~*~A New Moniker ~*~
Following the VIP Lounge Match

The room still smelled like champagne and leather, the echoes of crashing furniture fading into a dull hum. Bella leaned against the railing of the VIP section, her body aching in ways only she could truly appreciate. Bruises bloomed across her arms, ribs stiff and angry, hair damp from sweat and chaos—but she was alive. She had survived. She had won.

Alexandra Calaway. Victoria Lyons. Two of the baddest, fiercest women in SCW. And she had taken them both down. Every shove, every swing, every dive and counter had been a calculated risk, a testament to every lesson her body and mind had learned over years of punishment. She flexed her fingers, knuckles raw from slamming through tables and swinging ropes like weapons.

Bella straightened, letting the crowd of crew members and onlookers sense the weight of her presence. Her chest heaved, but there was fire in her eyes, a fire, no fatigue, no bruises...yet but a shit ton of new scars that will be fun to explain to her daughter when they get home tomorrow. But no past failures could ever extinguish this.

“This,” she said, her voice low, deliberate, carrying over the scattered debris, “This is why I feel like the whispers around the backstage and after tonight, there are people that call me the Hardcore Queen of SCW.”

She let the words hang for a beat, savoring the truth in them. Not because someone had given her the title, not because it sounded good on a poster—but because she had earned it. Every ladder match, every brutal brawl, every sleepless night preparing her body for punishment and her mind for the fight—it all led here.

“Victoria. Alexandra. They have pushed me, tested me, and tried to break me. And yet I managed to walked out on top here tonight. And now I have a shot at the ONE woman in SCW that could easily give me a run for my money for that Hardcore Queen...Kayla Richards and the SCW World Bombshell Championship.”

Bella’s gaze shifted upward, imagining the road ahead. Kayla Richards. SCW World Bombshell Championship. The pinnacle of everything she had clawed for, scraped for, and bled for. She knew what was coming. She knew the pain, the exhaustion, the chaos—but it didn’t matter. She lived for it. She thrived in it.

She pressed her hands to her hips and exhaled, letting the adrenaline mix with the lingering sting of pain. “I’ve taken the baddest of the baddest tonight. Now? Tomorrow, I’ll take what’s next. I will begin to heal and I’ll take what’s next. Because being the Hardcore Queen of SCW isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about surviving hell and coming out standing, every single time and I will. I will.”

The VIP Lounge might have been chaos, might have been carnage, but it had proven something to her—and to anyone watching. Bella Madison was unbreakable. Bella Madison was ready. And Bella Madison knew the crown was within reach.


~*~The Big Two~*~
O’Connell Residence, New York

The morning light spilled across the living room floor, catching on the streamers Mal had hung the night before. The soft pastel balloons bobbed lazily against the ceiling with the faint hum of the air vent. It was too quiet for a day that promised so much noise.

Máire sat cross-legged on the rug in front of Bella, dressed in the tiny lilac dress one of Bella’s best friends Mattie Comier, had made weeks ago. Her dirty blonde curls were already a little wild despite Bella brushing them only minutes ago, a stubborn reminder that she was very much her parents’ child.

Bella sat cross-legged, too, feeling the pull in her muscles from the fight just a few nights ago. Her ribs still ached under the loose hoodie she wore, a dull throb she tried to ignore as she held up a little plush unicorn.

“Are you ready for your big day, peanut?” Bella asked, wiggling the unicorn toward her daughter.

Máire’s eyes lit up. “YES! Cake?” she asked in that sweet, confident toddler voice that made Bella want to melt right into the floor.

Bella laughed softly. “Yes, there will be cake and balloons. And Auntie Lala, Uncle Jack and of course Auntie Mattie and your grandparents. And all your cousins.” She tapped the unicorn to Máire’s knee. “But first, we have some time, just you and me.”

Máire leaned forward, climbing right into Bella’s lap with all the grace of a bowling ball. Bella winced at the pressure on her sore ribs but wrapped her arms around her daughter anyway, pressing her nose into the top of Máire’s head. The smell of toddler shampoo and faint traces of chocolate from breakfast clung to her from the chocolate chip pancakes that she begged her daddy to make that morning.

“I cannot believe how much you have grown. You’re getting so big,” Bella murmured. “Two years old. I feel like I blinked and you went from my little newborn bean to this, beautiful little whirlwind who runs everywhere.”

Máire tilted her head back, grinning. “I run fast!”

“Oh, I know. You keep daddy and I on my toes.” Bella brushed her fingers along her daughter’s cheek. “You know, Mommy had a really big match this week and she fought really hard. But this...” she squeezed Máire gently, “....this is the most important part of my week.”

Máire didn’t fully understand, but she giggled anyway, her tiny hands pressing against Bella’s cheeks before planting a wet toddler kiss right on her lips.

Bella laughed. “Okay, okay, I love you too.” She took a deep breath, letting herself hold onto that peace just a little longer. Soon the doorbell would ring. Soon the noise and laughter and inevitable chaos would fill the house. But for now, it was just the two of them.

“Just one question for ya though.” Bella said, reaching over with a grunt before holding up a golden play crown and a tiara that could easily match her daughter’s dress...and yes they are TWO different things, “Which one do you think would go better with your Auntie Mattie’s dress?”

And Bella could face anything as long as she had this moment.

----

The living room was chaotic but the good kind of chaotic that only their home could bring. The kind where laughter just ricocheted off walls and the air smelled like a sugar factory exploded. Streamers draped across every surface, rainbow balloons that were once upon a time outside, hovering at ankle level thanks to toddlers who insisted on dragging them around by their strings. The coffee table had long since been abandoned as a place for drinks and was now the central battleground for cupcakes versus tiny, frosting-coated hands.

Bella stood there in the middle of it, the ache in her ribs from the VIP Lounge Brawl a steady reminder that she had earned this hangover of exhaustion. She wasn’t just beat up, she was dragged through glass in high heels beat up...at least that’s how it felt. But she’d be damned if she’d let that stop me from giving her daughter the birthday she deserved.

“Bella, for the love of God, sit down for five minutes.” Alanah’s voice cut through the noise like a knife, equal parts concern and exasperation. She appeared at Bella’s side with a plate in one hand, a juice box in the other, and that infuriatingly perfect “mom who’s got it all together” face. Rory was dangling off her hip, chattering away about balloons.

“I’m fine,” she lied, plastering on her “don’t you dare push me” smile. “It’s her second birthday. She only gets one of these.”

Alanah gave me a look. “She’s going to have a lot of birthdays. You won’t, if you pass out in the cake.”

“I’m fine,” Bella repeated, but her voice cracked, and she could see in Alanah’s eyes she wasn’t buying a damn word.

Mal chose that moment to step in, or maybe he’d been hovering the whole damn time, waiting for backup. He had that look on his face, the one that said ‘I’m letting you have your stubborn moment, but you’re still losing this fight’. His arm slid around his wife’s waist, warm and steady, and for a second the noise of the party faded into the background.

“Lanah’s right, love,” he said in that low, measured way that never failed to hit me square in the chest. “You’ve been running on fumes since the match. Let us take over.”

You could tell that Bella wanted to argue, but his thumb brushed over her side exactly where she’d taken a nasty hit during the match, and she audibly sucked in a breath. ‘Damn him for knowing exactly where my weak spots were — physical and emotional.’ was the thought that easily passed her mind.

Bella had been in rough shape before, but this was a different kind of exhaustion. It wasn’t the bone-deep ache from training, or the kind of pain that faded with a good night’s sleep. This was the aftermath of war, the sting of glass cuts hidden under sleeves, the dull throb in her ribs every time she laughed, the heat of bruises just starting to bloom under her skin. Winning the VIP Lounge Brawl had been worth every second, but now she was paying the toll in full.

A giant “2” balloon floated lazily above the crowd, and the birthday girl herself was in the middle of it all, squealing with delight as she tore at the wrapping paper of yet another gift.

Her cousins were a blur of movement, Patrick and Elise racing around with plastic party hats bouncing on their heads. Bella's half-brother Aaron, now six and apparently self-appointed “birthday police,” was guarding the cake like it was a priceless artifact, warning the younger kids not to “accidentally” stick a finger in the frosting.

Before she could answer, a squeal of pure joy tore through the room.

“Mommy!”

Máire barreled toward her, curls bouncing, and apparently with candy smeared across her cheek like war paint. She had a pink balloon in one hand and one of the twins’ party hats in the other. She stopped just short of crashing into me and held up the balloon like she was presenting treasure.

“Mine,” she declared proudly.

Bella crouched down slowly, carefully, her ribs protesting the entire way and took her sticky little hands in her own, “Yours, huh? What about the cake? Did you save enough room for it?”

She nodded, her grin wide enough to melt the bruises right off even the Grinch's soul. “YES! And I wanna give you the blue one.”

“The blue one,” Bella echoed. “Best piece in the whole cake. You’re too good to me.”

She leaned forward and pressed a sugary -sweet kiss to her cheek, and for a second Bella forgot about Victoria, Alexandra, the bruises, the aches, the pressure of what comes next. This right here, with balloons and frosting and chaos was the reason she could walk through hell and still keep going.

Alanah caught my eye over Máire’s shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Mal’s hand stayed firm on my back. And somewhere in the middle of all that noise and mess, Bella realized they were both right. She didn’t have to hold the whole party up by herself. She could let them help, and the world wouldn’t fall apart.

Not today, anyway.


~*~It’s Your Shot, Kid~*~

The house was full of the noise of sugared up kids and adults trying to wrangle them, but Bella slipped out through the back, letting the air hit her sore skin. She tugged her hoodie tighter across her shoulders, not ready to admit how much her ribs still ached. She needed a breath, just one moment to herself before someone else asked for cake, a diaper change, or her attention.

The barn doors were already rolled open, light cutting through in angled shafts. The familiar smell of chalk dust, old sweat, and wood polish hit her nose. Her safe place. Her grind space.

And there, standing in the middle of the matted floor like she belonged to it, was her mother.

Laura Phoenix wasn’t moving, not stretching, not checking the equipment, not barking out orders like she does when she's running one of her sessions. Just standing, arms folded, head tilted, watching the ropes, the pull-up bars, the warped wall from the ninja warrior setup. That sharp, assessing look hadn’t dulled one bit with time.

Bella swallowed, then cleared her throat. “If you’re thinking of running the course, I should probably get the camera ready. You’d break the internet, Mom.”

Laura turned, slow and deliberate, one eyebrow raised. “Funny. You sound like someone who’s avoiding something.”

Bella smirked, or tried to. “What, I can’t check in on my own barn? Last I checked, you don’t live here.”

Her mother’s lips twitched. “Last I checked, you don’t usually limp out here unless something’s gnawing at you.” She stepped closer, eyes flicking over Bella’s stance, her shoulders, the way she was favoring her side. “You’re hurting.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bella muttered, rubbing at her ribs. “VIP Lounge Brawl wasn’t exactly a spa day. But I’m fine. I’ve got ice packs, painkillers, Mal’s on me about resting, and I survived. That’s all that matters.”

Laura’s expression softened, just a fraction. “It’s not just surviving, Bella. You won. You proved you could take Victoria and Alexandra down in the same night. That’s not small.”

Bella exhaled, her gaze dropping to the scuffed mat beneath her feet. “Yeah, but now it’s Kayla. Kayla Richards. World title. Main event. In Greece. Like I needed more pressure.”

There was silence for a beat, just the hum of the barn lights and the faint echo of kids’ laughter drifting from the house. Then Laura spoke, voice lower, steadier.

“You think I don’t know what this feels like? I’ve been there. The title shot after clawing through hell. The body screaming at you to stop while your head tells you you can’t. And you know what? That’s when you find out who you are.”

Bella looked up, caught by the weight in her mother’s eyes. Laura wasn’t just giving advice, she was handing over a piece of herself.

“You’ve got absolutely nothing to lose, kid,” Laura said, stepping close enough to squeeze Bella’s shoulder. “And that’s dangerous. That makes you unpredictable. It makes you hungry. Kayla, for all of her swagger, she won’t see that coming.”

Bella let the words sink in. For once, she didn’t try to deflect with sarcasm or sass. She just nodded. “I just don’t want to screw it up. Not after everything. Not with Máire watching me now.”

Laura’s hand stayed firm on her shoulder. “Then don’t. Fight smart. Fight like her mom would. And remember, no matter what happens out there, you’ve already given her something I never thought I could give you, stability. Love. A family that’s whole. The belt is just icing.”

Bella blinked hard, her throat tight. She hated when her mom got like this, because it cracked her armor clean open. But maybe she needed it.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Laura gave her one of those rare, proud smiles that Bella lived for. “Now come on. Let’s get back before the kids eat all the cake without us.”


~*~Rules of Engagement: Sometimes You Gotta Let Them See You Bleed~*~

The dull ache in her ribs had dulled to a throb, and the bruising on her shoulder had faded from black to sickly yellow. Not healed, but manageable. Manageable was enough at the moment and it gave her hope for just a few days away that she’d be close enough to 100%.

Bella stood in front of the mirror in the barn, hair pulled back tight, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead after another round of cardio. The music had cut off minutes ago, but she hadn’t bothered to restart it. She could hear her own breathing. She could hear her thoughts.

‘Kayla Richards.’

Even saying the name under her breath made her chest tighten. Not fear. Not intimidation. It was something sharper, like a blade being pulled from its sheath.

Kayla was the standard when it came to SCW in its present day. The top of the mountain in the Bombshell division and there was no one fucking higher. The champion who made people believe the division revolved around her. She didn’t just defend the belt she made damn sure you remembered why she held it. Bella knew she wasn’t walking into Greece to face a pretender, she would be a fool if she thought otherwise. She was walking into the ring with someone who thrived on making people like her look foolish.

Bella leaned closer to the mirror, almost nose to glass. “You wanted this. You fought your ass off for this. You asked for it. Don’t start second-guessing now.”

She could still hear her mom’s words from a couple nights ago, about how she had nothing to lose. About how that made her dangerous. Bella rolled those words over and over in her head like prayer beads.

She tugged her hoodie over her shoulders and moved toward the ropes. Her fingers traced the coarse fibers, imagining them wrapped around her arms in Greece, holding her steady, reminding her where she was. She pictured Kayla across from her, sharp smile, cruel eyes that sometimes would show just that tad bit of pity before she'd lay you out for thinking she was weak, that swagger that came with knowing she was the measuring stick.

And Bella let herself imagine it. Imagine the clash. The noise. The moment when all of Kayla’s arrogance turned to shock because she realized Bella wasn’t just another challenger.

For the first time since the chaos of the VIP Lounge brawl, Bella let herself smile. It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t bright. But it was sharp.

She was getting better every day. And by the time they left for Greece, she was going to be ready.

“I’m not stupid. I know what Kayla Richards is. She’s the bar, the top, the kind of champion people put in history books. Every defense, every time she walks out with that belt, she reminds the entire division that she doesn’t just hold it, she owns it. And most of the women who’ve gone up against her? They haven’t even come close.

But here’s the thing, the higher you sit on that throne, the heavier the weight becomes. And Kayla’s been sitting up there so long, so secure, she thinks nobody’s patient enough, hungry enough, smart enough to pull her down.

That’s where I come in.

I’ve been patient. I’ve done it the right way since I came back. A year and a half ago, when I got back from having my child, I didn’t try to skip lines. I didn’t demand things I didn’t earn. I put in the work, I bled, I fought, I climbed rung by rung until nobody could deny me anymore. Since then I have found my first singles gold run in SCW.

And that patience? That’s my weapon. Because Kayla doesn’t see it coming. She’s too used to women rushing her, desperate for a moment, burning out before they even touch her.

Not me.

I’ve waited. I’ve watched. And I know....I know that Kayla Richards needs a challenge. Not just another body for her highlight reel. Not another empty defense that keeps her crown polished. She needs someone who can push her. Someone who can threaten everything she’s built and make her feel that sick twist in her stomach that maybe, just maybe, this is the night she loses it all.

And as sore as my body is right now, as much as every muscle aches, there isn’t a single fucking doubt in my mind that I can be the one to do it.

I can take that Bombshell World Championship.

No, scratch that. I will take it. And when I do, it won’t just be an upset. It won’t just be a shock. It’ll be proof that the patience, the grind, the sweat, the waiting, it all meant something. It’ll be proof that Kayla Richards isn’t untouchable.

She’s just been waiting for someone like me.”