[SCW Staff]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Dreamkiller]

Chapter 78: Fracture Lines

I didn’t go to Amber right away.

That surprised me.

For years, she’d been my constant. The fixed point. The one person in that house who had seen everything I saw and had been old enough to understand it the way I did. Where Tasmin’s memories softened at the edges, Amber’s had always been sharp, exacting. We had survived the same nights. The same broken glass mornings. The same apologies that smelled like beer and shame. Amber was the one who taught me how to listen for the sound of his truck in the driveway and read the mood of the engine before the door ever opened. She was the one who showed me how to pack a bag quickly and quietly, just in case. The one who learned first how to disappear in plain sight.

She was supposed to feel like I did.

That certainty sat in me like an anchor. Heavy. Unquestioned.

And maybe that was why I delayed. Because some instinct, buried deep beneath my ribs, whispered that anchors could drag you under if they shifted without warning.

When I finally drove to her place, the sky was overcast in that way that made everything look flatter than it really was. Muted colors. Soft light. A world holding its breath. Amber lived further out than Tasmin, in a house that felt grown-up in a way ours never had when we were kids. Clean lines. Warm wood. Big windows that let the light in instead of barricading against it. Proof that she had built something solid out of what we came from.

I sat in my rental car for a full minute before getting out.

Just breathing.

Just listening to the tick of cooling metal and the distant sound of birds. My chest felt tight, but not with panic. With anticipation. With something like grief, already bracing for impact.

I knocked. Once.

Amber opened the door with a soft smile already in place. “Kay,” she said, like my name was a relief. Like she was glad to see me.

That alone unsettled me.

“Hey,” I replied, keeping my voice level. Neutral. She stepped aside and let me in. Her house smelled like coffee and clean laundry. Familiar in a way that had nothing to do with childhood. She gestured toward the living room. I followed, taking in the details the way I always did when I was trying to keep myself steady. The way the cushions were arranged. The framed photos on the wall. None of them of him. That mattered.

She poured me coffee without asking. Another thing that should have comforted me. Another thing that didn’t. “So,” she said gently, handing me the mug as she sat across from me. “I was wondering when you’d come by.”

There it was. Not if. When. “You knew?” I asked.

She nodded. “Tas called me.”

Of course she had. Tasmin, always reaching for connection. Always trying to weave us together instead of letting us drift. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat sink into my palms. “He went to see her,”

“I know.”

“And you,” I continued, watching her face carefully, “you’ve seen him too.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t rush to explain. She just took a slow breath and nodded again. “Yeah. I have.”

Something cold slid through my chest. “When?” I asked.

“A few weeks ago.”

Weeks. Not days. Not hours. Weeks of silence. Weeks where she’d sat with that information and chosen not to bring it to me. I felt the first real crack form then, thin but unmistakable. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” she said honestly. “And I didn’t want to make it harder for you before you were ready.”

I let out a short, humorless breath. “You decided that for me?”

Her eyes softened, but her posture didn’t change. Calm. Grounded. “I decided to give you space.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” she agreed quietly. “It isn’t.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant. I could feel the anger stirring now, low and slow, like a tide pulling back before it surged. “What did he say to you?” I asked.

“He apologized,” Amber replied. “He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t make excuses. He just… owned it.”

I swallowed. “And that was enough?”

“No,” she said immediately. “It wasn’t enough. But it was something.”

Something. That word again. The way everyone kept reaching for the smallest possible measure of progress and holding it up like proof of transformation. “You believe him….Just like Tas”

She considered that. “I believe that he’s sober. I believe that he knows what he did. I believe that he’s carrying regret.”

“And you think that changes anything?”

“For me?” She met my gaze. “Yes.”

The word hit harder than I expected. “For you,” I repeated.

She nodded. “Kay… I’m tired.” That caught me off guard. Not because it was dramatic, but because it wasn’t. She didn’t sound defensive. She didn’t sound hopeful. She sounded… done. “I’m tired of carrying him around inside me,” she continued. “Tired of waking up angry at a ghost. Tired of letting my past decide how much peace I’m allowed to have now.”

My jaw tightened. “So you just… let him back in?”

“I didn’t let him back in,” she said calmly. “I let him speak. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” The question came out sharper than I meant it to.

“Yes,” she said. Firm. “Because I didn’t open the door to who he was. I listened to who he says he is now. And then I made my own decision.”

“And that decision was to forgive him.”

“No,” Amber said, shaking her head. “That decision was to forgive myself.”

The room suddenly felt too small. “For what?” I asked.

“For surviving,” she said simply. “For staying. For being angry for so long. For not saving you sooner. For not saving Mom. For all the things I couldn’t control but punished myself for anyway.”

I stared at her, a familiar ache blooming behind my ribs. “He doesn’t deserve that,”

“This isn’t about what he deserves,” she replied. “It’s about what I do.”

There it was. The fault line. Clear now. Stark. “You’re acting like this is some kind of personal growth exercise,” I said quietly. “Like what he did was just… an obstacle you’ve finally learned to climb over.”

Amber leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m acting like I don’t want to bleed from wounds he stopped inflicting years ago.”

“He didn’t stop,” I shot back. “He ran. There’s a difference.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And running didn’t erase the damage. But it did stop new damage from happening.”

“That doesn’t earn him redemption.”

“I’m not redeeming him, I’m releasing him.”

The anger surged then, sharp and sudden, but I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t lash out. I felt it coil inside me, tightening, demanding release, and I denied it. The old habit. The one that kept me safe. “So what?” I asked, voice deceptively even. “You want me to do the same? Sit down with him and let him tell me how sorry he is?”

“No,” Amber said immediately. “I want you to do whatever lets you breathe.”

“What lets me breathe,” I said, “is knowing that what he did mattered. That it wasn’t just… something we’re expected to get over because enough time has passed.”

Her gaze softened. “Kay… it mattered. It still matters. Nothing about what I’m doing erases that.”

“It feels like it does. That everything I went through and everything I have ever thought has been nothing but a lie. That I’ve been wrong this entire time. That every failed relationship, every friendship I have ended and every single person I have pushed away hasn’t mattered either.”

She inhaled slowly. “I know…but it doesn’t.”

That admission hurt more than any argument would have. “Then why do it?” I asked.

“Because holding onto rage didn’t protect me anymore,” she said. “It just kept me tethered to him.”

I looked away, staring at the window, the dull gray sky beyond it. “You sound like everyone else,” I murmured.

“Everyone else?”

“Tas. Mom. Him.” My fingers curled tighter around the mug. “So ready to move on. So eager to believe he’s different. Like I’m the only one still standing in the wreckage.”

Amber stood then, slowly, and crossed the room. She stopped in front of me but didn’t touch me. Didn’t crowd me. She knew better. “You’re not wrong for feeling the way you do,” she said softly. “And you’re not alone in it. But you’re also not obligated to stay there forever.”

Something inside me cracked at that. Not loudly. Not visibly. Just a quiet fracture, spreading outward. “It feels like you chose him,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Her face tightened with pain. “I chose myself.”

The difference mattered to her. It didn’t to me. I stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “I need to go.”

“Kay….”

“I need to go,” I repeated, already moving toward the door. Not running. Just leaving. The way I always did when staying meant breaking apart. Amber followed me to the entryway.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” she said quickly. “I’m just saying your path doesn’t have to look like mine.”

I paused with my hand on the door. “It already doesn’t.” I left before she could respond. The trip home felt longer than it should have. The flight, the drive. Every street too wide. Every stoplight too slow. My chest ached, but I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just felt… hollowed out. Like something essential had been quietly removed while I wasn’t looking.

They were all forgiving him. Or at least, forgiving themselves enough to make space where he once stood. And I was alone in my refusal. By the time I got home, the sky had darkened, the gray deepening into something heavier. I sat there for a moment, feeling the weight of it all press down on me. Not just anger. Not just betrayal. But the slow, creeping realization that healing didn’t look the same for everyone and that sometimes, that difference felt like abandonment.

I didn’t hate Amber. That was the worst part. I loved her. I understood her. And I still felt betrayed. Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I kicked off my shoes and leaned back against the door, closing my eyes. Everyone else was moving forward. Letting go. Releasing. Redeeming. And I was still standing guard over the ruins. Not because I couldn’t leave. But because someone had to remember what it cost to survive.

The end of enablement

”This division…..my division. Is a joke.”

Kayla Richards, the former SCW Bombshells Champion, sits in a penthouse suite at the MGM Grand. Because of course she would. And of course she would go out to Vegas two weeks before the show to enjoy some downtime. She takes a deep breath, a champagne flute in her hand, dressed in a tight-fitting white dress with a long slit going up one leg, which she crosses over the other as she relaxes on the white leather couch inside the main room of the suite.

”Last year, going into Inception, this company had two of the most dominant champions this business had ever seen. I was the World Bombshells Champion, and Finn Wheelan was the World Heavyweight Champion. Coming out of that show, Finn was still holding the World Championship, and I had lost the Bombshells Championship to Andrea Hernandez. Now, when I lost that championship, I made the decision to wait and regain it in the most dominating way possible by destroying every single woman that was in an Elimination Chamber match so I could snatch my championship back and prove to everyone that it was a fluke. I made that decision. No one else did.”

“And when I regained my Bombshells World Championship, Finn lost his World Heavyweight Championship. So in many ways, Inception last year was the final time that this company had real credibility on both levels. I would try to regain that credibility for the Bombshells by getting my championship back, but Finn had done so much for this company that it completely shredded his body. His shoulder was hanging on by a thread. His entire body and mental well-being were being given to this company. A company that never appreciated him. A company that has never appreciated me. And when I lost the Bombshells Championship to Frankie, I made the decision to step back and see how the division was going to play out.”

“I allowed Frankie Holiday to have a grace period to prove herself.”

“And where exactly did that mercy get me, the Bombshells Championship, and the division?”

“It destroyed it. It destroyed all credibility, as everything that I worked for for the better part of the last four years got flushed down the toilet. I dominated as an Internet Champion. I dominated as a Mixed Tag Team Champion. And then I dominated at the very top of the business. I set this division up to be something special. To regain the glory days before it was ruined by mediocrity. The same glory days that we saw when Alicia Lukas was champion. The same glory days when Amber Ryan and Roxi Johnson went to war. Those glory days. I had us back there. And then it was ruined. Flushed down the fucking toilet.”

Kayla pauses, taking a sip of her champagne before slowly putting the glass down on the table in front of her, the black marble making a small noise as the delicate glass touches it. Her long black hair is slicked back but still flowing down her shoulders, a pair of white gold earrings framing her face as a diamond nose stud shines under the bright light coming from above.

”This is my failure. I foolishly thought that Frankie was going to be the next big thing in this company. That she needed room to mature and breathe. So I allowed her to have that breathing room. I allowed her to have that little bit of extra rope to walk away from me. And do you know what happened when I gave Frankie Holiday that little bit of extra rope? I’ll give you one hint.”

“She fucking hung herself, and with it, this entire division.”

She spits her anger like venom, her green emerald eyes staring forward through heavily eyeshadowed makeup and black eyeliner, mascara making her eyelashes pop in a way that seems unnatural yet somehow evil.

”Now where are we? What is this division doing? Frankie Holiday is facing Aiden Reynolds’ much more talented sister. We have, in Amelia, a woman who could be a star against Frankie Holiday, who everyone thought was going to be a star. We have a Roulette Championship match between two old farts that nobody cares about, an Internet Championship match between someone who can’t get out of her own fucking way in Victoria Lyons and a perennial contender in Harper Mason.”

“And the stupidest and biggest joke of all: the World Bombshells Championship being defended in a tag team match. Let me repeat that, just on the off chance that there are some of you who haven’t been watching the show or keeping up with the fuckery that is going on. The top prize in our game, a championship that means you are the best of the best in the women’s division in this company, is being defended in a tag team match between the woman who flew her way into winning the damn thing, her perennial hang-on in Mercedes Vargas, against her ex-wife and her rookie fucking sister-in-law or cousin-in-law or whoever the hell Zenna is…”

“Are you all kidding me?”

“And to top off this birthday cake made out of dog shit and duct tape, what am I doing? In a situation where I could’ve saved the division, saved the show, and saved my precious Bombshells Championship— instead of facing Crystal and snapping her neck like a twig and showing her that the friendship that she and I had was nothing but a joke because she has turned into a joke— I am instead facing Bella Madison. And the saddest part about all of this is that I don’t hate the idea of facing Bella Madison. I don’t hate the idea of she and I having a match, because she seems like someone who could push me to the limit if properly motivated. The issue is the only one in this match who really has motivation is me. What’s Bella’s motivation? To beat someone who’s better than her? Shit, that’s her motivation in 90% of the matches that she ends up dragging her second-generation, pampered ass into.”

Kayla growls and sits forward, uncrossing her legs but keeping her knees together so we don’t have an accidental kitty wardrobe malfunction.

”Look, as painful as it is for me to admit this, Bella going against Crystal for the Bombshells Championship would be a hell of a lot better than the tag team match that we have for the title. It would make a hell of a lot more sense than myself and Bella going against each other. What would make more sense is this company taking the handcuffs off of me and allowing me to get my championship back by snapping that stupid, pathetic bitch’s neck. But since I can’t do that, and since I’m going into Inception to face you, Bella, then you are going to be the one who has to feel all of the anger and frustration that I have been going through over the last few months since losing my championship and making the decision to step back and watching it gloriously blow up in not only my face, but also the company’s face.”

“The last few months have been an absolute nightmare for me. From losing to Victoria, to having to face women like Candy and Zenna and Cassie. And now I’m going into a match with you. And I’d like to believe, Bella, that you understand the magnitude of this. And if you don’t understand the magnitude of this, I want you to go home, I want you to pick up your phone, and I want you to call your mother and ask her to explain it to you very slowly, because you might not get it.”

“You probably want to frame this as some sort of coming-out party for you. A chance for you to beat someone who was dominant. A chance for you to play out your contrived and overused Cinderella underdog story of the girl who everyone thinks is not good enough finally proving everyone wrong. And hey, I get it. It’s an interesting story, and it’s one that people really can get behind. You will have fans, and a lot of the people backstage, and you will have everyone else absolutely cheering you on, but the issue is that it won’t mean shit.”

“At some point, the applause and the back-patting and the love and outpouring that you get will end up stopping, and the bell will ring. And when the bell rings, a year in the ring with me, all bets are off, all Cinderella stories end up failing, and you will be left alone with a goddamn monster.”

“You come from a wrestling family. Your mother and father were professional wrestlers— great ones, even. You surround yourself with other professional wrestlers. You are friends with Miles, you’re friends with LJ, you are married to a professional wrestler. It just so happens that both your husband and his idiot older brother happened to be married to women who are much better at this wrestling thing than either of them. And in your case, that’s not saying much considering Malachi is a fucking joke.”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, leaning back to finish her champagne and calm herself down.

”I’m not going to sit here and say that you can’t beat me. I’ve said it before, Bella— if we’ve faced before or been involved in a match, you absolutely can beat me. Anyone can beat me. In one out of 100 matches, I’m sure that there is a timeline out there where I slip on a banana peel and fucking Candy gets a win over me. It’s not if you can beat me, it’s will you beat me? And I just don’t see it happening. Miracles can happen in this world, and yeah, you will come at me with everything that you have. I know that. You know that. Everyone knows that.”

“And you should know that your mother and father will be proud of you no matter what happens. But that’s what they’re supposed to do. They are supposed to love and cherish their baby girl. They’re supposed to support you no matter what. But Bella, trust me— the competitive side of them? There is a small part of your mother that dies every single time you get into the ring and end up failing. She watches as her daughter struggles and fails at the thing that came so naturally to her. And it’s because you simply can’t keep up. You rely too much on your family’s legacy. You rely too much on your last name. And you rely too much on the natural talent that you believe you have instead of getting in the gym and working.”

“I have a natural affinity for professional wrestling, but not the same that you have. The difference between you and me is that despite the fact I’m a natural at this, and even though I act like all of this is so easy, I get in the gym and I work my arse off. I run my mouth. I get in the ring. I do everything I can to win, and I leave it all out there in the ring every single time. I watched as the man I love destroyed his body for a championship. I watched him go through rehab after rehab when it came to his shoulder, and I watched him get stitched back together by fucking voodoo witch doctors.”

“And I would go through the exact same.”

“You want to beat me, Bella? You want to get in that ring and make a name for yourself and show the world that you are more than just a sad underdog story and a famous last name? Then you have to prove it by beating someone who matters. And trust me on this, sweetheart— I matter. And to beat me, you’re going to have to damn near kill me, because you will not be getting anything off of me that you haven’t fucking earned. So saddle up, grow a pair, get in the ring at Inception, and show me something more than what you believe yourself to be. Because if you bring the same tired bullshit that you always have? I’m going to eat you alive.”

[BellaMadison]

~*~Christmas Is Here~*~
New York

Christmas morning didn’t creep in...

It exploded.

It came with running feet, a high-pitched shriek of pure joy, and the unmistakable sound of something small colliding with a closed bedroom door at full speed.

“SANTAAAAAA!”

Bella laughed before her eyes were even open, “I do believe that someone has seen the presents under the tree from up here.”

Malachi groaned, "She’s feral.”

“She’s two,” Bella said, already sitting up, "This is exactly right.”

Máire burst into the room a second later, hair wild, pajamas twisted, clutching nothing but raw excitement and a small wolf stuffed animal that she got from her Auntie Lanah the last time they went to the zoo. She climbed onto the bed with zero hesitation, bouncing between them like gravity was optional.

“He came! He came! Mama he CAME!”

Bella scooped her up without thinking, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, everywhere she could reach. Máire smelled like sleep and sugar cookies scented shampoo from her bath last night and freedom.

“I know,” Bella said warmly, "And we’re both right here.”

That mattered.

Bella had been home for days already. There were no flights or rushing around. None of their bags were half-unpacked in a hotel room. The match with Alicia was done, she was feeling absolutely amazing despite the fact that they beat the shit out of one another but the pain wasn’t haunting her body anymore, just sitting where it belonged, behind her. Christmas didn’t feel stolen by wrestling this year.

It felt earned.

“Can we go see?” Máire demanded, already wriggling.

Mal laughed as he slid out of bed, "You heard the boss.”

They didn’t hurry. They didn’t need to.

The living room was glowing when they stepped into it, the tree lighting the space in soft golds and reds. Presents sat neatly under it and Bella thanked the fact that they kept gates atop the stairs to keep the little escape artist from making it a royal mess.

Máire gasped like the room had just revealed a secret.

“Mine?” she asked, pointing to everything.

Bella knelt beside her, steady hands on small shoulders, "Well there is something in there for everyone but the majority of it is yours. But we open them together.”

That was all the permission she needed. Wrapping paper flew. Boxes were abandoned mid-open. Máire shrieked every time she recognized a character, a color, a sound. She ran back and forth between Bella and Mal like they were checkpoints, needing both of them to see everything.

Bella sat cross-legged on the floor, laughing until her sides hurt, not from the match just a few days earlier with Alicia, not from scars that she garnered from her battles before, but from joy. She caught Mal watching her more than the kid at one point.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head, "Nothing. Just....this.”

Bella followed his gaze to their daughter, who had managed to put a Santa hat on sideways and was yelling at a stuffed animal like it had personally betrayed her. Bella smiled softly, last Sunday may have taken something out of her, but it had also given her something back.

Confidence. Clarity. Relief.

The weight she’d carried into Climax Control didn’t follow her home.

Later, when Máire finally collapsed in a pile of gifts and blankets, Bella stood by the tree, the room quiet but full. Her body still bore the echoes of the fight, but her mind was clear.

Inception waited and Kayla waited but Bella Madison wasn’t walking toward either of them hollow, rushed or fractured. She was walking forward whole and complete with the things she absolutely loved around her.

Mal slipped an arm around her waist, "You good?”

Bella leaned into him, eyes on the lights, the mess that was created, and the life she absolutely wouldn’t exchange anything for in the world.

“Yeah,” she said without hesitation, "I really am.”

Christmas had come and this time, it hadn’t taken anything from her.


~*~Five Years~*~

New Year’s Eve arrived without fireworks.

Not yet, anyway.

The house was dim and warm, lights still glowing softly from Christmas because neither of them had the energy, or the heart to take them down yet. The house sat quiet just outside the city, close enough that the distant glow of New York reflected faintly against low clouds, far enough that the world felt slower here. Snow blanketed the yard in soft, uneven drifts, the kind that muted sound and made everything feel insulated. Christmas lights still lined the porch and windows, left up out of laziness and sentimentality in equal measure.

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of eucalyptus, peppermint tea, and cold medicine.

Malachi O’Connell was absolutely miserable.

He was sprawled across the couch beneath two blankets he definitely didn’t need stacked on top of each other, his long dark hair was damp, his nose red and raw and his voice was absolutely wrecked. Every few minutes he sniffed, sighed, or coughed like his body was personally offended by existence.

“This,” he rasped, “It’s what I get for being a good dad.”

Bella stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, one brow arched, "You laid in the snow with a two-year-old making ‘snow angels’ for nearly an hour,” she said, "In December in New York.”

Máire, the tiny agent of chaos responsible for all of this, sat cross-legged on the floor in footed pajamas, pouring imaginary tea into plastic cups for her stuffed wolf.

“Daddy sick,” she announced proudly.

“I am not sick,” Mal protested weakly, before immediately coughing.

Bella crossed the room without thinking, instinct already in motion. Her palm pressed to his forehead. It was still warm, the fever he had early had started to break but it hasn’t let go completely.

“You are very sick,” she said, "And you’re lucky I love you.”

He cracked one eye open, "You love me regardless.”

“It is debatable tonight,” she replied, but her hands were gentle as she adjusted the blankets and nudged the mug closer.

Tomorrow had been supposed to be their day to celebrate just the two of them. It’s been five years. Five years since they got married in practically the middle of a pandemic. Five years of building a life in the margins of demanding careers and louder expectations. They’d planned something simple but intentional, dinner, maybe a night away, time that belonged only to them.

The overnight bag still sat by the door, untouched. Bella glanced at the clock as it was just after nine. The new year would arrive whether they were ready or not.

“Well,” she said softly, “happy almost-anniversary.”

Mal’s face tightened with guilt, "I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, "I didn’t mean to...”

She cut him off immediately, pressing a finger to his lips, "Don’t babe.” Her voice was firm but warm, "You got sick because you were being you. Because you let our kid bury you in snow and laughed the whole time.”

Máire looked up, "Daddy snow monster.”

Bella smiled faintly, "Exactly kiddo.”

Mal tried to grin. It came out crooked, "You okay postponing? I promise you as soon as I even remotely feel like myself I will completely sweep you away for a whole night all to us. But if you really really really wanna do this we will call your mother and I will power my way through it...”

Bella didn’t answer right away. She took in the room, the soft glow of Christmas lights, the snow visible through the windows, their daughter humming to herself, and her husband reaching for her hand like it was instinct. Then she sat on the edge of the couch and let his head rest against her thigh.

“Mal,” she said, "I love you and I know that you could be on the edge of death to do something for me but...” She threaded her fingers through his hair, slow and grounding.

“We’ll celebrate,” she continued, "Just not on a calendar’s schedule. We’ll do it when you’re not contagious.”

He huffed a laugh, "Romantic.”

“I know,” she said dryly, "I’m devastating.”

“Devasatingly beautiful maybe.” he said through a coughing fit.

“Ok maybe your fever is returning because I am an absolute mess. I haven’t showered in two days, I’m going to have to fit one in after I put Máire to bed and get my workout in.”

The television murmured in the background, some loud New Year’s broadcast neither of them cared about, "Nah, I mean it, mo chroí. You are the absolute light of my life

Bella leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mal’s temple, "Five years,” she murmured.

His hand tightened around hers, "Because of you.”

She shook her head, smiling, "Because of us.”

Outside, the snow held steady and midnight would come soon enough. For now, Bella stayed right where she was with her hands full, plans postponed, heart steady. Some things didn’t need a date to matter.


~*~Rules of Engagement: Don’t Sugarcoat Shit~*~

The barn was quiet in a way that felt earned.

Not the kind of quiet that came from absence or neglect, but the kind that followed intention. Every light that needed to be off was off. Every door that needed to be closed was closed. The house sat dark beyond the tree line, Mal asleep on the couch where he’d passed out sometime after midnight, his phone resting on his chest like a promise that if Bella needed him, he would wake. Máire was tucked in, blankets twisted, stuffed wolf clutched tight, dreams loud enough to keep her still. Luka lay at the foot of the stairs, half-guard, half-snore, one ear twitching every time Bella passed.

Bella slipped into the barn without ceremony.

She didn’t turn on the overhead lights. She never did at night. Instead, she clicked on the lamps she’d mounted herself along the walls, warm low glows that didn’t chase the shadows away so much as invite them to stay. The ring sat in the center like an altar, ropes worn soft by years of hands and backs and blood. Around it, equipment waited patiently. Dumbbells. Chains. A ladder leaned against the wall like it remembered things. The heavy bag hung still, leather scarred and split in places, stitched back together more times than she could count.

The air smelled like chalk and metal and old wood and the barn answered her with silence.

Bella stood in the ring now, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling, sweat cooling against her skin. The night pressed in from all sides, lamps casting long shadows that stretched and twisted against the walls. She rolled her neck once, then laughed under her breath, a quiet, humorless sound.

“Kayla Richards,” she said aloud.

The name echoed faintly, swallowed by wood and rope and air. Saying it out loud felt different than thinking it. Heavier. More real.

“You know what pisses me off about you?” Bella continued, pacing the ring slowly, boots whispering against the mat, "You never lie. Not to the camera. Not to the fans. Not to the women standing across from you.”

She stopped at the ropes, leaning into them, arms draped over the top strand.

“You don’t sugarcoat shit. You don’t pretend this business is kind. And I respect the hell out of that.” A pause, "I hate that I do, because it would be ALL so much easier to come into this match with wanting to rip your fucking head off. Instead I find myself still looking up to you like I did when I walked into this company.”

Bella straightened, jaw tightening.

“You’ve been champion more times than most people can count. You’ve carried the entire SCW Bombshell division on your back when it was convenient and when it damn near broke you. And you never once asked for sympathy for it...in fact you’ve done it with a smile and a wicked sense of telling people to shut the fuck up.” She shook her head slowly, "You just kept going.”

She walked to the corner and rested her forearms against the turnbuckles, forehead pressing briefly to the padding.

“And every time my name comes up?” she went on, voice lower now, "You said the same thing, ‘Bella’s close.’ ‘Bella’s right there.’ ‘Bella’s a moment away.’ ‘Bella is holding herself back’ ....’Bella isn’t a big enough BITCH!’ I paid attention to every moment and I think I have you to thank for what I have become.”

Bella pushed back and turned, eyes hard.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live there? In that space between almost and not quite? To hear that you’re good enough, just not now?”

Her laugh was sharp this time.

“I’ve been a moment away for years, Kayla. I’ve bled for this place. I’ve broken myself for it. I’ve walked into matches designed to end careers and walked out on my own two feet. And still I am just...a moment away.”

She moved to the center of the ring and planted her feet.

“But here’s something you might not have expected.” Bella’s voice steadied, firm and deliberate, "I stopped being scared of that moment.”

She lifted her hands, taped and scarred, and looked at them.

“I used to think that moment was something I had to wait for and that it was something someone else had to give me. I was always told that if I worked hard enough the...nod or a booking or even a chance.” Her fingers curled slowly into fists, "Now I know better...and I should have known by watching my own mother’s career. She had moment after moment where she didn’t give those with power a chance to go “You”...she took her shots and she had a Hall of Fame career.”

Bella looked up, as if Kayla stood across from her.

“That moment? I am going to take it and I know that I have to be the biggest absolute bitch on the block.”

She paced again, energy coiling tight beneath her skin.

“I think you have realized this...but...you and I aren’t that different,” she said, "We’re both hardasses when the moment calls for it. We both know how to take pain and keep moving. We both understand that respect in this business isn’t handed out, it’s ripped from someone else’s grip.”

Her mouth curved, not into a smile but something close.

“The difference is, you’ve already shattered that glass ceiling a long time ago. You got to stand on the other side of it and look down. I’m still staring up at the cracks that I keep making but never have quite figured out the weak spot.”

Bella stopped pacing.

“And Kayla...I gotta be straight with you...I’m done staring.”

She stepped closer to the ropes, gripping them hard.

“I don’t want you at half-speed. I don’t want mercy, which I know would be even stupid for me to ask for because you don’t give it. I don’t want the version of you that ‘respects my effort.’ I want the Kayla Richards who doesn’t give a single fucking SHIT who she hurts as long as she walks out champion.” Her eyes burned, "Because that’s the only version worth beating in my eyes.”

A long breath left her.

“You’ve said it yourself. I’m right there.” Bella nodded once, "Good, then watch closely as I make it all count.”

She let go of the ropes and straightened.

“Because this?” she said quietly, "This is me figuring it out. This is me stepping into exactly what I am.”

Bella reached to the bench and lifted the crown, dark steel catching the low light. She turned it slowly in her hands, thorns glinting.

“I didn’t earn this by being patient,” she said, "I earned it by surviving everything this place threw at me. By refusing to stay down. By becoming something sharper every time someone tried to dull me.”

She raised the crown just enough that the shadows cut across her face.

“So when we finally stand across from each other, Kayla,” Bella finished, voice steady and unflinching, “Understand this.”

She slipped the crown onto her head.

“I’m not a moment away anymore.”

The barn swallowed her words, but the certainty remained heavy, real, and immovable.

[Dreamkiller]

Chapter 79: Proof of Life

I didn’t call him right away.

That was the compromise I made with myself. Not silence. Not refusal. Just distance, long enough for the noise to settle. Long enough to be sure that this wasn’t me reacting to Amber’s calm certainty or Tasmin’s hopeful softness. Long enough to know that if I opened this door, it would be because I chose to, not because I was being pulled through it by guilt or expectation. Because that was the fear, really. Not him.

Expectation.

The quiet pressure that came when everyone else had decided how healing should look. I tried to tell myself I was fine. That I didn’t need anything from him. That my life was stable now in ways it had never been before. I had built something solid out of years of instinctive self-destruction. I had learned how to stop running toward men who mirrored chaos because chaos felt like home. I had learned how to stay. How to trust. How to let myself be loved without bracing for the moment it would turn cruel or conditional.

That mattered. And it scared me. Because stability had made me reflective in ways survival never allowed. It gave my past room to breathe. To stretch. To speak. Amber’s words echoed whether I wanted them to or not. I chose myself. Tasmin’s voice followed close behind, gentler but just as persistent. You don’t have to forgive him to move forward. I hated how reasonable they sounded.

Anger had always been clean. Sharp. Protective. Anger didn’t ask questions. It didn’t second-guess. It kept me upright when everything else felt like it might cave in. But lately, anger felt… heavy. Like armor I no longer needed but didn’t know how to take off without exposing something raw underneath. Eventually, I sent the message. It was short. Controlled. Deliberately unemotional.

If you want to talk, we can meet. Public place. My terms.

I stared at the screen longer than I needed to before hitting send. The response came quickly.

Of course. Anywhere you’re comfortable. Thank you for even considering it.

Thank you.

The words made my stomach tighten. Gratitude felt misplaced. Premature. I didn’t respond. I chose the place instead, a small café far enough from familiarity to feel neutral, close enough to leave quickly if I needed to. Somewhere bright. Somewhere busy. Somewhere I wouldn’t feel trapped by memory. When I arrived, he was already there. He looked even older than before. Sadder than before. More pathetic.

Not weaker. Not smaller. Just… worn in places I didn’t remember. More gray than dark in his hair. Lines around his eyes that spoke of regret more than laughter. His shoulders curved forward slightly, as though years of carrying something unseen had finally begun to show. He stood when he saw me. That, too, surprised me. ”Kayla,” he said. My name sounded strange in his mouth. Familiar, but distant. Like a word I used to know how to answer to.

I didn’t hug him. I didn’t smile. I nodded once and sat down across from him, placing my bag carefully at my feet like an anchor. ”Before we start,” I said, my voice steady in a way that felt unreal, “you need to understand something.” He nodded immediately. Too quickly. Like someone bracing for impact. “This isn’t forgiveness, This isn’t reconciliation. This is a conversation. And I don’t owe you anything beyond that.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not here to ask for anything.” I studied his face, searching for the old tells. The defensiveness. The tendency to fill silence with excuses. I found none. That didn’t comfort me. It only reminded me that people could change their masks without changing what they’d done.

“Good,” I said. “Then listen.” The waitress came by. I ordered coffee, black. I needed something bitter to keep me grounded. When she left, the space between us filled with the kind of silence that hummed instead of screamed. “You left, Not just the house. You left us. And you didn’t just pack up and leave a family that needed you, you packed up and left a family that you destroyed. Your drinking, the violence, Jax was broken, Amber was broken, I was broken, Mom too…Tasmin was too young… but when she got older, it was like a stab to the heart…”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

“You didn’t protect us. You didn’t stay. You didn’t fight for us. You didn’t try to be better back then….”

“Yes. I know”

No justifications. No attempt to reframe it. My chest tightened despite my efforts to stay detached. “Do you understand what that did?” I asked.

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I understand some of it. I don’t pretend to understand all of it.”

“Good,” I said, leaning forward. “Because I’m not here to make this easier for you.” I took a breath. Slow. Deliberate. “Your absence didn’t just hurt. It shaped me. It taught me things that took years to unlearn. It taught me that love was unreliable. Those men left. That staying meant enduring damage. So I pushed people away before they could abandon me. I sabotaged relationships before they had the chance to matter. I chose men who were wrong for me because chaos felt familiar. Because part of me believed that if I could survive that, then it was normal.”

His jaw tightened. His hands curled slightly on the table. He didn’t interrupt. “It took me a long time to realize I wasn’t broken,” I continued. “That I was coping. That every bad choice made sense when you traced it back far enough. But it also meant I hurt myself over and over again. Friendships ended. Relationships collapsed. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and didn’t know how to let that be safe.” I met his eyes then. “You didn’t just hurt my childhood. You shaped how I moved through the world as an adult.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know I did.”

The sincerity in it made my throat burn. I hated that reaction. “I’ve met someone now,” I said, forcing myself to continue. “A man who loves me for who I am, not for who he can control, or fix, or outlast. Someone who doesn’t mistake endurance for devotion. And I’m not going to let your shadow take that from me. I won’t destroy something good just to stay loyal to my bullshit past.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said immediately. “You deserve better than that.”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s the difference.” The silence that followed wasn’t hostile. It was heavy. Honest. The kind that demanded accountability without theatrics. “I’m not ready to forgive you,” I said finally. “And I might never be. Forgiveness feels too final. Too neat. And what you did wasn’t.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t expect forgiveness.”

“But I am willing,” I continued, choosing each word with care, “to give you a chance. Not trust. Not closeness. A chance to prove that you are who you say you are now.”

His breath caught. “Thank you.”

“This chance has boundaries,” I said firmly. “You don’t get access to my life. You don’t get opinions. You don’t get to rewrite the past or minimize it. If you disappear again, that’s it. No explanations. No second or third fucking chances.”

“I understand,” he said. And for the first time, I believed that he truly did.

“This isn’t for you……This is for me. I need to know that letting go of anger doesn’t mean letting go of myself.”

He looked at me then, not with entitlement or nostalgia, but with something like humility. “If that’s all I’m allowed,” he said, “then that’s enough.” That surprised me.

We finished our coffee without saying much else. When we stood, there was no embrace. No gesture toward closeness. Just space, intentional and necessary. As I walked away, I didn’t feel lighter. But I felt intact. I hadn’t forgiven him. I hadn’t absolved him. I hadn’t rewritten history. I had simply allowed myself to step out of the ruins without pretending they never existed. This wasn’t healing. It was proof of life.

Echo

”Is there an echo in here?”

Kayla shakes her head. She’s not wearing the elegant dress that she was last time, instead dressed closer to what we usually see. A black crop top with a leather jacket over that and black jeans.

”It’s almost like I called it, right? What you would say, the attitude that you would have. It’s because you’re predictable, Bella. You are incredibly predictable. You think this is some kind of game with me? Do you think this is something I just do for fun? This is my life. I have said it before and I will say it again: people think that I don’t love this business because I don’t say it very often. So when I do say something like this, you should listen. I love professional wrestling. Not everyone does. Some just look at it as a means to an end or a way to make money, but I love this business. I’ve loved this business since I took my first steps in it. And I wasn’t born into this. Not like you.”

“You were. And you are right, I don’t lie. In fact, there’s something that I’ve pointed out so many times. I don’t lie to my opponents. I don’t lie to fans. I don’t lie to management. When I stand here and I say something, I am always telling the truth. The truth from my perspective, anyway. Some think that that’s cruel and unusual. I just see myself as a realist. Something that you seem to agree with. In fact, you freely admitted that it pisses you off how right I am and how I don’t lie.”

“So tell me, Bella… how much of my truth did you actually listen to?”

“How much are you going to take to heart and actually use? You talk about respect, and you also talk about hating that same respect, and that is one of the first things I’ve heard out of your mouth that makes sense to me. Believe me, there are certain women in this business that I hate that I have respect for. I hate the fact that I had respect for Andrea Hernandez at one point. When she beat me, I applauded her, but my respect was misplaced. Same with Frankie Holiday when she beat me and took that Bombshells Championship from me. I had respect for her. Only for her to piss it all away. So why should I continue giving my respect to anybody when they don’t really earn shit and they constantly disappoint me?”

She pauses and shakes her head, trying to hide her frustration, anger, and disappointment.

”Much like you. You disappoint me, Bella. We are going into this hardcore match, a match with no rules, which will allow me to do whatever I want to your pretty little face, and you are focusing on all the things I’ve said about you in the past. You are talking me up, talking about my championships and what I’ve been able to accomplish, and the fact that I don’t quit. All the while comparing me to you and saying how you want to be that way. Listen, sweetheart, you and I aren’t the same. You were born into this business with a mother and a father who could show you the ropes. You have had every opportunity given to you because of that name, despite the fact that you tried to move away from it in the beginning.”

“But respect is something poisonous. You respect me because you’re too busy looking up at me, and people who look up never land the killing blow. People who are constantly looking up don’t see those standing behind them with daggers ready to stab them in the back. I have eyes on all sides, and you are currently below me, beneath me in talent and status. But I also know that if you had the balls, you would have a dagger at the ready to jab right into my back and take my spot.”

“And if you did that?… shit, I’d respect that…”

“Thing is, you won’t. You can’t. You have completely misunderstood what I’ve been trying to tell you. Yeah, you’re not a big enough bitch. You do care too much about what people think of you, all the while worrying too much about what I think of you. When I say to you that you are almost there, that you’ve almost made it, that you are on the cusp of getting to that next level, I’m not giving you a compliment. You have been ‘a moment away’ for years, which means all that has happened is you’ve gotten louder while standing in the same fucking place.”

She gets to her feet, moving around the room. It seems to be almost the opposite of how it was the first time. Instead of it being bright and Kayla looking like some kind of glamour model, now she is definitely more like herself. The room is dark. She reaches forward, grabbing a glass which is filled with some kind of amber liquid, taking a sip before placing it down and pushing out a deep breath.

”Your life, your entire career, has been built off the word ‘almost.’ Bella is almost a champion, almost ready to become a main event player, almost ready to become like her mother. Almost ready to become like Kayla fucking Richards. But almost is not a legacy. Almost is not what gets you in the record books. And almost isn’t what gets you where you need to be. Imagined crowns do not make you a real queen. Imagined championships don’t make you a champion, and imagined careers don’t make you a legend.”

“I said it, didn’t I? I told you that you were going to go down this route. You want so badly to be me, but you never will be. You are still figuring it out, by your own admission. I don’t figure anything out. I already know. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, if you haven’t finally gotten to the point where you know what it takes to become champion and to do everything that others have, then you never will. You have had every single advantage handed to you, and you haven’t been able to make it work.”

“So you never will.”

“And this match will go a long way to proving that. You can keep on playing the underdog who’s still learning all you want, but if you are still doing this after five years of being in some of the best companies this business has ever seen, then you are either so ignorant that you can’t learn anything that isn’t shoved directly in your face, or you just can’t figure it out and you’re nowhere near as good as you believe yourself to be, or as good as your mother believes you to be. At Inception, you are going to be stepping in the ring with the most dangerous woman on this roster, in a match where there are no rules. A match where I can do whatever I damn well please to you and get away with it. If you are an underdog, if you are still figuring it out, then when we get into the ring, I am going to eat you alive, Bella. You can spend all the time you want looking up to me, because I’ll be looking down at you, broken, ended, where you belong.”

[BellaMadison]

~*~Five Years, Finally~*~
New York City
January Night

New York had thawed just enough to make the night crisp rather than brutal, the kind of cold that bit lightly at exposed skin but didn’t punish you for stepping outside. Steam curled from subway grates, headlights reflected in rain-damp pavement, and the whole city hummed with that particular after-holiday glow, quieter than December, brighter than February, suspended between seasons.

Bella and Malachi walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever. No sticky toddler fingers on their clothes, no toy wolf peeking out of a diaper bag, no sippy cups or emergency snack packs. Just them, finally.

Mal’s cold had broken earlier that week, leaving him pale but alive, and absolutely determined to reclaim their anniversary night.

“You sure you feel up for this?” Bella asked, bumping her shoulder into his.

Mal looked down at her with a smirk that barely hid the lingering congestion, "Woman, I have waited five years for a date where I wasn’t either recovering from a match or chasing a toddler. I would crawl through the city on my knees for this.”

She laughed, leaning into him, "That’s so romantic.”

“Honest,” he corrected.

They turned the corner toward the restaurant, it wasn’t flashy, not exclusive, but warm and candle-lit, one of those tucked-away Manhattan places that looked like it belonged in an old movie. One that reminded them both of the place where they had their first date in Paris but it wasn’t crowded or loud on this night. Mal opened the door for her, and the host led them to a booth by the window, the city stretching out behind Bella in neon streaks and reflections.

When the wine arrived, red for her, whiskey for him, they clinked glasses.

“Five years,” Bella said softly.

“Five years,” Mal echoed, eyes steady on hers.

Dinner came in courses, slow and rich, letting them breathe. Letting them talk. Letting them remember they were not just parents and wrestlers and partners in chaos, they were them.

When dessert arrived, something chocolate and decadent that Bella insisted she didn’t want and then ate half of, Mal leaned back, studying her with a softer expression.

“You seem lighter,” he said finally.

“I feel lighter,” Bella admitted, "Between Christmas, beating Alicia, starting to really figure myself out... it feels like everything’s finally clicking.”

Mal nodded slowly, absorbing that, thumb tracing the rim of his glass.

There was a quiet moment, not awkward, not tense, just full. Then he asked, gently, “So... you still thinking about the whole second kid thing?”

Bella didn’t freeze, but her breath did catch, just a fraction.

He noticed, of course he did.

“Hey,” he said immediately, reaching across the table, covering her hand with his, "I’m not pushing. I just...it came up before, and we never really finished talking about it.”

Bella exhaled, settling her head slightly to the side as she gathered her words.

“I think about it,” she admitted, "I really do. I love being a mom. I love her.” A small laugh escaped her, "I love us. The little disaster family we’ve built.”

Mal smiled quietly.

“But,” she added, voice lower now, steadier, “Last year I came so close to a lot of goals. I had a World Title shot practically in my hands and with everything going on now...with Kayla at my doorstep, Inception, this whole moment I’m finally stepping into. I can’t help feeling like, if I step away now...even for the best possible reason... I’ll lose that momentum.”

His thumb brushed her knuckles.

“And that scares you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bella breathed, "It does. Because I don’t want to have to choose between being a mom and being great at what I do. I don’t want Máire to grow up thinking her mom gave up her dreams because she had her and then her little brother or sister. I want her to see that I fought for this. For myself.”

Another breath.

“And...I want another kid someday. I really do. But right now? Right now I want this. I want to break the glass ceilings that I know I’ve been slamming in to. I want that spot that’s always just out of reach. I want Kayla. I want the title. I want the world to finally shut the fuck up about ‘potential’ because I’m done being potential.”

Mal was quiet, listening the way only he knew how, fully, completely, without interruption. Then he squeezed her hand.

“Bella,” he said, “I don’t want another kid if it costs you any of what you’re building right now. We’re not on a clock. We don’t owe anyone a timeline and Máire isn’t going to wonder why you’re working, she’s going to grow up bragging about you.”

Bella’s eyes softened, "You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, "She already thinks you hung the moon just by breathing near her. Imagine what she’ll think when she sees you standing on top of everything you’ve been fighting for.”

Bella leaned forward, resting her forehead briefly against their joined hands.

“I love you,” she murmured.

Mal grinned, "Well according to many I’m very lovable.”

She snorted, "You’re impossible.”

“You married me.”

“Questionable decision.”

“Five years says otherwise.”

They sat there, the city glowing around them, the weight of expectation lifting off Bella’s shoulders one quiet heartbeat at a time.

They stepped out into the crisp Manhattan air, their breaths rising in twin clouds as they moved down the sidewalk. Bella slipped her hand into Mal’s coat pocket, fingers tangling with his as they walked.

“You ready for Vegas?” he asked, voice easy, but his eyes searching hers the way he always did.

Bella looked ahead, toward the subway entrance glowing beneath the streetlamps, "More than ever,” she said, "I’m done waiting. I’m done being the almost-story. Kayla’s gonna learn that real quick.”

Mal smirked, "Then let’s get you to...”

Bella’s phone buzzed.

She didn’t think much of it, probably Laura sending pictures of Máire refusing bedtime, but something in the vibration made her pause. Too long. Too insistent.

She pulled it out. The headline hit like a gut punch.

“Breaking: Carter ‘Helluva Bottom’ McKinney Attacked in Las Vegas.”

Bella stopped dead on the sidewalk.

“Oh my god...” she whispered.

Mal immediately turned toward her, "What? What is it?”

She angled the phone so he could see. His face changed instantly, confusion first, then recognition, then something dark and sharp beneath it.

“No...” he muttered, "No fucking way.”

The live report kept updating below the headline, paramedics, statements pending, no official word on condition yet. Bella felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

She swallowed hard.

“Mal... we need to get out to Vegas. Now. Like... much sooner than planned.”

He didn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.

“Yeah,” he said, already reaching for his own phone, "We’re going. We’re going tonight if we have to.”

Bella exhaled shakily, the adrenaline hitting cold and fast. This wasn’t about Kayla, it wasn’t about Inception. This was the family she had built around them beyond blood. She tried to dial Miles but it went straight to voice mail, LJ and the same thing...she kicked herself for forgetting to load Ally’s number in before she got her new phone.

She gripped Mal’s arm tight, steadying herself.

“Let’s go get our girl from Mom,” she said, voice low, "And start packing.”

Mal nodded once, jaw tight but focused, "I’m right behind you.”

They turned on their heels and hurried toward the subway, the warm glow of their anniversary night already fading behind them, replaced by urgency, worry, and the fierce instinct that came with protecting the people they loved.

Bella didn’t look back.

Las Vegas was waiting.

And now they had to run toward it.


~*~GRAVEYARD OF GIANTS~*~
Las Vegas Neon Museum
Dusk

Twilight hit Las Vegas like a bruise blooming across the sky. That strange hour where the sun was technically gone, but the city hadn’t fully claimed the darkness yet. The air was cool but not cold, the kind of temperature that whispered lies about winter in the desert. The Neon Graveyard stretched before her, a boneyard of discarded legends, rusting metal, chipped paint, the hollowed-out ghosts of casinos that thought they’d be eternal.

They hadn’t been.

And that was precisely why Bella Madison came here.

She slipped through the narrow walkway between two massive broken letters, boots scraping the gravel, leather jacket shifting with each step. No ring gear for this, no costume, no theatrics. Just black denim jeans, scuffed boots, and a treasured leather coat and the expression of someone who’d stopped bluffing with herself a long time ago.

The old Stardust sign cast a soft, dying shimmer over her face, half-blue, half-gold, like she was caught between the person she used to be and the one she was fully stepping into now. She exhaled once, a slow breath that hung in the air.

“Kayla Richards.”

Her voice didn’t need volume; the graveyard carried it for her.

“You made this so fucking personal.”

Bella walked forward again, passing an arch of bent neon tubes and a collapsed sign shaped like a starburst. Her fingers dragged along the rusted metal, the texture scraping across her bandaged knuckles.

“You had a lot to say. A lot about me, about OUR division...there were some jabs about my mother. Hell you even managed to say a lot about Mal, in your own way. Of course about my family legacy. Of course you also had a lot to say about this company. You went to talk about everything except the one thing that matters.”

She turned, stepping backward now, staring down the camera like she’d finally chosen the perfect place to deliver a eulogy.

“You didn’t say a damn thing about my fight.”

A wry smile tugged at her lip.

“And that’s how I know you’re slipping.”

The soft desert wind cut through the graveyard, spinning dust at her heels.

“See, Kayla... you talk about dominance and about credibility. It’s always gotta be about the glory days you think you built with your bare hands. I mean, there is no denying that you dominated for a long time. You talk about Frankie blowing it, Amelia rising, Crystal embarrassing herself...which that was beautiful low hanging fruit that you know damn well I will agree with, there were something in there about tag team championship matches, mediocrity this, failure that...”

Her head tilted slowly.

“But you didn’t say a word about me, I mean not really.”

She stepped beneath a half-lit “Lady Luck” sign, the giant smiling woman missing half her face.

“I mean sure...you called me pampered. Brought up my whole ‘Second-generation’ which I am. I was a constant underdog who drags her ass into matches with people better than her. Cute little Cinderella story...Sweet little almost-there Bella.”

She rolled her shoulders back, the leather creaking.

“And you know what? I’m not even mad.”

Her eyes hardened.

“I’m disappointed.”

Bella knelt beside a fallen neon S, once a towering landmark, now toppled, forgotten.

“Because if this is the Kayla Richards the world warned me about?” she said softly, “Then they oversold you.”

She rose again, slow, deliberate, like a blade being drawn.

“You say this division fell apart when you stepped back. But Kayla, that’s not the truth, is it?” Her voice sharpened, "The truth is... you stepped back because for the first time in your entire career, the division didn’t revolve around you.”

She nodded, once, the statement landing like a verdict.

“You talk about mercy. Giving Frankie rope and letting her breathe and I guess letting the division breathe.” Bella took two steps forward, boots crunching against gravel, "Babe... nobody asked you to be the mother of this division. Nobody asked you to be its savior.”

She stopped directly under a defunct “QUEEN OF HEARTS” sign, her face lit crimson and violet.

“And now you’re angry because the kingdom didn’t freeze without you.”

Bella’s jaw flexed.

“I almost pity you...almost.”

Almost.

“Because for all your legendary violence, for all your dominance... for all your fearlessness... you have never, not once, known what it is to do what I’ve done.”

She pointed behind her to the graveyard of fallen giants.

“You’ve never walked through the ruins knowing you’re the one who belongs to the future, not the past.”

Her lips curled, the start of a dangerous smile.

“I’m still trying to figure out why you called me pampered. I mean, it’s what happens when you have a loving family that doesn’t attempt to step on your neck to keep you from following your dreams. But saying I rely on legacy? Saying that my parents die a little inside each time I struggle? Apparently you have never really met my mother or my dad to even say that...”

Bella stepped closer, shadows slicing across her face.

“Let’s talk about legacy then.”

Her voice dropped, low and razor-sharp.

“My mother never needed handouts. In fact the one time she actually accepted one and then started to go against the status quo, she was almost burned alive for it. My father never begged for respect, he took it out of every single person that he ever faced. They both fought and bled and they built something from nothing. And they never once acted like the division owed them anything when business changed.”

She inhaled.

“But you? You’re grieving a throne no one stole from you, you walked away from it. It didn’t matter that Frankie had a better night than you, you took your ball and instead of keeping yourself in the spotlight, you decided to pull back. And that’s ok, when you have to carry something for long, I get the need for a vacation but sweets...you did that to yourself. I would have loved on any given moment to stand by you and taken this whole damn place over. All you would have had to do was ask. BUT that’s not how Kayla Richards functions, that is not her mode of operation...Kayla always has to do shit her way.”

The lights flickered behind her, old circuits groaning back to life.

“I did like one thing you said. You told me to call my mother and ask her to explain the magnitude of this match to me. Trust me, I don’t need to. My mother doesn’t need to walk me through this like I’m stupid, Kayla. But I get why you said it, you’ve mistaken my patience for ignorance for years.”

Bella stepped into the glow of a broken neon heart.

“I understand it better than you do. I understood that everything that they needed to do, it was against the status quo to make them truly stand out. They brought the best of the best without backing down from the bullies that attempted to keep them down.”

Her voice sharpened, every syllable a cut.

“You’re not fighting me to teach me something. You’re fighting me because you see something....”

The breeze stirred her hair.

“You’re fighting me because I’m exactly what you used to be: hungry, violent, unafraid, and one win away from becoming the most dangerous woman in this company.”

She took a deep breath, steady and resolved.

“And you know damn well I can beat you. ANYONE can beat anyone on any given day...there isn’t a fucking soul that is untouchable anywhere, I don’t give a shit who you are or what your resume looks like, you are beatable.”

She touched the crown of thorns at her hip, it wasn’t seen until just now, not wearing it yet, but holding it like a weapon.

“You keep saying I bring the same old bullshit. That I’m an underdog chasing a miracle, that I need to damn near kill you to win.”

Bella’s eyes were flat, steady, cold.

“Good. I want you to think that because maaaaybe once upon a time that was the case, but seeing as of lately that I have found some amazing success finally grasping what I really am.”

She lifted the crown.

“Kayla, I didn’t come here to outwrestle you. You said I can’t keep up but the truth is, you’re terrified I finally found the pace you can’t outrun.”

She stepped into the full neon glow, the colors painting her like a warrior forged in broken light.

“I came here to bury the last piece of your era and crown the next one. And for the first time in your life, Kayla Richards...”

Bella placed the crown on her own head, the metal jagged and hungry, catching the fractured neon around her.

“You are the one who is a moment away.”

The graveyard hummed with the signs flickering, buzzing, coming to life one last time like they recognized the coronation.

Bella’s voice fell to a whisper.

“And I’m going to make sure you never get that moment back.”

She turned from the camera, walking deeper into the graveyard, into the broken remains of legends who thought they’d never fall.

The last line drifted in the twilight behind her:

“Queen of Hardcore. End of enablement. End of eras. Inception is where you burn out so I can rise.”

And then she was gone.