Chapter 1: Champion's Review, The Bitter Taste of Victory
The sweat still clung to Cynara’s skin like a second layer, sticky and stubborn. She slumped onto her couch, the springs groaning beneath her weight, and cracked open a cheap beer. The fizzy bite of it burned her throat, but it tasted like victory, even if her body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Her fingers twitched as she reached for the remote, the grainy footage already queued up on the ancient TV. The screen flickered to life, and there Jenny was, snarling like a feral cat in the penthouse. Her eyes burned with a hunger that made Cynara’s stomach twist.
"Bitch looked hungry," Cynara muttered, rewinding to watch Jenny’s opening stance again. The challenger’s muscles coiled like springs, ready to snap. "Like she hadn’t eaten in a week." Cynara leaned forward, her elbows digging into her knees, as the tape played. Marco’s bald head gleamed under the penthouse lights, his hand raised to signal the start of the match. She fast-forwarded, impatient. "Love you, Marco, but get on with it," she said, her voice dry.
The first take down came fast—too fast. Jenny’s speed was a punch to the gut, and Cynara paused the tape, her breath hitching. "Okay, rookie move, Cynara," she muttered, rewinding. "Underestimated her reach." On screen, Jenny’s body slammed into hers, the force of it sending her sprawling. Cynara winced, her shoulder throbbing in sympathy as she watched herself writhe under Jenny’s weight. The challenger’s relentless energy pressed her into the carpet, her breath shallow and ragged. "Remember thinking my lungs were gonna explode," Cynara confessed to the empty room, reaching for the beer again. "That girl doesn’t quit."
Jenny’s signature move, the "Apartment Eviction," played out in slow motion. Cynara’s body twisted unnaturally, her face contorted in pain. "Almost had me there, sweetheart," she admitted, pausing the tape. She rewound it, watching intently. Now she's got that belt. Jenny found it under the penthouse owner's couch. I'll let you wonder how it got there. I'll never forget the agony of her rubbing that leather around my throat. Jenny kept twisting it hard, letting the belt scrape away flesh. No wonder I just collapsed on the floor. She pins me. And she bites my big toe, just to show what a big, bad girl she really is. Jenny shouldn't have done that to me. You can beat me, but don't try to humiliate me like that. I won't tolerate that.After she pins Cynara to win her first fall, Jenny bites the champion's toes in an attempt at humiliation. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That’s my title, bitch. You want it, you gotta earn it."
The second fall came next. Jenny’s face contorted in frustration as Cynara pinned her, the plush carpet vibrating with the impact. Now she's down and finished for the second fall! I'd rather have a girl submit that lose to a pin anytime. See how she squirms while I sit on her back and spread her legs? Did you hear those moans she made through clenched teeth? I know she couldn't stand the agony. I could feel the muscles begin to spasmodically jerk and felt her back squirm helplessly beneath my pressure. See her head twist? That shows she could no longer control herself and had to surrender. Notice how I wait a couple of seconds before I release her. There! That little twist I gave her when I released her legs. That hurt. It's a little something to remember me by. "Saw the fire die in her eyes then," Cynara observed, a hint of pity creeping into her voice. But Jenny wasn’t done. She came back swinging, her fists a blur of raw adrenaline. The tape showed Cynara taking a beating, her carefully planned strategy crumbling under Jenny’s onslaught. "This is where it got messy," Cynara admitted, rubbing her shoulder. "Started improvising. Dangerous game."
She watched herself execute the "Rent’s Due" maneuver, a risky move that could’ve easily backfired. Her body twisted mid-air, her legs locking around Jenny’s neck as she slammed her into the carpet. "Ballsy," she whispered, impressed despite herself. The final pin came next. Oh, I like this part best of all. I twisted her around like she was a top, grabbed her hair, and sent my foot hard into the small of her back. Now I push off my foot, only to quickly kick her in the groin from behind. And down goes Jenny, doubled over in agony. Poor little girl. That's what you get, dear, when you play with big kids.
Jenny struggles back here and I let her. Let her exhaust herself with what little strength she has. She's harmless but why not make her helpless, also? It's always good to have your opponent overwhelmed at the end. Then if you meet her again, she'll try to conserve her energy. Then she's a pushover. You have to be cunning as well as powerful. She's down and I'm straddling her now. See how I twist her head? Nothing is wasted. While I'm wrenching her neck all out of shape, my fingernails dig into her forehead and cheek. Long fingernails may be sexy, but they are also useful. Now I let her get up. I grab her bra again but for a very different reason. I press my hand against her face, working on her pretty little neck again. Make the body go one way and the head another. My nails are also digging into her face.
Now I let her bra go only to grab it again. Did you see that timing? As she's coming towards me, I slam her in the chin with a perfect right cross. See that chick crumple to the floor? It's all over but the final humiliation, baby.
There it goes. As I told you before, I'd rather have her submit than pin her. See my legs around her waist. Now I crush her temples with my palms as I squeeze the air from lungs. Look at her face. Her whole body is begging her to submit but she's proud. Poor, proud Jenny. Give up, baby, save yourself a lot of pain.
And it's all over! Did you see how she screamed, "I quit!"? That probably hurt more than anything I did. See her face contort in agony, trying to hold it back. And notice that last little squeeze I gave her to remember me by? Something a little extra from the champion, Jenny baby. Marco’s hand slapping the mat with finality. The roar of the nonexistent crowd filled the room, but Cynara muted the TV, the silence amplifying the ache in her body.
Jenny’s crying defeated face lingered on the screen, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Cynara killed the power, plunging the room into darkness. The taste of victory suddenly felt a little bitter. She leaned back, the weight of the crown pressing down on her skull. Everyone was coming for it, and she knew she’d have to do it all over again soon. The thought made her bones ache.
Her fingers drummed against the beer can, the hollow sound echoing in the quiet. The apartment was a shrine to her wrestling career, the walls lined with trophies and faded posters, but tonight it felt more like a cage. The hum of the TV was a constant companion, but even it couldn’t drown out the noise in her head. She took another swig of beer, the bitterness lingering on her tongue. The crown was heavy, and everyone was coming for it.
Cynara grabbed the remote, her thumb hovering over the rewind button. "Alright, let's see where the champ fucked up," she muttered, a grim smile playing on her lips. The tape spooled backward, the sounds of grunts and slams blurring into a distorted mess. She stopped abruptly, rewinding again in slow motion.
"There," she said, pointing at the screen. "Right before the Apartment Eviction." On screen, she was hesitating, just for a split second, before launching into the move. Her weight shifted slightly to the left, her eyes darting to Marco for reassurance.
"Doubt," Cynara whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's all it takes." She replayed the moment again and again, dissecting her own body language, searching for the telltale signs of hesitation. Her fingers clenched the remote tighter with each repetition.
"See how my weight shifted?" she said, pointing to her left foot. "Should've committed fully. Jenny picked up on that." The challenger's eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto Cynara's in the grainy footage. A predator sensing weakness.
"She knew I wasn't all in," Cynara acknowledged, a flicker of respect in her eyes. "Smart bitch." She replayed the sequence, imagining herself committing fully, picturing the move executed flawlessly. In her mind's eye, Jenny crumpled faster, harder.
"Gotta trust the instincts," she reminded herself, her fingers tightening around the beer can. "No room for second-guessing in the penthouse." The image of Jenny's determined face flashed in her mind, those dark eyes burning with hunger.
She paused the tape, the image frozen on the screen: Cynara's face contorted in a grimace, Jenny's eyes burning with intensity. "She wanted it bad," Cynara admitted, a hint of admiration in her voice. The way Jenny had come at her, relentless and savage - it had been impressive.
"But wanting ain't enough," she added, a steely edge returning to her voice. "Gotta be willing to bleed for it." She took a long swig of beer, the alcohol burning away the doubt. Her knuckles were still raw from the match.
She rewound the tape again, this time focusing on Jenny's movements, studying her strengths and weaknesses, searching for patterns and vulnerabilities. The rookie was fast, but her footwork was sloppy in the corners.
"Her ground game's weak," Cynara observed, spotting a subtle flaw in Jenny's technique. "Relies too much on brute force. Predictable." She made a mental note, filing away the information for future reference. Every opponent had a weakness; it was just a matter of finding it.
She fast-forwarded to the final pin, watching herself execute the Rent's Due maneuver with precision and power. "That's how it's done," she said, a smug grin spreading across her face. The way Jenny had crumpled - it was beautiful.
But even in victory, she saw room for improvement. "Could've added a little more flair," she mused, imagining a more dramatic twist or a more devastating slam. The crowd would've eaten it up.
She replayed the final moments, savoring the feeling of triumph, the roar of the crowd, the taste of victory. But even as she basked in the afterglow, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of her mind. The doubts crept in like shadows.
"It's never enough," she whispered, the weight of the crown pressing down on her skull. "Gotta keep pushing, keep evolving, keep reinventing myself." She finished the beer, the bitterness coating her tongue. The empty can clattered to the floor.
She ejected the tape, the plastic cassette clicking into her hand. She stared at it for a long moment, a mix of pride and exhaustion swirling within her. The apartment was silent, the only sound her own breathing. She tossed the tape onto a pile of others, a monument to her victories and a reminder of the battles yet to come. The crown was heavy, and the climb never ended.
Cynara leaned back, the springs in her couch squeaking in protest. Her fingers traced the rim of her beer can, the aluminum cool against her skin. She closed her eyes, and the image of the penthouse flashed in her mind. Crystal chandeliers, sleek furniture, marble floors that gleamed like mirrors—it was a world away from her cramped apartment with its peeling wallpaper and the faint stink of old popcorn. She let herself drift back there, to the opulence that had surrounded her as she wrestled, to the way the light had caught the sweat on her skin and made her feel like a star.
She remembered walking in, the air thick with anticipation. The room had gone quiet, the kind of silence that made her pulse quicken. Every eye was on her, the champion, the main attraction. She’d caught snippets of conversation—"That’s her," "She’s even more impressive in person"—and let the words wash over her like a warm bath. The men in their tailored suits, their faces a mix of lust and respect, had stared at her like she was something untouchable. And she was.
Dave Moll’s voice echoed in her memory, deep and commanding. "In every way, Cynara is a desirable woman and champion." She’d stood there, chin up, letting the words sink in. Desirable. Champion. They weren’t just words; they were armor. She’d worked for them, bled for them. No scrawny girl like Jenny was going to take that away from her.
Jenny’s face flickered in her mind—those hungry eyes, the way she’d looked at the belt like it was already hers. Cynara had seen that look before, on every challenger who thought they could dethrone her. But Jenny’s eyes had betrayed her. Beneath the hunger, there was fear. Cynara had seen it, and she’d known right then that Jenny was already beaten.
She didn’t bother sizing up her opponents before a match. What was the point? Let them strategize, let them analyze. She trusted her instincts, her years of experience. She was the champion, and champions didn’t waste time on trivialities.
Cynara didn’t hate her opponents. Hate was too strong a word, too much energy wasted. But she didn’t respect them, either. They were obstacles, nothing more. Jenny had wanted what she had—the fame, the glory, the adoration. But wanting wasn’t enough. You had to be willing to bleed for it.
She remembered looking into Jenny’s eyes, seeing the desperation to be known as the girl who beat Cynara. But beneath that desperation, there was fear. Jenny had known what she was up against, and it had shown in the way she’d hesitated, the way she’d flinched when Cynara stepped closer.
Cynara had had her squirming in the palm of her hand before the match even started. It was all in the eyes—the confidence, the power. Jenny had never stood a chance.
The celebrities had been there, as they always were. Faces she recognized from movies, from magazines, from the news. They’d flown in from L.A., from New York, just to watch her wrestle. They wanted to see the best, and she was the best.
She savored the feeling of being the center of attention, the most special person in the room. In those moments, she felt more than beautiful—she felt untouchable.
Cynara had known she could take Jenny with no trouble. She was the best, and there was no girl in the world who could beat her.
The apartments she’d wrestled in were always elaborate, always luxurious. She loved being surrounded by expensive things, even if it was only for a night. It was like stepping onto a movie set, and she was the star.
Jenny’s fear had been palpable, even before the match started. Cynara had seen it in her eyes, in the way she’d shifted her weight, in the way she’d tried to hide her nerves.
Cynara didn’t respect her opponents. They wanted what she had, but they didn’t deserve it. They hadn’t earned it.
She closed her eyes, the memories of the penthouse, the crowd, and Jenny’s defeated face swirling in her mind. She was the champion, and she would do whatever it took to stay on top.
A knock at the door broke her reverie, sharp and insistent. She sighed, set the beer down, and pushed herself off the couch. The world outside her wrestling bubble was calling, and she couldn’t ignore it forever.
Cynara had always been a fighter, but even the strongest warriors needed a break. She took a deep breath, savoring the quiet moment. The hum of the TV was a constant companion, but tonight it felt more like a lifeline. She grabbed another beer from the fridge, the cold can a welcome distraction. The taste of victory was still fresh, but it was starting to fade, replaced by something else. Something she couldn’t quite name.
Cynara’s apartment was a shrine to her wrestling career, the walls lined with trophies and faded posters. The scent of sweat and old popcorn lingered in the air, a reminder of the countless hours she’d spent training. She slumped onto the couch, the springs groaning beneath her weight. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the TV. She cracked open the beer, the fizzy bite of it burning her throat. It tasted like victory, even if her body felt like it had been through a meat grinder.
Her fingers twitched as she reached for the remote, the grainy footage already queued up on the ancient TV. The screen flickered to life, and there Jenny was, snarling like a feral cat in the penthouse. Her eyes burned with a hunger that made Cynara’s stomach twist. "Bitch looked hungry," Cynara muttered, rewinding to watch Jenny’s opening stance again. The challenger’s muscles coiled like springs, ready to snap. "Like she hadn’t eaten in a week."
She leaned forward, her elbows digging into her knees, as the tape played. Marco’s bald head gleamed under the penthouse lights, his hand raised to signal the start of the match. She fast-forwarded, impatient. "Love you, Marco, but get on with it," she said, her voice dry. The first take down came fast—too fast. Jenny’s speed was a punch to the gut, and Cynara paused the tape, her breath hitching. "Okay, rookie move, Cynara," she muttered, rewinding. "Underestimated her reach."
On screen, Jenny’s body slammed into hers, the force of it sending her sprawling. Cynara winced, her shoulder throbbing in sympathy as she watched herself writhe under Jenny’s weight. The challenger’s relentless energy pressed her into the carpet, her breath shallow and ragged. "Remember thinking my lungs were gonna explode," Cynara confessed to the empty room, reaching for the beer again. "That girl doesn’t quit."
Jenny’s signature move, the "Apartment Eviction," played out in slow motion. Cynara’s body twisted unnaturally, her face contorted in pain. "Almost had me there, sweetheart," she admitted, pausing the tape. She rewound it, watching intently. Now she's got that belt. Jenny found it under the penthouse owner's couch. I'll let you wonder how it got there. I'll never forget the agony of her rubbing that leather around my throat. Jenny kept twisting it hard, letting the belt scrape away flesh. No wonder I just collapsed on the floor. She pins me. And she bites my big toe, just to show what a big, bad girl she really is. Jenny shouldn't have done that to me. You can beat me, but don't try to humiliate me like that. I won't tolerate that.
After she pins Cynara to win her first fall, Jenny bites the champion's toes in an attempt at humiliation. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That’s my title, bitch. You want it, you gotta earn it." The second fall came next. Jenny’s face contorted in frustration as Cynara pinned her, the plush carpet vibrating with the impact. Now she's down and finished for the second fall! I'd rather have a girl submit that lose to a pin anytime. See how she squirms while I sit on her back and spread her legs? Did you hear those moans she made through clenched teeth? I know she couldn't stand the agony. I could feel the muscles begin to spasmodically jerk and felt her back squirm helplessly beneath my pressure.
See her head twist? That shows she could no longer control herself and had to surrender. Notice how I wait a couple of seconds before I release her. There! That little twist I gave her when I released her legs. That hurt. It's a little something to remember me by. "Saw the fire die in her eyes then," Cynara observed, a hint of pity creeping into her voice. But Jenny wasn’t done. She came back swinging, her fists a blur of raw adrenaline. The tape showed Cynara taking a beating, her carefully planned strategy crumbling under Jenny’s onslaught. "This is where it got messy," Cynara admitted, rubbing her shoulder. "Started improvising. Dangerous game."
She watched herself execute the "Rent’s Due" maneuver, a risky move that could’ve easily backfired. Her body twisted mid-air, her legs locking around Jenny’s neck as she slammed her into the carpet. "Ballsy," she whispered, impressed despite herself. The final pin came next. Oh, I like this part best of all. I twisted her around like she was a top, grabbed her hair, and sent my foot hard into the small of her back. Now I push off my foot, only to quickly kick her in the groin from behind. And down goes Jenny, doubled over in agony. Poor little girl. That's what you get, dear, when you play with big kids.
Jenny struggles back here and I let her. Let her exhaust herself with what little strength she has. She's harmless but why not make her helpless, also? It's always good to have your opponent overwhelmed at the end. Then if you meet her again, she'll try to conserve her energy. Then she's a pushover. You have to be cunning as well as powerful. She's down and I'm straddling her now. See how I twist her head? Nothing is wasted. While I'm wrenching her neck all out of shape, my fingernails dig into her forehead and cheek. Long fingernails may be sexy, but they are also useful.
Now I let her get up. I grab her bra again but for a very different reason. I press my hand against her face, working on her pretty little neck again. Make the body go one way and the head another. My nails are also digging into her face. Now I let her bra go only to grab it again. Did you see that timing? As she's coming towards me, I slam her in the chin with a perfect right cross. See that chick crumple to the floor? It's all over but the final humiliation, baby.
There it goes. As I told you before, I'd rather have her submit than pin her. See my legs around her waist. Now I crush her temples with my palms as I squeeze the air from lungs. Look at her face. Her whole body is begging her to submit but she's proud. Poor, proud Jenny. Give up, baby, save yourself a lot of pain. And it's all over! Did you see how she screamed, "I quit! That probably hurt more than anything I did. See her face contort in agony, trying to hold it back. And notice that last little squeeze I gave her to remember me by? Something a little extra from the champion, Jenny baby.
Marco’s hand slapping the mat with finality. The roar of the nonexistent crowd filled the room, but Cynara muted the TV, the silence amplifying the ache in her body. Jenny’s crying defeated face lingered on the screen, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Cynara killed the power, plunging the room into darkness. The taste of victory suddenly felt a little bitter. She leaned back, the weight of the crown pressing down on her skull. Everyone was coming for it, and she knew she’d have to do it all over again soon. The thought made her bones ache.
Her fingers drummed against the beer can, the hollow sound echoing in the quiet. The apartment was a shrine to her wrestling career, the walls lined with trophies and faded posters, but tonight it felt more like a cage. The hum of the TV was a constant companion, but even it couldn’t drown out the noise in her head. She took another swig of beer, the bitterness lingering on her tongue. The crown was heavy, and everyone was coming for it.
Cynara grabbed the remote, her thumb hovering over the rewind button. "Alright, let's see where the champ fucked up," she muttered, a grim smile playing on her lips. The tape spooled backward, the sounds of grunts and slams blurring into a distorted mess. She stopped abruptly, rewinding again in slow motion.
"There," she said, pointing at the screen. "Right before the Apartment Eviction." On screen, she was hesitating, just for a split second, before launching into the move. Her weight shifted slightly to the left, her eyes darting to Marco for reassurance. "Doubt," Cynara whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's all it takes." She replayed the moment again and again, dissecting her own body language, searching for the telltale signs of hesitation. Her fingers clenched the remote tighter with each repetition.
"See how my weight shifted?" she said, pointing to her left foot. "Should've committed fully. Jenny picked up on that." The challenger's eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto Cynara's in the grainy footage. A predator sensing weakness. "She knew I wasn't all in," Cynara acknowledged, a flicker of respect in her eyes. "Smart bitch." She replayed the sequence, imagining herself committing fully, picturing the move executed flawlessly. In her mind's eye, Jenny crumpled faster, harder.
"Gotta trust the instincts," she reminded herself, her fingers tightening around the beer can. "No room for second-guessing in the penthouse." The image of Jenny's determined face flashed in her mind, those dark eyes burning with hunger. She paused the tape, the image frozen on the screen: Cynara's face contorted in a grimace, Jenny's eyes burning with intensity. "She wanted it bad," Cynara admitted, a hint of admiration in her voice. The way Jenny had come at her, relentless and savage - it had been impressive.
"But wanting ain't enough," she added, a steely edge returning to her voice. "Gotta be willing to bleed for it." She took a long swig of beer, the alcohol burning away the doubt. Her knuckles were still raw from the match. She rewound the tape again, this time focusing on Jenny's movements, studying her strengths and weaknesses, searching for patterns and vulnerabilities. The rookie was fast, but her footwork was sloppy in the corners.
"Her ground game's weak," Cynara observed, spotting a subtle flaw in Jenny's technique. "Relies too much on brute force. Predictable." She made a mental note, filing away the information for future reference. Every opponent had a weakness; it was just a matter of finding it. She fast-forwarded to the final pin, watching herself execute the Rent's Due maneuver with precision and power. "That's how it's done," she said, a smug grin spreading across her face. The way Jenny had crumpled - it was beautiful.
But even in victory, she saw room for improvement. "Could've added a little more flair," she mused, imagining a more dramatic twist or a more devastating slam. The crowd would've eaten it up. She replayed the final moments, savoring the feeling of triumph, the roar of the crowd, the taste of victory. But even as she basked in the afterglow, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of her mind. The doubts crept in like shadows.
"It's never enough," she whispered, the weight of the crown pressing down on her skull. "Gotta keep pushing, keep evolving, keep reinventing myself." She finished the beer, the bitterness coating her tongue. The empty can clattered to the floor. She ejected the tape, the plastic cassette clicking into her hand. She stared at it for a long moment, a mix of pride and exhaustion swirling within her. The apartment was silent, the only sound her own breathing. She tossed the tape onto a pile of others, a monument to her victories and a reminder of the battles yet to come. The crown was heavy, and the climb never ended.
Cynara leaned back, the springs in her couch squeaking in protest. Her fingers traced the rim of her beer can, the aluminum cool against her skin. She closed her eyes, and the image of the penthouse flashed in her mind. Crystal chandeliers, sleek furniture, marble floors that gleamed like mirrors—it was a world away from her cramped apartment with its peeling wallpaper and the faint stink of old popcorn. She let herself drift back there, to the opulence that had surrounded her as she wrestled, to the way the light had caught the sweat on her skin and made her feel like a star.
She remembered walking in, the air thick with anticipation. The room had gone quiet, the kind of silence that made her pulse quicken. Every eye was on her, the champion, the main attraction. She’d caught snippets of conversation—"That’s her," "She’s even more impressive in person"—and let the words wash over her like a warm bath. The men in their tailored suits, their faces a mix of lust and respect, had stared at her like she was something untouchable. And she was.
Dave Moll’s voice echoed in her memory, deep and commanding. "In every way, Cynara is a desirable woman and champion." She’d stood there, chin up, letting the words sink in. Desirable. Champion. They weren’t just words; they were armor. She’d worked for them, bled for them. No scrawny girl like Jenny was going to take that away from her.
Jenny’s face flickered in her mind—those hungry eyes, the way she’d looked at the belt like it was already hers. Cynara had seen that look before, on every challenger who thought they could dethrone her. But Jenny’s eyes had betrayed her. Beneath the hunger, there was fear. Cynara had seen it, and she’d known right then that Jenny was already beaten.
She didn’t bother sizing up her opponents before a match. What was the point? Let them strategize, let them analyze. She trusted her instincts, her years of experience. She was the champion, and champions didn’t waste time on trivialities.
Cynara didn’t hate her opponents. Hate was too strong a word, too much energy wasted. But she didn’t respect them, either. They were obstacles, nothing more. Jenny had wanted what she had—the fame, the glory, the adoration. But wanting wasn’t enough. You had to be willing to bleed for it.
She remembered looking into Jenny’s eyes, seeing the desperation to be known as the girl who beat Cynara. But beneath that desperation, there was fear. Jenny had known what she was up against, and it had shown in the way she’d hesitated, the way she’d flinched when Cynara stepped closer.
Cynara had had her squirming in the palm of her hand before the match even started. It was all in the eyes—the confidence, the power. Jenny had never stood a chance.
The celebrities had been there, as they always were. Faces she recognized from movies, from magazines, from the news. They’d flown in from L.A., from New York, just to watch her wrestle. They wanted to see the best, and she was the best.
She savored the feeling of being the center of attention, the most special person in the room. In those moments, she felt more than beautiful—she felt untouchable.
Cynara had known she could take Jenny with no trouble. She was the best, and there was no girl in the world who could beat her.
The apartments she’d wrestled in were always elaborate, always luxurious. She loved being surrounded by expensive things, even if it was only for a night. It was like stepping onto a movie set, and she was the star.
Jenny’s fear had been palpable, even before the match started. Cynara had seen it in her eyes, in the way she’d shifted her weight, in the way she’d tried to hide her nerves.
Cynara didn’t respect her opponents. They wanted what she had, but they didn’t deserve it. They hadn’t earned it.
She closed her eyes, the memories of the penthouse, the crowd, and Jenny’s defeated face swirling in her mind. She was the champion, and she would do whatever it took to stay on top.
A knock at the door broke her reverie, sharp and insistent. She sighed, set the beer down, and pushed herself off the couch.
Cynara opened the door a crack, peering through the chain. Marco's bald head gleamed in the dim hallway light, a hopeful smile plastered on his face. "Just checking in, champ," he said, his voice a little too loud. "Make sure you're celebrating responsibly."
Cynara sighed, unhooking the chain. "Come on in, Marco," she said, stepping aside. "But don't expect a party. Just me and a pile of tapes." Marco shuffled in, his eyes scanning the room, lingering on the trophies and posters.
"Another victory, another night of studying the tapes," Marco said, shaking his head in admiration. "You never let up, do you? That's why you're the best." Cynara shrugged, grabbing another beer from the fridge.
"Gotta stay sharp, Marco," she said, popping the top. "Everyone's gunning for the crown. Can't afford to get complacent." Marco nodded, his gaze settling on the discarded tape of the match with Jenny.
"That Jenny gave you a run for your money, though," Marco said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Thought she might actually take you down there for a minute." Cynara laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.
"She had some fire, I'll give her that," Cynara admitted, taking a swig of beer. "But fire ain't enough. Gotta have the brains to back it up." Marco perches on the edge of the couch, his eyes never leaving Cynara's face.