Chapter 89: Divorce Requires a Beatdown

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The morning of the fight came way too fast. Honestly, it felt like time sped up whenever I was about to do something really dumb...like agreeing to a formal match against my husband in front of an audience that already had money on how quickly I’d hit the floor.

For three days straight, I had trained harder than I ever thought I could. Nikolai had pushed me through footwork drills, counters, balance exercises, and enough repetitions to make me wonder if he secretly hated me.

Or if he had fallen for me and really wanted me to win this fight. The man had the emotional range of a sassy cat, so either option felt equally possible.

I spent hours watching Lorenzo whenever I could, focusing on how he moved, how he reacted when challenged, and, most importantly, the habits I noticed without actually saying anything. The way his left shoulder dipped a fraction before a heavy strike. The tiny pause he took when someone circled to his right. Tiny things. Useless things, according to everyone else. Perfect things, according to me.

I had a plan. A terrible plan, sure. A risky one, absolutely. But it was mine.

And I wasn’t sharing it with anyone, yet. Not even you fine people. Some secrets are better left unspoken until the moment they either save your life or get you laughed out of the room.

That morning, I stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with the sleeves of my black training shirt while trying to ignore the twisting in my stomach. The fabric still felt stiff, like it hadn’t quite accepted that I was the one wearing it.

The contract stayed heavily in my thoughts. If I won, I’d finally get my freedom. A real divorce.

No more pretending. No more wondering if Lorenzo would change his mind. No more waking up next to the man who had somehow turned into the most confusing part of my life.

If I lost... well, I didn’t want to think about that. Thinking about that led to thinking about other things, and those other things usually involved me ending up back in that oversized bed with a very smug Alpha on top of me.

I pulled my shirt into place and checked myself out again. I looked different. Not drastically, but enough for me to notice.

Two weeks of training had changed me. My shoulders were slightly more defined, my posture improved, and I no longer looked like someone who’d fall over his own feet if someone came at me. I looked nervous. I was nervous. But beneath that, there was something tougher.

Determination. Or mild insanity. The line between the two had gotten blurry sometime around day two of Nikolai’s "just one more set" philosophy.

I wasn’t walking into that room trying to prove I was stronger than Lorenzo. I wasn’t even going to pretend. I was going in there because I had spent too much of my life being told I couldn’t decide what happened to me. Today, I was making my own choice. And if that choice involved getting punched in the face by a man who looked like he’d been carved out of marble and bad decisions, so be it.

A soft knock broke my thoughts. "Come in."

Leon opened the door cautiously, holding a bottle of water and looking at me with the worried expression he had every morning since I started training.

The kind of expression that said he’d already prepared a eulogy and was just waiting for the right moment to use it. "You ready, sir?"

"Uh...define ready."

He gave me a faint smile. "I brought this." He handed me the bottle. The plastic was cold against my palm, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected.

"Thanks."

"And I brought another one for afterward."

I raised an eyebrow. "How long do you think this fight is going to last?"

"I have no idea...I’ve never been in a fight before."

"That’s comforting. Really sells the whole ’you’ve got this’ energy."

Leon sighed. "You should be careful."

"I plan to be."

He hesitated, stepping closer to straighten my collar like I was a kid about to leave for the first day of school instead of a grown Omega about to throw hands with a mafia Don. "You look serious."

"I am serious."

"I know."

I frowned. "You’re not going to tell me to be careful again, are you?"

"I was going to."

"Please don’t."

He smiled. "Then I’ll just say I believe in you."

I looked at him for a moment. That was even worse...my throat tightened. "Thanks."

I believe in you...that’s when I realized in my whole life no one had ever said that to me before. The words sat strangely in my chest, heavy and light at the same time.

Before we could dive into anything too emotional that might make me pretend there was dust in my eye, another knock came.

Nikolai stepped in, looking as calm as always. Of course. I was standing there, heart racing, and Nikolai looked ready to grab groceries. Or, more accurately, ready to watch me get my ass handed to me and then critique my form afterward.

"You ready?"

"No."

"Good."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means you’re taking this seriously." He scrutinized me briefly, then nodded. "Remember what we practiced."

"Don’t fight strength." I repeated, his teachings came easily after days of enduring him drill these into my poor brain. The words felt like muscle memory now...annoying, persistent, impossible to forget.

Nikolai nodded. "Good."

"Use movement."

"Yes."

"Don’t rush."

"Yes."

"And don’t underestimate him." I said, then I sighed. "That last one’s going to be tough."

"Why?"

"Because I’m feeling really confident."

Nikolai stared at me. "You’re going to die."

Leon let out a small, choking sound that might have been a laugh. I pointed at Nikolai. "You’re supposed to help me feel better!"

"I didn’t know that was my job."

"Clearly, your training program is lacking. Where’s the motivational speech? The pep talk? The ’you’ve got this, kid’ nonsense?"

He shook his head with tired-of-your-crap smile. "Let’s go."

So we did. No grand send-off. No last-minute advice. Just the three of us walking through the estate like this was any other morning and I wasn’t about to publicly risk my dignity, my freedom, and possibly a few teeth.

The fight wasn’t happening in the gym. Lorenzo had picked a private training hall deeper in the estate, somewhere I’d never seen before. When Nikolai opened the doors, I stopped dead. The room was huge, with high ceilings, polished floors that reflected the overhead lights like dark water, and enough open space in the center to host a small war.

The floor was completely cleared, leaving a wide fighting space at its center. Dark polished wood surrounded the edges, and several rows of people lined up around the perimeter.

People... a lot of people. Lorenzo’s men. I counted about twelve before I gave up, as the number kept rising with more guys in black suits filtering in. Some leaned against the walls and some stood there with their arms folded.

Others were chatting quietly, the low rumble of voices filling the space like distant thunder.

All of which were Betas and Alphas...no single Omega in sight. Of course not. Omegas apparently weren’t invited to the "watch the Don’s mate get flattened" portion of the morning’s entertainment.

The atmosphere was totally different from the gym. No casual training here, no joking and no Nikolai telling me to quit complaining. This was an audience. They were here to watch...guess who?

Yeah, me.

My stomach dropped. The kind of drop that made me briefly consider turning around, walking straight back to my room, and pretending the entire contract had been a fever dream.

"Well," I muttered, "this is unnecessarily dramatic."

Nikolai shot me a glance. "The Don wanted witnesses."

"Of course he did. Nothing says ’fair fight’ like packing the stands with people who already think I’m decorative furniture."

I stepped into the room. The moment I did, several conversations faded. People turned to look at me. Some seemed curious. Others looked straight-up doubtful.

I recognized that look, I had seen it my whole life. The look people gave you when they’d already made up their minds about you before you even spoke.

Omega. Weak, pretty, useful for decoration, pleasure, breeding. Not dangerous at all.

I kept walking. I wasn’t about to let them see me react with fear...at least, that was the plan. Chin up, shoulders back, expression somewhere between "mildly annoyed" and "I will end you with a spoon if necessary."

Then someone behind me laughed. "He’s actually going through with it?"

Another guy replied, "Apparently."

"He’s going to get fucking knocked out in one punch. It’ll send him right into a coma!"

A few people chuckled. I slowed down, my jaw tightening. The laughter scraped against my nerves like sandpaper.

"This is a waste of the Don’s time."

"Hmm, yes. The master has gone soft for him."

"Too soft."

Another voice chimed in. "He dotes on that Omega too much."

My hands balled into fists. I kept walking, then someone said the thing that made me stop completely. "An Omega should be worrying about giving the Don heirs, not throwing punches."

Laughter filled the room. A wave of heat surged through my chest. For a fleeting moment, I wasn’t in the training hall anymore.