took “winter wonderland” as a personal challenge. We’re talking lights on every bannister, garlands thick enough to hide a grown adult, a snow machine blasting flakes over the food court, and Mariah Carey echoing through the atrium like she was summoning an army. Holiday tourists swarmed through the building like migrating penguins with credit cards.

Right in the middle of it all: the Madison-O’Connell clan.

Bella led the group with the confidence of a woman who could bulldoze through Times Square traffic if she felt like it. Laura walked beside her, peppermint mocha in hand, looking entirely too proud of this chaos, as though she personally invented Christmas. Nick hung behind them, muttering at price tags like they were personally insulting him. And then there was Malachi: three shopping bags hung on his wrist, zero joy on his face, looking like someone who’d rather be wrestling a grizzly bear than navigating a NYC mall in early December.

“It’s like a human cattle drive,” Mal muttered under his breath as a group of teenagers nearly clipped him, "Why are we here again?”

“Because you love me,” Bella said cheerfully without looking back.

“No, I love you at home, where my couch is and more importantly where my sanity is.”

Before Bella could respond, a tiny gasp broke through the crowd noise.

Little Máire, wrapped in a puffy pink coat, with her little boots shaped like little wolves, and clutching a candy cane like a weapon, pressed her face against the railing overlooking the center court.

“...Sanna?”

And there he was. The jolly fat man himself, stationed on a velvet chair like he ruled the North Pole, surrounded by elves who probably wanted hazard pay and were honestly entitled to it. Children and parents had already begun lining up, some eager, some screaming, some both.

“Oh boy,” Nick chuckled, "Here we go.”

Máire’s eyes widened impossibly further, "Sanna! Sanna! Wanna see Sanna!”

Bella knelt, "You wanna go see Santa? Really?”

Máire nodded so violently her little ponytail smacked her in the face.

Mal sighed, "Of course she does. She couldn’t want, I don’t know, ice cream....or even a nap. I could go for a nap right now.”

Laura elbowed him, "Mal, stop being a Grinch. Let your little girl have her moment.”

“It’s not being a Grinch,” Mal protested, "Look at that line already! I feel like I’m the only sane person here.”

But the decision wasn’t his, because Máire took off.

“OH SHIT!” Bella darted after her before the toddler could dive headfirst into a stroller or, worse, the decorative fountain.

Nick followed behind at a casual stroll, "She definitely gets the running from you.”

“Yes, thanks, Dad, very helpful!” Bella called back, scooping up her escapee.

Once captured, Máire squirmed and pointed at Santa again with the urgency of someone defusing a bomb, “Go see Sanna! Please, Mama!”

Bella carried her toward the line. The problem?

As soon as they got close enough for Máire to actually see Santa’s big red suit and beard up close, the little child actually froze and then trembled and without fail she buried her face into Bella’s shoulder and whispered, terrified, “Too big.”

Bella hid her smile, "Sweetie, you ran across half the mall for him.”

“Too big...” Máire repeated, clutching Bella’s shirt like Santa was a kaiju.

Laura, already recording, cackled, "Oh this is perfect.”

“Mom,” Bella hissed, “put the phone down, please?”

“Absolutely not. This is the kind of thing that you can use at her high school graduation party or wedding.”

“Oh mom, honestly. Did you do this with Aaron too?” Bella glared at her mother.

“Nick got that one...in 4k. I’ll have to remember to send it to you later.” Laura said as she looked at her granddaughter, “Máire are you going to say hi to Santa?”

Santa himself waved, "Ho! Ho! Ho! Oh, hello there!”

And oh boy that was the wrong move, big guy. Máire’s lower lip wobbled, her eyes filled with tears and then, “WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

It was the kind of shriek that made shoppers in three different stores turn their heads to find out what the hell happened.

Mal pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yep. I knew it. I knew this was coming. It was fine last year because she was still so tiny but now...”

Nick laughed so hard he nearly dropped the bag he was carrying, "Oh man, that’s my granddaughter, alright. Brave one second, terrified the next.”

“Alright, alright,” Bella murmured, rubbing circles on Máire’s back, "It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to sit with Santa. Wanna just wave from far away?”

Máire sniffled, peeked over Bella’s shoulder, and whispered, “Far far way.”

“Okay,” Bella said gently, "Far far away it is.” They stepped back ten feet and then Máire waved a very little tiny one. Then Santa waved back. Máire hid again in her mom’s shoulder and whimpered.

Progress at least....she didn’t shriek like a banshee. 

Laura snapped one more picture, "Oh I’m going to show this to everyone.”

“Mom...Seriously stop, help me please!.”

“What? It’s adorable. Besides, she shouldn’t fear Santa. The Easter Bunny? Perhaps. But Santa? No.”

Mal looked down at his daughter, "See? We survived the Santa encounter. Can we go home now?”

“Ha!” Laura barked a little too loudly, “We’re just getting started.”

Mal groaned like a man marching to the gallows.

Bella kissed the top of Máire’s head, "You did so good, baby. We’ll try again next year, okay?”

Shoppers bumped past each other with Macy’s bags, Sephora bags, Lego Store bags, the entire place vibrated with that early December adrenaline but none of that mattered because Máire had only one target in her sights, the man in red with the beautiful beard, Santa. Or rather... she had a target until she got within ten feet of the giant red throne.

Bella held her now, still trembling, still hiccupping from the sudden outburst. Her tear-damp curls clung to her cheeks as she hid her face in Bella’s collarbone, trying to recover. Mal stood nearby in full long-suffering dad mode, holding three shopping bags and contemplating the meaning of life. Laura had her phone raised, filming like the CIA. Nick leaned against a velvet rope, hands tucked in his coat pockets, watching the entire scene with amused sympathy.

And across the barrier sat the man himself, a New York department-store Santa with a real beard, a booming laugh, and the patience of a saint who had been at this all day. Máire peeked again just a tiny, cautious look and then quickly hid again when she saw Santa look towards her.

Bella kissed her head, "We don’t have to get close again, sweetie. We can just wave from right here.”

Máire let out a sniff. Then a second. Then a soft little, “..Sanna nice?”

Mal snorted, “I mean, for a guy who works inside a mall surrounded by tourists, he’s practically a superhero.”

Laura added, “He’s super nice, sweetheart. He gives hugs and listens and says ‘ho ho ho.’ You love ‘ho ho ho.’”

Nick leaned in, "If you want, kiddo, I can walk up with you. Papa will sit with you the whole time.”

Máire stared at Santa again as Santa waved gently. This time, she didn’t burst into tears and she didn’t hide. She just watched him. You could almost see the calculating and processing in her 2 year old little brain. Making the kind of big emotional decision only a two-year-old could understand.

Bella shifted her so they were face to face, "Do you want to try again? You don’t have to if you don’t but if you want to, Mommy will be right there.”

There was a pause and then...then the tiniest nod. Determined & Brave. She was a Madison through and through ...with a touch* (*Whovian tech for a lot bigger than assumed) of that O’Connell stubborn streak.

“Okay,” Bella breathed out, “We’ll try again.”

They rejoined the line, weaving through velvet ropes and impatient parents as a jazzed-up version of “Let It Snow” blared from the mall speakers, making everything feel even more surreal. Santa saw them approaching and gave a warm smile, "Well hello again, sweetheart.”

Máire tensed but she didn’t cry.

Bella brushed her hair back, "You’re safe, baby. Mommy’s right here.”

Santa extended a gloved hand, not close enough to scare her, just a polite greeting from a respectful distance. Máire stared at his glove as her lower lip trembled then steadied and she reached out.

A tiny fingertip tap from her little hand to his. The elf beside Santa visibly gasped in support, hands flying to her chest.

Santa chuckled warmly, "You are very brave indeed.”

Then, unbelievably, Máire lifted her arms toward him. Like a peace offering with a little surrender. And most like courage incarnate.

“You wanna sit with Santa?” Bella asked, awe in her voice.

Máire nodded, eyes wide but sure.

“Holy shit,” Mal whispered, “She’s doing it.”

Bella gently passed her over, keeping one hand on her back until she settled. Máire was stiff as a board at first, every muscle locked, every breath short.

Santa spoke softly, "You’re doing wonderfully, little one.”

Máire blinked up at him then she grabbed his beard. Bella almost tried to stop her but Santa waved her off. She then she decided to test the beard...Gave it a small tug.

Santa burst out laughing, a full, booming laugh that echoed across the holiday display and down toward the atrium. Máire lit up, practically beaming as she smacked her hands on his red coat and declared joyfully, “SANNAAAA!”

Bella’s knees nearly gave out at the sight of her daughter in laughter now talking up a storm to Santa. Mal stared like his heart had grown three sizes, “I cannot believe this kid.”

The elf snapped a photo, a perfect shot of Máire mid-laugh, Santa glowing with grandfatherly joy, and Bella and Mal in the background looking like they won the parenting Olympics. Santa handed her back gently. She wrapped her arms around Bella’s neck, warm and proud.

“I did it,” she whispered, small and triumphant.

Bella kissed her cheek, "Yeah, baby. You did.”

And with Santa conquered, the Madison-O’Connell family marched off into the bustling NYC mall, shopping bags, holiday chaos, exhausted parents and all, with Máire shining like the bravest little Christmas star this city had ever seen.



The O’Connell property sat quiet under a slate-gray December sky, the kind of cold that made the world feel sharper, meaner. Snow clung to the fields but the old training barn, converted, reinforced, heated, and filled to the rafters with equipment, glowed warm from the inside.

This place had seen every version of Bella Madison. The broken one. The rebuilding one. And lately the barely-contained and very opinionated one.

Inside, the space echoed faintly with the low hum of heaters and the thud of fists against leather. Bella slammed a stiff right hand into the heavy bag again, again, again with each hit sharper than the last, her breath fogging in the air.

Malachi leaned against the ring ropes, arms folded, watching her with that familiar mixture of pride and concern. The man had learned over the years that stopping her mid-burn was pointless, especially if she had heavy metal blaring from the speakers. He was grateful that they moved out into the country and far away from any reasonable neighbors because there were times that in the middle of the night you would hear Lzzy Hale or Taylor Momsen or some other rock star goddess ringing out from the barn. He knew that you let Bella burn herself out a little first and then you talk.

But tonight, the fire wasn’t dimming, it was growing steadily and at a fierce rate.

A final punch sent the bag swinging wildly. Bella stepped back, chest rising and falling, jaw tight. Her knuckles were wrapped but already showing red where the friction had bitten through.

Mal exhaled slowly, "Alright, it’s time to talk to me. You’re not training, you’re punishing something and what it is...I’m not quite sure. I thought after High Stakes you’d be...a little more contained if that’s a good way to put it but you have been even more on edge since...so what’s going on, mo ghrá?”

Bella shook out her hands, then picked up a kendo stick leaning against the ring apron, "You wanna know what I’m punishing?” She pointed it at the empty space like she was stabbing the air, "Look at the last few weeks that I’ve had.”

She climbed into the ring, pacing like a caged animal, the kendo stick tapping the canvas with every step.

“Crystal Caldwell and of course Mercedes Vargas, who I want to stomp into oblivion after what she fucking did. And now we have Crystal prancing around here with the World Championship that SHOULD have been mine but yeah we get treated to that because the world is just not fucked up enough. I have Bea Goddamn Barnhart hanging around me like some boozy hangover from hell that not a single remedy can help me get rid of it. And now we’re going to add in former champ and chip on her fucking shoulder the size of Montana, Frankie Holliday that is now added to the list of ‘people I need to destroy before I get where I actually want to be.’”

Mal stayed where he was, letting her pace. Just letting her vent because it’s what he does for her and her for him. It was the wonderful give and take of their relationship.

She stopped dead center of the ring, eyes burning, "I’m trying, Mal. I am trying to be patient and professional, but I swear to God... it feels like they are....I don’t know...they’re pushing me.”

He nodded once, "So push back.”

Bella actually laughed...a sharp, humorless one that led to that infamous ‘I’m about to get myself into deep shit’ glare of hers that Mal fell in love with all those years ago, "Oh, I plan to and starting right now.”

She turned on her heels, climbing through the ropes and hopped down from the ring, reaching into her bag, grabbing her phone from it, she moved swiftly to the side of the room that had been set up a while ago for promo practice purposes and propped it onto a tripod that was sitting there waiting. After some fiddling on the screen, opening her camera app, and centering, she clicked the record button and the red light blinked.

She slowly stepped in front of it and almost instantly, you could see her posture had changed. It was centered, deadly calm in a way that felt far more dangerous than her pacing.

Mal watched quietly, and as it was obvious that he was falling more in love with her in that instant. She had that amazing way about her.

This wasn’t rage that he just saw anymore. This was clarity sharpened into a weapon and she was about to slice them all down.

Bella stepped closer to the camera, the training barn behind her like her kingdom of violence, lit by hard by the white lights that they installed when it was built.

“Do you guys want to know why I’m in here tonight?” she began, her voice low but razor steady, "Because patience has left the building, got in the car and sped the fuck down the highway at a high rate of speed missing every single hazard along the way. The ‘nice Bella’ everyone expects and has come to love to kick around? Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah, she walked out with it after High Stakes.”

A small, humorless smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

“Frankie Holliday and Bea Barnhart. You’re the unlucky ones standing in front of me this week. A triple threat hardcore match in Colorado Springs.” She tapped the kendo stick against her palm, "And I’m the Queen of Hardcore. So do the math.”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“Frankie... let’s start with you.”

Her breath fogged. The barn felt colder somehow.

“You had something I wanted....specifically someone I want after I was so rudely denied. Crystal Caldwell robbed me first, then she robbed you. Difference is? I didn’t get my rightful chance. You did and you lost.”

The words hit like punches.

“I respect what you’ve done, you took that title rightfully. And I guess...and I know this is probably going to potentially piss people off...I respected the champ you were. But respect doesn’t keep me from taking this chance of breaking you. I’m done waiting for my chance and I’m done playing backstage politics. If I have to take out one of the former Bombshell Champions to get where I’m going?” She shrugged, "Then so fucking be it.”

She took a step back, smile fading.

“And then there is Bea.” There was a beat where her eyes sharpened to lethal points, “Bea Barnhart, I swear to every deity anyone’s ever prayed to, if you do not get your nose out of everyone’s business, I will remove it myself. I can already tell you what will potentially be said without even turning to the SCW Social Media team to give myself a melatonin from her promo.”

Mal smirked quietly in the background, but did not interrupt.

“You are going to sit there with Bill’s balls tucked in your purse and you are going to want to paint me as whining. Potentially me bitching and maybe even a tad bit of moaning?” Bella asked, voice rising dangerously, "You want to talk about pain sensors and losing streaks? Honey... I beat you and Cassie at High Stakes. There was zero denial of that. It was clean, it was definitive. AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, it was final.”

She paused for just a moment, her voice softening into something far more sinister.

“You are not a threat, you haven’t been one in a very, VERY long time. You are not a roadblock. You’re a thorn in my ass....annoying, pointless, and easily ripped out.”

The kendo stick cracked across her palm once more, loud in the barn.

“And since this match is in my wheelhouse in the terms of not only a triple threat but HARDCORE? I finally get to shut you up without anyone pissing and moaning about rules...because there is NONE to be heard of.” She turned her head just enough for the camera to catch the venom in her next words. “I warned your ass a High Stakes about how you talk to me. I warned you to stay the fuck out of my way and the SCW Powers that Be, put you directly in my path again. And I’m going to make you and Frankie regret every single moment of it.”

The barn practically vibrated with the force of it. Bella stepped closer again, so the camera captured nothing but her face.

“But let’s not pretend this is just about Frankie and Bea. They’re stepping stones and warm bodies that are in the way of my real goal.”

Her tone dropped, a drip of a promise on her tongue. What came next...simply is her calling her shot.

“Crystal and Mercedes, I haven’t forgotten about you. Mercy, you screwed me over. You cost me my chance and you’re both walking around like you’re untouchable. But now it’s like you can’t trust the other...hmm, it’s like I fucking warned you just a few short months ago Crystal when you were doing nothing but carrying Mercy’s bags. Now, you are a World Champion and instead of actually acting like it, it’s turned into a pissing contest.”

She let out a slow exhale.

“I don’t give a damn of who’s holding the belt when this is all said and done. I am going to, come hell or high water or even the apocalypse, get to that top where everyone knows I can be. And fuck anyone that thinks otherwise that doesn’t think I haven’t earned it”

Her eyes glowed with something dark and focused, “I’m coming for everything I fucking deserve and this triple threat? This is me just warming up before the fireworks really get going.”

“So Frankie and Bea...my goals are set, my shots are called. I’m going to bleed you both out to get what I want. If that makes me the bad guy, then so fucking be it. With love...from your Hardcore Queen.”

And then she reached up and clicked the camera off.

Silence hung thick in the barn as she set the tripod down. Mal stepped forward, hands sliding around her waist from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.

“That,” he murmured, “Was the Bella Madison I absolutely know was in there somewhere. The one who doesn’t ever take shit from anyone...even from her own husband.”

Bella leaned back into him, tension slowly melting away, "She’s been trying to be good and to be patient.” A humorless laugh escaped her for a moment, "It’s just not working for me anymore, babe.”

“Then stop trying,” Mal replied simply, "You be you and tear those two apart.”

She nodded, exhaling. “Oh trust me, if it all goes right....I will,” she said with a grin that was half predator, half relief, "Starting this Sunday.”

And outside, snow continued to fall quietly. It was calm and peaceful....and utterly at odds with the storm Bella Madison had just unleashed inside that barn.

Looking Back
LJ’s Apartment
Las Vegas, Nevada

It’s no secret the past few months have been a rollercoaster, from leaving Dallas and moving to Las Vegas with LJ. From the highest of wins to the lowest of losses. There were championship matches and blood spilled, proving my resilience, but the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t amount to shit if you have nothing to prove for it. Two Bombshell Roulette Championship reigns and then, practically one step outside of obscurity, few chances here and there to prove I wasn’t just a fluke, but each one that came, went with the heartbreak of another loss. Time and time again I have been right on the precipice of doing something absolutely amazing, of getting that title and then falling flat on my face.

The World Championship had been in my grasp, many thought it was my time to shine, but it slipped through my fingers as if it was nothing more than grains of sand in the middle of the desert I now live in. And yet I failed to capture it again and again. The Bombshell Roulette title had been in my reaches again and I failed to deliver on it. This had started a doubt in me, maybe my time had come and passed, I was nothing more than another person the management could put in there to assure that asses were in the seats and at least I would show up. I didn’t need to run around whining about not being booked, like some. Or have to make grandiose showings to have my name put in the hat every time a big title shot was offered. No, I gave them results. Some of those who I've faced, rose to a higher standard, while others failed just as it seems I am doing. So who am I to judge really?

People say I’ve gone soft. That I’m not the same person I’ve always been. The woman who is willing to do whatever it takes. That’s the truth of it. I haven’t gone soft, I just don't focus on just wrestling, I’m more than that. If you think I’m so one dimensional then it proves you don’t know me at all. I am a mother, a sister, a girlfriend and a wrestler. I’m not just one thing. Being one thing is a boring way to go isn’t it. There’s so much life out there to live, so live it. But as for focusing on the match at hand, that’s what I do. Even with Inception looming in the distance and the talks of me facing off against Alicia Lukas again, another shot at the Bombshell Roulette Championship, I think about Victoria. The woman who took that all from me. And yes, she’s brutal, she’s had my number many times. People think she’s already poised to take another win off me. Maybe she will.

But, I know that every dog has their day and this bitch, she is hungrier than ever. She’s salivating over another shot at Victoria, we all know what a hungry bitch does don’t we? They bite, they claw, they rip people apart. They will do whatever it takes, I know that and Victoria knows that. She has always been my achilles heel, Victoria calls herself a lioness. But even lionesses fall. Sometimes they fall defending their pride, but from where I stand, Victoria doesn’t have much of a pride left to defend does she? Her talent is huge, I can speak from experience. Her ego however makes it hard to like her. Well, I’d call it an ego. But I think it’s more than that. What she has is not an ego, it’s something stronger, she believes herself to be a God. To be untouchable, meanwhile her Pride has fallen, and yet it’s clear she’s not going down without a fight. And neither will I. Where she believes herself to be a God, considers herself untouchable, I am humility, self-awareness, a connection to something greater. A being of strength, resilience and truth.

It’s never been in me to half ass my way through life. I don’t plan on starting that now. You all can take that as you will. This is MY moment, my time and I’m not letting anyone stop me from getting back on top. No crown needed. Victoria, I’m coming for you. See you all in Colorado Springs on Sunday.

Alexandra Calaway

---

Run, Little Mouse…Run
Carrow Gym
Las Vegas, Nevada

Jubal Ashford was a mountain planted dead center in the ring. The man sat in an old metal chair that seemed specifically molded to his imposing frame. At six-foot-one of solid, carved muscle and quiet menace, he looked like a man who had spent a lifetime deciding who deserved to be broken. The swinging bulb above him made his features flicker in and out of the light: the cold, harsh lines of his jaw, the brutal set of his mouth, and the storm-dark hazel eyes that held her with an intense, unwavering gaze; one that offered no question, no welcome, and no comfort. He didn't speak. Not a single word, not even a sharp intake of breath to hint at his mood. He simply watched her approach, his eyes following every subtle shift of her shoulders, every step she took into the space he commanded. He was a threat. He was a judge. Worst of all, he recognized parts of her she had spent months, years, even, trying to bury. The silence was a palpable pressure on her skin, dragging up hated ghosts and memories of the person she used to be in darker rings and grim cities where every scar had been earned.

“Jubal, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her voice was calm and deep inside that fear flooded in for a moment. “Where’s Mika? She asked me to meet her here.”

Jubal didn’t move, not even a shift of breath to acknowledge her presence. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, serrated drawl, quiet enough to force her to listen, sharp enough to make her regret it.

“Mika’s not coming.” He paused, heavy and deliberate, before he leaned forward just enough for the light to catch the harsh angles of his face. His eyes were dark hazel, but under that bulb they looked almost black; predatory, unblinking, capable of violence without a raised voice or tensed fist. “I told her I’d handle you tonight.” There was no warmth, no familiarity, no brotherly teasing by association. Just authority wrapped in disdain, carried on a tone that made the temperature in the gym seem to drop.

“Handle me Jubal? Really?” She shook her head. “So this is how it goes huh?” She walked closer. “You get me here, try to scare me? We both know if you harm me, they will never forgive you.” she practically cooed at him.

Jubal’s laugh tore through the gym like something ripped out of a throat made for breaking men, short, vicious, the kind of sound that didn’t come from amusement so much as disbelief that she dared to posture at all. He rose from the chair with the slow, deliberate weight of a man who’d ended wars simply by deciding he was done with them. The metal creaked under the shift of his body, protesting like it understood exactly what he was capable of.

“Scare you?” he echoed, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that slithered across the floorboards. “If I wanted you gone, Alexandra, you wouldn’t have walked through the damn door.” He stepped closer to the ropes, eyes locked on hers with a predator’s stillness; no hesitation, no mercy, just that cold calculation she’d always known lived somewhere under his skin.

“Sweetheart,” he continued, the endearment twisted into something razor-sharp, “you give yourself far too much credit if you think their forgiveness is the thing that keeps my hands off you.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a slow drag of his gaze, as though peeling away layers she’d spent years reinforcing.

“You’re here,” he said, voice a dark, low rumble. “Because someone finally needs to remind you what real fear feels like. Not the fear of losing a match. Not the fear of disappointing your little toy at home. I mean the kind that sinks its teeth into your spine when you realize you’ve gone soft enough to think you can cock your head at me like that.”

His lip curled just enough to expose the contempt beneath it. “You’re not cooing at a man who wants to kill you,” he growled. “You’re cooing at the one man in this city who knows exactly how to break you without leaving a single mark.”  He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t take back a single word. “And that,” he finished, voice thinning into something brutal and quiet, “should scare you.”

Alexandra was ready to tear his head off already, yet she didn’t move. She knew Jubal was important to the family. That moving on him to strike him or anything without provocation would be dangerous for her health, for Ash’s safety. “You have no idea who he is.” She closed the distance between herself and the ring, slipping up onto the apron. Her blue eyes, normally soft and inviting, were cold and fixed on him. “Of who they are.”

Jubal didn’t flinch when she closed the distance. He didn’t back away, didn’t brace, didn’t even shift his stance. He simply watched her approach like a wolf tolerating a wounded animal wandering too close; curiously, patiently, already knowing how the story ends. And the moment her hand touched the apron, the moment she came within reach, his arm shot out with the speed and certainty of a man who had never once questioned the consequences of laying hands on someone. His fingers clamped around her jaw, strong enough to bite into bone, forcing her chin upward so she had no choice but to meet the dark, unforgiving stare inches from her own.

“No idea who he is?” Jubal murmured, voice dropping into a lethal whisper that vibrated along her spine. “Sweetheart, the only thing I know about that boy is that you keep dragging him around like a personal toy you’re too embarrassed to admit you outgrew.”

His grip tightened; not enough to hurt her throat, but enough to dominate every breath she tried to take. She clawed at him with one hand, the other throwing a punch at his midsection, where she was met with the firm, rock hard side of Jubal. It stung, but not more than his words did.

“A toddler with mommy issues,” he continued, leaning in, his forehead almost touching hers. “That’s what you’re protecting. That’s what you think stands beside you. A child playing pretend in a world built for killers.” He let his eyes drag over her face, noting every flicker of tension, every instinct she had to strike him and every reason she didn’t.

“Shut your fucking mouth Jubal, before I send you to the hospital to have it sown shut.” She continued to struggle against him. Continued to fight, that fire burning deeper inside her. Something new ignited. “You keep him out of your fucking mouth. If you have issues with me, with my life, you come at me not at them.”

“And look at you,” he said, his voice thick with dark amusement. “Biting your tongue, still holding back, all because you know putting hands on me is the one wrong move that ends badly for everyone you care about. Especially your little boy wonder.” He forced her backward a few inches, still gripping her face, crowding her space with the sheer size of him.

“You’re getting old Jubal.” She smirked. “You wouldn’t harm them, because you KNOW what would happen.” She brought her hand back and slapped him hard across the face. “You think threatening me is going to get to me.”

“And you’re getting sloppy,” Jubal said, eyes narrowing. “Letting some twenty-something nuzzle at your tits and call it loyalty. You think he’s going to save you from yourself? From Victoria? From me?” He leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of her ear, his breath cold against her skin. “He can barely save himself, Alexandra.” Then he brought his gaze back to hers, grip firm and unyielding. “Tell me again,” he growled, “what exactly am I supposed to be scared of? The toddler? Or the woman too afraid to admit she chained herself to one?”

"I don't need anyone to save me." With that a growl left her lips and she put all of her weight into it and bounced back against the ropes, putting her feet in his stomach and kicked him off her with all her might, sending him backwards. “Are we talking or are we fighting? Because right now, I really want to knock your head off your shoulders.”

Jubal hit the canvas with a thundering crash, the ring rattling under the weight of him, but he didn’t stay down. He pushed up with a slow, murderous deliberation like something ancient and dangerous dragging itself out of a grave. His eyes weren’t hazel anymore; they were a storm-black warning, a promise of retribution sharpened and waiting. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, not because he needed to but because it gave him an extra second to study her with that predator’s patience. The growl she’d given, the power in the kick, the spark of fury and hated what it wasn’t.

“Oh, we’re not fighting,” he said as he rose to his full, imposing height, voice dark enough to freeze the air between them. “You don’t get to call it a fight until you show me the woman who used to make entire divisions flinch when she walked into a room.” He stepped toward her, slow, each heavy footfall echoing off the cracked gym walls. His presence swallowed space, swallowed light, swallowed sense. He stopped just inside her striking range—not cautious, simply unthreatened. “But that woman?” he continued, his tone twisting into something mocking, cruel. “She wouldn’t have wasted a kick on me. She would’ve torn into me until something broke. She would’ve bled for the satisfaction.” His gaze raked down her face, searching, dissecting, judging.

Rage boiled inside her, festering until there was nothing else. No compassion, no safety net to fall back on. She wanted to rip into Jubal. His words hurt, they did, she wouldn’t even start to lie. He knew her, the woman she used to be. All blood and fury, violence in human form. “Keep pushing and you’ll find out.”

“You’re a ghost of her,” he said, the words a low, merciless blow. “A pale echo.” He rolled his shoulders once, cracking something that sounded like a warning shot. “And you really think you’re ready to step into the ring with Victoria in that state?” His laugh this time was not a bark, it was a quiet, poisoned thing. “She’s going to carve you open, Alexandra. She’s been waiting to.”

And he had a point. She had been just an echo of her former self. Of the woman people once feared. There was no lie in his words and that made her angrier by the second. Had she really seemed that weak to everyone? “We’ve carved each other open, clearly you are blind.” She practically spat in his face.

He took another step, towering over her now, the ropes behind her trembling with the tension in her body. “You think this little spark of anger you just threw at me is enough to survive her?” he asked, voice dropping to a low rasp that coiled around her throat. “She’ll swallow that whole. She’ll break your sternum just to listen to you breathe through the pain.”

It’s as if he could see inside her head. All those thoughts that festered to the surface, but never fully broke through. “You think you know me, know what I am.. Who I am.” She knew at this point her words were only being half heard. He was on a mission. To break her to the point, she could sense that now.

He leaned in, his breath brushing along her cheek. “The tragic part?” His voice softened into something far more cutting. “The Alexandra I knew would’ve been the one doing the carving.” He pulled back just enough for his eyes to lock on hers, dark and merciless. “Right now,” he growled, “you’re not even close.”

And that was the final straw, the thing that sent her tumbling over the edge. He made the same presumptuous comments as others had. “If that’s what you truly think Jubal, you don’t really know me.” Without another thought she balled up her fists throwing a right hook towards his  face, he grabbed her hand making a scolding sound at her. Bringing her left and south pawed him in the jaw. She made sure her mark landed.

Jubal’s head snapped to the side, the crack of her fist against his jaw echoing through the dead, hollow space of the gym. Blood bloomed at the corner of his mouth, dark, rich, a thin line trailing down the cut of his chin. Deep, brutal, feral laughter that belonged to a man who had been waiting for that hit, craving it, needing proof she wasn’t completely dead inside.

He dragged his thumb across the blood on his lip, smearing it with a slow, deliberate swipe. His eyes lifted to her, and the expression he wore was not approval. It was hunger for violence. It was a spark that fanned into something dangerous. “There she is, our little killer,” he growled, voice roughened by impact and delight. “For a minute, I thought you had buried that part of yourself with everything else you used to be worth.”

He stepped in, closing the space she tried to carve out with her fists, moving with the certainty of a man who didn’t care if he bled more, hell, he welcomed it. “You think I don’t know you?” he asked, and his smile was a weapon. “I know you better than you want to admit. I know exactly what it takes to dig up the bones you pretend aren’t there.” He tapped his jaw once with two fingers, still smeared with his own blood.

“You hit like the Alexandra who used to make locker rooms whisper,” he said, then tilted his head with a cold, mocking curve of his lips. “But that wasn’t her. That was desperation.” He leaned close enough that she could smell the copper on his breath, close enough that the ropes behind her trembled from how tightly she held herself. “If you want to prove me wrong?” he murmured, dark eyes boring into hers with vicious command. “Don’t bleed me.” His voice sank into a growl, “Become the nightmare Victoria still flinches at when she sleeps. Make her bleed.”

“Next time you come to me, you’ll come right. That’s what that was.” She walked over and grabbed the rag out of the ice bucket and tossed it at him. “Clean yourself up, I don’t want you bleeding all over the place.”

There was no camera to witness this crashout. No family to stop this from happening, only her and Jubal. Alexandra’s gaze turned cold and the world around her went dark.

---

Laying it All on the Line
Garden of the Gods
Colorado Springs, Colorado

Alexandra turns her back on the camera and keeps her gaze on the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. It is just her and the tranquil Gardens, with the wind giving a mischievous lift to her hair before it resumes falling on her shoulders. When at last she turns to the camera, the intensity of her look is striking.

“Victoria, we’ve had this conversation already, have we not? I’m not going to act like we haven’t. We have repeatedly put in the effort together in that ring and still do. Neither of us is willing to give up the fight for the championship of the best here, as we are on totally different levels. We are aware of the extreme measures we will each take just to make sure that we are the ones exiting the ring victorious.”

A brief pause while she meditates on their joint suffering. The fights between Victoria and Alexandra were some of the most exciting, albeit violent, in Sin City Wrestling. They have gone through all this and come out with at least a tiny bit of mutual understanding.

“We might not be friends and when we step into that ring, it’s a true showcase of what wrestling should represent. Since losing my Bombshell Roulette Championship, I haven’t been quite myself. You know that feeling, right? You weren’t exactly the same after you lost it, either. Yet, you managed to grab another one soon after. You did what you promised; you rose to the occasion, climbed the ranks, and proved all the doubters wrong. I heard the whispers. Deep down, I always believed in you, Victoria.”

She draws a deep breath, considering her next words. She knows that vowing to put an end to this rivalry doesn’t mean it’ll be over. An arch nemesis never really fades away. It’s just a fact of life; their feud will likely follow them through their careers.

“All that momentum you’ve built? It’s understandable. You think you’re on top of the world now, totally unstoppable. I’ve been there too. I’ve had my fair share of highs, enough to write a book about it.”

Alexandra pauses, allowing the wind to fill the silence. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, calming the excitement fluttering in her chest; not fear, but anticipation, the kind that kept her awake before a big match. When her eyes open again, there’s a feral determination in them, one that only Victoria has ever drawn out.

“Here’s the thing about feeling untouchable,” her voice lowering, steady and clear. “When the world starts calling you unstoppable and the crowd chants your name like you’re some unstoppable force; you begin to believe it. You start to forget the grind, the bruises, those nights filled with doubts. Somewhere along the journey, losing sight of what it took to get there becomes too easy. You stand on that peak for so long that you forget what it’s like to bleed for it.”

Alexandra again faces away from the camera, her eyes fixed on the jagged red stones that stick out from the earth like the ribs of an ancient beast. She runs her fingers along one of the boulders, feeling the warmth left by the sun.

“That was me once,” she confesses. “Thinking I had built something too strong for anyone to tear down. Believing that championship belt secured my place for good. That who I had become was set in stone. And then, I lost it—the one thing I thought defined me. But if I’m honest, nothing truly defines me.”

She exhales sharply, raw honesty behind it.

“I told myself it didn’t break me. I convinced myself I’d get back up, brush myself off, and walk right back into the fire to reclaim what was mine. The truth is, I cracked. At first, it was just a small crack that I ignored, something I covered up with pride and adrenaline. Cracks have a way of spreading. They widen, and before you know it, you recognize that the fighter you promised to always be is slipping away.”

Slowly, Alexandra turns back to the camera. This time, it’s not anger she shows, but resolve. A promise.

“You’ve been through that too, Victoria. Don’t pretend otherwise. I saw you wear that self-doubt after losing the Roulette Championship. Everyone did. But you got back up, rebuilt yourself. The difference between you and others? You didn’t look for excuses or blame anyone else. You just fought.”

She steps closer, filling the frame more as her voice builds with each word.

“That’s why we have this thing between us. This rivalry won’t die, no matter how often we think we’ve put it to rest. It’s not just about wanting to beat each other; we’re proving something with every strike, every fall, every drop of blood shared between us. It’s not hate. It’s about identity. It’s legacy.”

Her jaw tightens as she lifts her chin and cocks her head.

“You’re riding high right now, collecting wins, feeling like the world finally sees you have always dreamed. Good for you. Momentum is great. It makes the ground feel like it’s moving with you. It can trick you into thinking you’re untouchable, and everyone else is just in your way.”

A knowing smirk plays on her lips.

“Remember that momentum doesn’t equal invincibility. I’ve seen many wrestlers fall because they mistook momentum for destiny. It’s not the same. Destiny is something you shape with your own hands. It’s the battle you fight for until your lungs ache. Destiny is what you cling to when the world tries to erase your name, and you refuse to let that happen.”

Alexandra steps even closer, the camera catching the spark in her blue eyes.

“You think you’ve become the immovable force in Sin City Wrestling? Alright. But I’ve always been the one thing built to challenge that force. I didn’t climb to the top overnight. I’m still on that climb. Yet every scar, every bruise, and every setback has sharpened me. I’m done pretending to be anything but what I am.”

She presses a hand over her heart. “I’m a storm, Victoria. I always have been. And storms don’t stay quiet forever. They gather strength, swelling until they burst.”

She lets her hand drop, fingers brushing against her side.

“You’ve had your time to shine. You’ve had your run. But this?” she points between herself and the camera, “this rivalry was never gonna wrap up with just one win or one loss. Our story is more complex than that, not something for easy conclusions. It’s meant to be the kind of rivalry that people talk about even after we’ve hung up our boots. The kind they’ll replay when new wrestlers want to see what real competition looks like.”

Alexandra moves around slowly, letting the camera follow her.

“You know what I’m capable of when I’m pushed into a corner, when others count me out. You know the whispers behind my back. You know they think I might be fading, that I’ve lost my edge. But you know better, Victoria. You’ve faced me enough to know what happens when I’m brought to that breaking point.”

Her tone shifts, darker yet not malicious.

“I become dangerous. I become relentless. I stop caring about pride, popularity, or who’s cheering for me. I become that version of myself that fights to survive, to reclaim what others believe they can take.”

The wind lifts her hair, brushing strands across her face, but her gaze remains locked on the camera.

“So, go ahead. Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts. Feel invincible. Step into the ring thinking you’re untouchable. You should. I want you at your best—at the level of the Victoria who clawed her way back from the dirt. The woman who won’t quit, even when she should. I want the fighter who’s made me bleed and smile at the same time.”

Her smirk sharpens.

“When I step into that match, I won’t be the same Alexandra you faced before. I won’t hesitate. I won’t doubt. I won’t be searching for a safe space. I'll be searching for your one mistake. I'll find it. And I’ll be the one pulling the ground out from under you.”

With a steady arm, she points directly at the camera, her conviction clear.

“This isn’t just another chapter between us. This is the showdown. The moment everything between us reaches a peak. When that bell rings, I’m going to remind you why you feared me from the start.”

Alexandra lowers her hand, her voice lowering into a quiet, dangerous whisper. “You’re not untouchable, Victoria. You’re just next.” She holds that gaze for a long moment, letting the weight of her words sink in.

Being ashamed of my piss poor efforts in SCW police video diary (Online)

"I'm disgusted of my efforts here as of late to be honest that I lost two matches in a row and one of them shouldn't have happened, but my fear of psycho clown got to me because the psycho clown I lost to triggered me a fucking lot when it comes to the criminal that recently had a clown make up on to do everything he can to terrorise me to threaten death threats on me for no apparent reason. I'm still searching for the clues to this day. Much like the clues I'm searching on why Logan Hunter won't move on from the Roulette championship.

Like why won't you move on from the Roulette title to go for the Internet championship? Because that's the belt I believe you can win. I understand, you got agitated when I confronted the champion for a title match, while you did it in his face. But I was tackling crimes in the real world that you wouldn't understand, and you think you were a brave soldier? Everyone knows it was fake interaction you had and we know the reason is because to prove that you were a man for once in your life and it was the fakest interaction I've ever seen in my life.

But I feared that clown, I really did and I still have nightmares about the loss and the killer looking like him. It frustrates me that I was unable to deliver at that Supershow. So I unleash my frustrations onto you Logan. Sure, you've had moments in time, sure we've encountered each other many times and I still consider you as a threat because you won a championship, I failed to win and I don't deserve a title shot.

Because of my failure of beating the clown and my failure of beating Eddie Lyons, but you're not here to hear me whine and bitch about the loss or make excuses about it because I lost to the better man that night that saw my flaw and I didn't exactly hide it well. I'm wondering how and why you don't think to better yourself. I get the top guys trashing me, I do and I didn't even pay attention to anything Eddie says about me because quite frankly, I didn't care.

I don't care for what he said about me and I lost to a better man, that's just it and no other excuses come from that. But you, you make excuses all the time and there will be none when I unleash the living hell onto you Logan. You're hell is about to begin with me completely and utterly destroying you in a way that nobody has seen before. You having a manager for you at ringside is pathetic, shows you're incapable of doing shit yourself.

I work in a police force and you don't see me walk out here with police force in the ring to tackle my business because I don't need people with me, I don't need meaningless relationships to distract me when I got a killer clown on the loose and the fact is Logan unlike you, I don't fear going for the Roulette title or any title. That goal wasn't even the point when I demanded the match. It was to show the clown that wants to kill me that I can fight back and with nasty force.

Fact is I need to face Anthrex once again because I know I'm much more capable of doing so much better and I don't deserve to face anyone else other than him. Because I need to get rid of these fear and you're in the way of it. I'm pissed and I'm unleashing a ton of hell onto you. Because I work alone in the wrestling ring and batter the hell out of you. I might follow rules and laws outside of the ring, but in the ring, it's the only place I feel free to beat the living hell out of you.

Beat the hell out of you to make sense that you're capable of more than just the Roulette title, you're above and beyond it to be honest and the fact you keep getting involved in Roulette title matches makes me ill. You see, I'm not the guy that likes backstage attention like you do. I go in the ring and do my business as a legit wrestler does. See you out there Logan Hunter and good luck."