~*~The Request~*~
The fluorescent lights in the backstage hallway buzzed faintly, casting a cold, sterile glow along the concrete. It smelled like sweat and disinfectant and the metal tang of adrenaline, and Bella moved through it as if she were cutting through fog. Her jaw was tight. Her fingers flexed and unflexed at her sides, her pulse an uneven rhythm pounding at her throat.
She hadn’t bothered to shower. She hadn’t peeled off the tape wrapped around her wrists, now loose and fraying like the ends of her patience. Her hair clung to her face, damp with effort and heat. And every step she took felt sharp. Deliberate. Controlled only by the thinnest threads of will.
People saw her coming and parted. No one spoke. No one asked. They understood. Even those who didn’t know her well recognized what a person looked like when they were holding themselves together by force.
She reached Evelyn Hall’s office and didn’t stop walking.
The door slammed against the wall as she pushed through it.
Evelyn looked up from her desk. There was someone else in the office—production staff, headset around his neck—but the moment he saw Bella, he excused himself without waiting to be asked. The door clicked closed behind him, leaving the room thick and too quiet.
Bella stood there, chest rising and falling, fists curled so tight she could feel the sting of her own nails.
“I want a match at High Stakes,” she said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit the room like a thrown knife.
Evelyn regarded her with steady, assessing eyes. “Bella...”
“No.” The word was sharp. Not shouted, just final. “Don’t try to talk me down. Don’t try to handle me. I know what happened out there. I know I lost. I am not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen.”
She stepped further into the room, the floor thudding quietly beneath her boots.
“But I am not spending High Stakes watching from backstage,” she continued. “I am not sitting quietly. I am not fading into the background because tonight didn’t go my way.”
Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with emotion trying to claw its way out.
“I have worked too damn hard to get here. I have bled, and broken, and rebuilt myself more times than most people even think is possible. I will not be an afterthought.”
Her hands had begun to shake. She forced them to still.
“I don’t care who you give me. I don’t care what match you put me in. All I know is I need to fight. I need to hit something. I need to feel that moment again—where everything makes sense the second fists connect and the world is only what is directly in front of me.”
Silence swelled between them, full and heavy.
Evelyn didn’t challenge her. Didn’t flinch. She understood violence-driven clarity better than most.
“You’ll be on the High Stakes card,” Evelyn said finally, calm and certain. “Not because you’re demanding it. But because you’ve earned it. You have been undeniable. You still are.”
Bella breathed out, but it wasn’t relief. It was something sharper. Something that hurt.
“Then tell me who,” she said.
“You’ll know before the night ends.” Evelyn’s voice softened, not pity, never pity, just something human. “But for now... go breathe. Before you burn yourself alive trying to prove you’re still on fire.”
Bella didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The knot in her chest was too tight, the pressure behind her ribs too thick.
She turned and walked out.
The door to Evelyn Hall’s office shut behind Bella with a hard finality, not a slam, but close enough that the sound echoed down the corridor. Her breath was ragged, her pulse still buzzing from the match and the adrenaline and the anger that hadn’t found anywhere to go yet.
The hallway felt too bright. Too empty.
She walked fast, fists still clenched. The bones in her hands ached from how tightly she’d wrapped them around the ropes earlier. She could still taste the copper of her own blood where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek not to scream.
Crystal’s voice replayed in her mind. The smile. The smugness. The hand raised.
Bella’s stomach twisted.
She turned a corner and stopped.
Mal stood there, leaning against a production crate. Jeans, dark t-shirt, jacket still unzipped like he hadn’t even bothered to take it off when he got here. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. He wasn’t dressed to wrestle, he wasn’t part of the roster right now, but he was here. Just like he always was.
Luka lay at his feet, head on her paws, ears perked the second Bella came into view. Bella froze. Mal’s eyes lifted to hers, steady, clear, and entirely there. No surprise. No confusion.
Just: I was waiting for you.
Bella swallowed hard. The words that came out were raw, scraped from the inside of her throat, “Where’s Máire?”
“With your mother,” Mal answered gently. “She’s already asleep.”
Bella nodded, quick, sharp, relief hitting first, then guilt right behind it.
“Good,” she whispered, voice thinner than she wanted it to be. “She shouldn’t... she shouldn’t see me like this.”
Mal didn’t move closer. Not yet. He watched her, the way her shoulders were locked, the way her jaw wouldn’t unclench, the way she was holding herself upright by sheer force of will.
When she finally let out a breath that sounded like it hurt, then he pushed off the crate and approached her.
He didn’t ask anything else.
He just said, soft and certain, “Talk to me.”
Bella laughed, but it was hollow, humorless, brittle. The kind of laugh you let out when the other option is screaming.
“I asked Evelyn for a match at High Stakes,” she said. Her words tripped over themselves, too fast, too sharp. “I don’t care who it is, I just need, I need to fix this. I need to remind every single person who the hell I am. Because I should’ve had that match. I should’ve won. And I’m not—I’m not letting this be the step I fall on. I’m not....”
Her voice cracked.
Mal stepped into her space now, slow enough that she could pull back if she chose to. She didn’t. His hand came up, fingers sliding into her hair at the back of her head, thumb brushing the tense muscle along her neck.
“It was one match,” he murmured. “One. Match.”
“It was supposed to be my match,” she shot back, and this time the tears didn’t wait for permission, they hit fast, hot, angry. “I did everything right. I did everything I was supposed to do, and she still...and I still....”
Mal’s forehead touched hers, grounding her breath to his.
“Mo chroí,” he said, voice low. “Look at me.” Her eyes lifted. “You are not done. You are not less than you were yesterday. You are not broken. You lost one match, that does not erase the war you’ve been winning for months.”
Her lip trembled. “It feels like it does.”
“That’s the part of your brain that only speaks when you’re hurt,” he whispered. “You don’t listen to it. Not tonight.”
Bella’s fists clenched in the front of his shirt, needing something, anything, to anchor her.
“Tell me I’m not slipping,” she whispered. “Please.”
Mal didn’t hesitate.
“You are climbing.” His voice didn’t waver. “You’re just climbing hard. And yeah, it hurts. And yeah, it doesn’t always go clean. But you don’t break, Bella. You don’t stay down. I’ve never seen you stay down.”
Her breath came out shakier than she liked, but calmer. Luka stepped forward and nudged her leg, quiet, grounding, loyal. Bella closed her eyes for a moment, forehead still resting against Mal’s.
“What if the match they give me isn’t enough?” she asked quietly. “What if it isn’t the fight I need?”
Mal’s thumb brushed her cheek, catching a tear before it fell.
“Then you make it enough,” he said simply. “You always do.”
For the first time since the bell rang, Bella exhaled without it breaking inside her. She nodded. Not because everything was okay. But because she could stand again.
“Come on,” Mal said, voice soft. “Let’s go home.”
Bella wiped her face, took a breath, and took his hand. And the storm didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
~*~Glass Houses and Loud Mouths~*~
[size=118]
[/size]The flight home had been quiet. Calm, even. The kind of quiet where the world stops vibrating for a minute and just lets you breathe. Bella had slept against the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, Luka curled at her feet under the seat, Mal’s hand steady and warm over hers the whole way.
But morning had no such mercy.
The O’Connell home just outside of New York City was wrapped in the kind of autumn sunlight that made everything look softer, golden leaves scattered across the back deck, a chill in the air but not enough to bite. Luka had already bolted outside to chase something that probably wasn’t there. Máire sat cross-legged on the living room rug, Bluey pajama pants and all, making her stuffed animals have an aggressively enthusiastic tea party.
Bella was on the couch, still half in her hoodie, socks mismatched, hair up in a messy bun she hadn’t bothered to fix. Phone in hand. Eyes narrowing.
Mal leaned in the doorway with his coffee mug, watching her expression go from tired to flat deadpan are you fucking kidding me in under two seconds.
“...What now?” he asked.
Bella didn’t answer at first, she just held up her phone so he could see the screen.
Twitter. X ....whatever the fuck it was called just because Elon couldn’t just let shit alone.
Cassie Wolfe, complaining very publicly about being left off High Stakes. Words like respect and overlooked and robbed thrown around with the subtlety of a brick through a window.
Mal let out a very slow exhale. “Ah,” he said. “So we’re doing this today.”[/color]
Bella’s jaw flexed. “I tried,” she said. “I tried to have a normal morning. I was going to make waffles. I was going to let my muscles stop feeling like they were made of railroad spikes. But no. No. She had to get online and act like someone personally peed in her cereal.”
Máire, overhearing nothing but somehow choosing violence, slammed her stuffed kangaroo into the plastic tea set.
“KICK!” she announced to no one in particular.
Mal winced. “She gets that from you.”
Bella didn’t even attempt to argue the point.
Her thumbs moved fast. First hit that retweet button and then...
Bella Madison: "Waaaah I wanna be relevant, waaaaahhhh I wanna be noticed too," my 2 year old throws better fits than this Cass.
It took Cassie all of thirty seconds to respond.
More whining. More dramatics. More I deserve and I’ve worked too hard and nobody respects me. Bella didn’t even blink.
Bella: Here is a BRILLIANT idea Cassie, instead of coming up on this platform to whine & bitch about not being book, call, message...hell even carrier pigeon Christian or even Ms. Hall and say "Hey, just wondering why I was left off the card." & who knows...maybe they'll find you a spot
Mal walked over and set his coffee down on the table beside her and simply said, “Breathe.”
“Oh, I am very calm,” she said, with the tone of someone who was absolutely not calm. “In fact, I’m calm enough to be petty.”
And then the message pinged.
Evelyn Hall.
Bella opened it.
If you’re open to it, I can add Cassie to your match with Bea. That way she has a chance to prove whatever it is she thinks she’s owed. Let me know.
Bella’s lips curled. She didn’t just smile. She grinned. “Of course,” she murmured.
Mal raised a brow. “You’re sure?”
Bella turned the phone so he could see her reply being typed:
Bella: Absolutely. Add her.
Send. She locked the screen and finally turned toward him.
“Cassie wants to act like she’s been wronged?” Bella said, voice low, even, dangerously level. “Then she can step into the ring and find out real fast that the only thing wrong is how far up her own ass her head is.”
Mal watched her for a long, quiet beat, that mixture of supportive husband and oh boy she’s choosing violence again very, very present.
Finally, he kissed her forehead.
“Just remember,” he murmured, “you’re teaching a lesson, not committing a felony.”
“I make no promises,” she said.
From the rug, Máire lifted her kangaroo again, face serious as a judge.
“BOOM!” she declared, and body-slammed it into the carpet.
Bella pointed at her like she’d just won a legal argument.
“See?” she said. “The child understands.”
Mal sighed. “The child eats crayons if we don’t watch her.”
“EXACTLY,” Bella said, throwing her hands up. “And she still understands the consequences.”
Luka barked outside. Somewhere inside Bella, the frustration finally uncoiled, not gone, but directed. Sharpened and focused.
This match was no longer about recovering from a loss. This match was now personal.
Cassie made it so. Bella would make sure she regretted it.
~*~Rules of Engagement: Show Me What You Got ~*~
The video opens on Bella’s living room, transformed into a glitter-coated pastel disaster zone. Pink fuzzy pillows. Sparkle lamp. A plastic princess tiara sits crooked on Bella’s head. She’s chewing a gum bubble obnoxiously loud.
Bella is cross-legged on the couch, wearing a baby-pink sweater with glitter letters that read: “Daddy’s Little Main Character”
She raises her phone and starts recording herself selfie-style, voice switching into a grating, overly dramatic Valley Girl tone.
“Oh. My. GOD. So like, can we TALK about the absolute INJUSTICE that is happening right now??”
Hair flip. Another hair flip. Another. She's committing.
“So I didn’t get booked for High Stakes, which is like, SO disrespectful because I’m, like, literally destined for greatness?? Like, hello?? Have you met my father?? I should automatically be like...at LEAST mid-card.”
She pouts. Lollipop appears from nowhere.
“And then there’s Bea... like... trying SO hard to prove she belongs, which is so cute, honestly. Like...awww. She’s like the class hamster of SCW. She tries so hard, you guys!!”
Bella gasps, clutching invisible pearls.
“But then!!! I had to go on Twitter and cry about it because THAT is what REAL wrestlers do, we don’t earn opportunities, we don’t even ASK NICELY!!!! We have public meltdowns about them!”
She stomps on the couch cushion like a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum.
“I DESERVE this match!! I am IMPORTANT!! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEE!!!!!”
And just like that, Bella drops the act.
She straightens up, removes the tiara and tosses it aside. The real Bella is here. Her eyes are sharp, controlled, precise.
“Let’s start with you, Cassie. You didn’t fight your way into this match. You complained your way into it. You think this is your grand breakthrough moment? No. This is the moment reality gets introduced to your face, violently. You’re not the underdog. You’re not the future. You’re not the one people are sleeping on.”
“You’re just loud.”
“And at High Stakes? I’m going to turn the volume off.”
Now she shifts to Bea, tone changes completely. No mockery. No performance. Just cold, unflinching truth.
“Bea. You and I have been in the same trenches. Same rebuild. Same grind. You and I both know what it’s like to have to prove ourselves every time we step into that ring. You should be the one I’m focused on.”
“You should be the threat. But the problem is...”
She tilts her head, studying the camera like she’s dissecting the match already.
“You’ve spent so long trying to convince people you belong that you’ve forgotten how to take it. You fight not to lose. I fight to win and that’s the difference right there.”
She stands. The tone turns razor clean.
“So let me make this about as perfectly fucking clear. At High Stakes, I don’t need to beat both of you. I need to outlast your excuses.”
“Cassie? You’re getting humbled. Bea? You’re getting reminded. Me? I’m getting what I came for. Not because I screamed the loudest. Not because I begged for the spotlight. But because I earned it. Every match, every step, every scar.
Bella looks into the camera, steady. Certain. Not angry and fully in control.
“I’m not walking into High Stakes to prove I belong. I’m walking in to take my place. And the two of you? Are just what I have to step through to get there.”
Just then Mal comes down and sees Bella in her full on getup, “And just like that...I have a new kink.”
