~*~The Weight of Two Years~*~
Monaco, Hotel Room
The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the faint hum of nightlife from the streets below and the salty breeze off the sea of the Mediterranean. Bella sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop open in front of her, its screen littered with tabs, party supply sites, Pinterest boards, a half-finished Amazon cart. She scrolled slowly, past pastel balloons and glittery cupcake toppers, but the spark she’d felt when she started planning a month ago wasn’t there tonight.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up to see a video from Alanah. Máire was in the backyard, chasing bubbles with her cousins, Patrick trying to “help” by holding the bubble wand far too high, Elise demanding a turn, and little Rory, who was only a few months older than Máire, laughing so hard he fell onto the grass. Máire’s curls bounced with each clumsy run, her squeals of laughter spilling from the phone’s tiny speaker like music Bella hadn’t realized she was starving for.
She smiled, softly at first, then tighter, that ache settling in her chest again. She replayed the video twice before swiping to another Alanah had sent earlier: Máire sitting in a kiddie pool, splashing and grinning, water drops glittering in the sun.
Mal had come in from the balcony without her noticing, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.
“You’ve been staring at that screen for an hour,” he said, "Tell me you’re at least picking the cake.”
Bella snorted, but it didn’t stick, "It’s already picked. So’s the theme. So’s the guest list. Everything’s ready except...” She trailed off, shrugging, closing the laptop.
“Except what?”
She fiddled with the ring on her finger, "Except me feeling like I’m not failing at something. I want this birthday to be perfect. Hell, I’ve been planning it since she blew out the candle last year and destroyed her cake. But here I am, sitting here in Monaco, thinking about how I fucked up at Summer Xxxtreme, thinking about how I came up short. In the ring and I don’t know somehow it’s translating in my head into feeling like I’m failing her. I’m just tired of the gap between what I want to be and what I feel like I am.”
Mal crossed the room and sat beside her, his arm slinging across her shoulders, "Love, Máire doesn’t care if you win every match. She doesn’t care if the cake is from a five-star bakery or the grocery store down the street. She’s turning two. She just wants her mom there to sing and make her laugh.”
Bella glanced back down at her phone, watching the video of Máire splashing in the pool one more time, "I just...I don’t want her to ever think I’m not showing up for her.”
Mal kissed her temple, "You do show up. Even when you’re not in the room, you’re showing up. This party? The way you call every night? The fact you’ve got three Pinterest boards for her birthday? You’re killing it as a mom. Don’t let a few nights in the ring make you forget that.”
Bella let out a slow breath and nodded, "Okay. When we get back, we’re going all out. I’m talking a bounce house, face painter, and a giant cake. If I can’t win in the ring right now, I’m at least winning ‘Best Mom on the Block.’”
Mal smirked, "Pretty sure you’ve already got that title.”
The laptop was open again a minute later, and Bella clicked to a new tab, her smile a little more real this time.
The knock at the door came just as Bella was replaying the video Alanah had sent, Máire giggling in that unfiltered, belly-deep way toddlers do, running in circles with her cousins, a stuffed unicorn clutched in one tiny fist. Bella’s smile was soft but tinged with longing. Malachi had an arm draped over the back of the couch, watching over her shoulder, the both of them cocooned in that quiet, comfortable bubble of missing their daughter.
The second knock was louder.
“Either that’s room service or someone’s about to get real impatient,” Mal said, already rising.
He opened the door to find Miles Kasey leaning in the frame, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and Carter standing behind him in sunglasses that were absolutely unnecessary indoors.
“Get dressed, lovers,” Miles announced, clapping his hands together, "It’s time to celebrate me.”
Bella arched her brow, "You’re seriously door-knocking the night before your own birthday like it’s a national holiday?”
“It is a holiday,” Carter chimed in, pushing past Mal to step inside like he owned the place, "And you two are way too cozy in here. This is the Party Hard Tour, not the Netflix-and-wait-for-a-text-from-Alanah Tour.”
Mal shut the door, crossing his arms, "You’re dragging us out the night before Miles’ birthday?”
Miles’ grin widened, "Nah. I’m dragging you both out the weekend of my birthday. Which, in case you missed it, is practically tradition. And since we’ve got a certain little lady’s birthday coming up in a few days—” He gave Bella a meaningful look, "—we’re starting early. Pre-birthday festivities. For all of us.”
Bella gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, shaking her head, "You guys are absolutely ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously fun,” Carter corrected, already moving toward the balcony doors to check out the view, "Monaco’s out there, Bella! Champagne. Music. Trouble we haven’t even invented yet.”
Miles extended his hand to Bella like he was offering to lead her onto a dance floor, "C’mon, Bells. You’ve been in your head since Summer Xxxtreme. Tonight? No matches. No titles. No stress. Just the four of us. Let’s make a memory or five.”
Bella hesitated for a beat, glancing toward her computer, Alanah’s video still paused mid-frame, Máire mid-giggle. Mal caught her look and shrugged with a faint smile.
“She’s fine,” he said gently, "And she’d probably want her mum to go have some fun even if it’s with these two idiots.”
Bella exhaled, took Miles’ hand, and stood, "Fine. But if I end up in a fountain by the end of the night—”
“—Then it’s a great night,” Miles cut in, already pulling her toward the door.
Mal shook his head but followed, muttering something about how Carter’s definition of “trouble” was going to give him gray hair.
And just like that, the quiet was gone, replaced with laughter, the click of the door closing, and the distant pulse of Monaco’s nightlife waiting to swallow them whole.
The air in Monaco was warm, the scent of sea salt and something expensive neither Bella nor Mal could quite name. Miles led the way down the promenade like it was his own personal runway, a swagger in his step that only got bigger as Carter hyped him up.
“Look at this man of mine,” Carter announced as they passed a row of sleek yachts bobbing in the marina, "Birthday boy, future king of the dance floor, breaker of hearts...”
“And livers,” Mal muttered under his breath.
Bella was already laughing, the sound slipping out before she could stop it. For all the ridiculousness, there was something infectious about Miles’ energy. She’d been wound tight for weeks, training, planning, obsessing over titles that she had already had twice already, and then switching gears to planning Máire’s second birthday with a level of detail that would put a wedding planner to shame. But now there were strings of lights twinkling along the waterfront and the thump of bass rolling out from the open doors of a club like a heartbeat daring her to match it.
They were ushered inside a place so high-end it didn’t even have a sign out front, just a mirrored door and a man in a black suit who seemed to know Miles on sight.
The inside was all chrome and glass, neon light spilling across the floor in shifting colors. The DJ was already deep into a set, the crowd moving like one living thing. Carter beelined for the bar with Mal reluctantly trailing after him, leaving Miles and Bella standing in the center of it all.
“You’ve been too serious lately,” Miles said over the music, leaning in so only she could hear, "You deserve to cut loose. Think of it as a warm-up for your girl’s birthday party.”
Bella smirked, "You’re comparing your Monaco nightlife to a toddler’s tea party?”
“Hey, both involve cake and questionable dancing.”
She snorted, and before she could fire back, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor.
It started easy, laughing, moving in time with the beat, letting the crowd swallow them up. The music pounded through her chest, and for the first time in weeks, Bella stopped thinking about game plans, match strategies, or how many themed cupcakes she needed to order for Máire’s party.
Somewhere between songs, Carter and Mal returned with drinks, Malachi wrapping a protective arm around his wife while handing it to her, something sparkling and dangerously strong. Carter raised his glass toward Miles, "To the man of the hour, and to our queen here, may she finally let her hair down.”
Bella rolled her eyes but took a sip, the burn hitting just enough to loosen her smile.
The night blurred in the best way, flashes of Miles convincing strangers to sing him happy birthday days early, Carter and Mal locked in a debate over who could down shots faster, Bella leaning against the balcony railing outside to cool off, the city lights stretching out like a jeweled blanket.
For a moment, she imagined Máire’s laugh carrying through the air like in Alanah’s videos, and her chest ached. But then Miles’ and Malachi’s voices were in her ear again teasing, bright, pulling her back into the noise and light.
Tonight wasn’t about tomorrow, or the week after, or whatever war she had waiting for her in the ring.
Tonight was just about being here.
And that, Bella decided, was exactly what she needed.
~*~Mistakes Were Made~*~
Bella woke to the kind of light that felt extremely personal, the golden morning sunshine streaming through the curtains like it had been sent specifically to punish her. Her head throbbed. Her mouth felt like she’d been chewing on the club’s fog machine. And every time she shifted, her stomach threatened to revolt.
From somewhere across the room, a voice, far too chipper for the crime scene in her skull, cut through.
“Morning, sunshine.”
She groaned, pulling the pillow over her face, "No offense, babe...but fuck off.”
“Not a chance.”
The mattress dipped as Mal sat down beside her, the smell of coffee and something warm trailing with him. When he leaned close, she caught the faintest whiff of whiskey, faint, which for him meant he’d been borderline saintly last night.
“You were a menace,” he said, the edge of a grin in his tone, "I had to make sure you didn’t start a dance battle with Carter. Or Miles.”
Bella peeked out from under the pillow, "I would have won.”
He snorted, "Against Miles? Doubt it. He was a man possessed. Couldn’t tell if it was his birthday or if the DJ was spinning just for him.”
She let the pillow drop and sat up slowly, groaning again, "I’m never drinking again.”
“That’s what you said after the last time.”
“And this time I mean it.”
He handed her the mug of coffee, and she cradled it like a lifeline, "You know,” he said, “you could have paced yourself. Or, I don’t know, had some water in between drinks. Radical concept.”
She narrowed her eyes over the rim of the mug, "You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m enjoying the fact that I’m not the one dying. First time for everything.”
Bella sipped carefully, the warmth spreading through her even as her stomach warned her not to get too confident. Mal reached behind him, picking up his phone from the nightstand.
“Oh, speaking of confidence, Alanah sent you something.”
He handed it over, and Bella saw a string of videos already queued up. She tapped one, and the screen lit up with Máire giggling wildly, toddling across a sunlit backyard toward a swarm of cousins. One of the older kids scooped her up, spinning her around, and Bella felt her lips curve before she realized it.
The headache dulled for a moment.
“She’s so big already,” Bella murmured.
“She’s gonna love that party,” Mal said, "All this trouble you’re going through? Worth it.”
Bella kept watching, Máire’s curls bouncing, her little hands waving at the camera, the delighted squeals of her cousins in the background.
For the first time since her eyes had cracked open, the pounding in her head wasn’t the only thing she could feel. There was something else, too. A steady warmth in her chest.
“You’re right,” she said softly, "But I’m still never drinking again.”
Mal laughed, "We’ll see about that, her birthday party’s in two days with a ton of kids.”
She groaned again, but this time, it came with a smile. “There better be more coffee.”
“And pancakes.”
“Oh thank God for hangover food.”
~*~From Higher Up~*~
Jimmy'z Monte-Carlo
VIP Lounge
“I needed to get a closer look at it before Sunday.”
Bella let her eyes drift over the opulent chaos waiting for them, the velvet ropes, the scattered champagne bottles, the leather couches, the glaring strobe lights. This wasn’t just a match; it was a battleground tailored for carnage disguised as luxury. A VIP Lounge Brawl. The kind of fight where every thrown glass and broken hookah hose could be a weapon. And for what? A shot at the World Title next week in Mykonos.
Her voice was low at first, but there was an edge, the kind that could cut if you leaned too close.
"Victoria Lyons. Alexandra Calaway. Ladies, we are on the precipice of something absolutely amazing. We are going to only begin to change the very face of the Bombshell Division.
Victoria and Ally. Two names that mean something in this business. Two women who’ve left marks on more than just their opponents, and they’ve shaped the divisions they’ve touched. And in a matter of days, they’re the ones standing between me and the statement I’m about to make.
Ally… Alexandra Calaway. I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what you’re capable of. You’ve got that presence — the kind that makes people think twice before stepping through the ropes with you. I’ve seen you tear people apart without breaking a sweat. I’ve seen you manipulate a match, twist it, and make it yours before your opponent even knows they’re in trouble. Outside that ring, you’re tied to my family, and I’ve got no problem saying I respect the hell out of you. But that respect? It stays outside the barricade. Inside the ropes, you’re a predator, and I refuse to be prey.
Ally, charming, sharp, the kind of woman who hid steel under a velvet glove. Ally isn’t just a friend of my mother; she was a strategist and I think that’s why her and my mom get along so well. Ally can be a predator who knows how to wait for the perfect moment to strike. She has played the mind games, the subtle manipulations. But lately it’s like Ally has lost a step and I don’t know why. But in this brawl, with champagne spraying and glass shattering around all of us, the subtlety can easily die fast. Ally is dangerous, no doubt, but I am ready to tear through the facade.
Because here’s the thing, Ally — you’ve been here, done this. You’ve worn gold, you’ve stood at the top, you’ve been the threat people whisper about backstage. But I’m not here to whisper. I’m here to take your head off if I have to.”
“And then there’s you, Victoria Lyons. The self-proclaimed Queen of SCW. Well, you were the Queen until you were unceremoniously dethroned this year. You have carried the Bombshell Roulette title for so long that there were a lot of women, having to claw for oxygen in your shadow. You’re consistent, I’ll give you that, consistent in showing up, in winning, in making damn sure people remember your name. But here’s the problem: consistency doesn’t scare me. Dominance doesn’t scare me. What scares me is wasting another second letting people like you dictate the pace of my career.
Victoria Lyons. Let’s just call you exactly what you were...The queenpin of the Bombshell Roulette division, a woman who carried herself like she’d already conquered half the world and was ready to take the rest. I can respect that. Victoria had earned every bit of her reputation through relentless grit, a tireless hunger, and that cold, calculated edge that could freeze opponents in their tracks and perhaps even hell itself. But I don't respect that mean fear. Victoria you are formidable, sure, but this fight...it demands more than just being tough. It demands ruthlessness, and in case you haven’t paid attention lately, I have long since shed any hesitation.”
“These women and myself? We’ve gone to war before. And every time, I’ve walked away with their names burned into the back of my mind, because they fight like someone who believes the ring belongs to them. But it doesn’t. Not anymore.
This match in Monaco isn’t about who’s held the most titles, who’s been here the longest, or who’s the most decorated. It’s about now. About who wants it more, who’s willing to bleed for it, who’s willing to burn every bridge to get it. And right now? That’s me.”
“This is more than just another triple threat. This is about this survival in the most decadent hell imaginable. It is about proving who is worthy, not just of a title shot, but of respect, of power, of legacy. And me? Well ladies I legit have nothing left to lose.
I am ready to turn this night of excess into a proving ground and whoever thought they were just going to glide through, sipping champagne and playing coy, they would be quick to find out before they could even fuck around. They would be so close to getting a harsh lesson in what happens when you step into MY storm. I’ve been underestimated, sidelined, doubted... hell, I’ve doubted myself more than I can count. But after allowing myself to wallow, and feel bad I can safely tell you ladies....those days are over. I am done chasing moments. I’m done waiting for permission to take my place.
So here’s your warning: When that bell rings, I’m not walking in there to survive either of you. I’m walking in there to win. To make sure my name is carved into the stone of this company right alongside yours — except deeper. Sharper. Permanent.
You want the Queen? You want the predator? Bring them both. I’ll put them down side by side."
She leaned back in her chair, the horizon’s glow painting her face in firelight. Her eyes didn’t waver from the distance, as if she could already see the moment her hand would be raised in victory.
