Chapter 1: Betrayed for Her Crown

For love, I threw away my shot at the Golden Gloves and helped Savannah Pierce rise to the top of the Pierce family. Sometimes I wonder if I was out of my mind, but back then, it felt like the only thing that mattered. Maybe I thought it would all be worth it. Maybe I just couldn’t say no.

It still feels weird, thinking back on it now. Golden Gloves—that was the dream, the thing every kid at old Maple Heights gym talked about between rounds. I walked away from it, just for her. The memory of those bright ring lights, the stink of sweat and that old-school muscle rub—stuff you’d smell in every gym—never really left me, though. Some nights, I swear I can still hear the bell echoing in my head.

That first year, I played golf with her business contacts just to help her out.

Every second was torture. I’d never even held a golf club before, but I forced myself to laugh at their dumb jokes and fumble my way through eighteen holes, just so Savannah could close her deals. I even bought a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, trying to blend in. God, I looked like a total clown. My old gym buddies would’ve laughed me right off the course.

The second year, I drank whiskey with her clients for her sake.

I always hated whiskey—burned like hell, made me cough every time. But I grinned, raised my glass, toasted their wins, and downed every shot they pushed at me. After a while, I started carrying Tums in my pocket, like an old man. Some nights I’d stagger home, sick as a dog, but Savannah would just smile at me in the morning, like I’d done her some huge favor. For her sake, I told myself. For her.

The third year, I even did all-night push-up contests with a client, just to win them over for her.

By sunrise, my arms would be noodles, but I kept going, teeth gritted, determined not to quit. Sometimes the clients would slap me on the back, roaring with laughter, calling me a real sport. Savannah would give me that little nod, her secret signal. I felt like her MVP. Stupid, but I was proud to be useful.

But when the day came that she finally took control, she found every excuse to keep her distance from me.

She stopped coming home for dinner. Left early, stayed out late, always too tired for even a quick hug goodnight. Sometimes I wondered if I’d turned into a ghost—just another piece of furniture in her fancy new house. Funny how things change.

It wasn’t until she sent guys to wreck my hands that I finally got it—I was just a shield for the person she really loved.

The pain was blinding, a hot, electric shock. I remember the gloved hands, the flash of a blade, the world shrinking to a tunnel of agony. Years spent protecting her, only to be used up and thrown away. For a second, all I saw was red. Then nothing. I guess that’s when the truth finally hit me. Funny how clear things get when you’re staring at your own blood on the floor.

But I wasn’t heartbroken, because the one I’d always loved—the one who got away—would be back in just three days.

Somewhere deep down, I’d always clung to that hope. Mariah. The only person who ever made me feel like I was more than just a tool. Three days. I started counting the hours. Three days. I could wait.

"What if your husband finds out we hired guys to rough him up?" the assistant asked, his voice tight and anxious.

The assistant’s voice quivered, his fingers fidgeting with his tie. He kept glancing at the door, like Savannah might snap at him any second. The air in her office was thick, heavy enough to choke on.

Savannah just rolled her eyes, totally unfazed:

She lounged back in her chair, swirling her bourbon with a lazy flick. "He’d be nothing without me."

"It’s just his tendons—we’re not killing him."

"Using him as Carter’s stepping stone is more than he deserves."

She said it with this cold, practiced detachment, like she was talking about the weather or the latest stock report. The assistant winced, but she didn’t even blink.

So that’s why Savannah had poured so much into my training, found me the best coach in Maple Heights, bought me top-of-the-line gear—it was all just to clear the path for Carter Shane…

All those years, all that support—it was never for me. Every new pair of gloves, every extra hour at the gym, every expensive trainer—just a warm-up act for Carter. I was the setup guy, the one who got the crowd ready for the real star. The bitterness in my mouth was almost metallic.

When I woke up again, the first thing I saw was the harsh white ceiling of the hospital.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too sterile. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose. For a second, I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there. Flashes of pain and panic came back in pieces.

I looked down at my bandaged wrist, faint traces of blood seeping through.

The bandages were tight, already spotted with red. My fingers twitched, and pain shot up my arm. I tried to flex my hand, but nothing happened. For a boxer, that was worse than death.

"You’re awake!" It was Savannah’s assistant.

He bustled in, a fake-bright smile plastered on his face. His eyes darted everywhere but at me. I could hear the relief in his voice, but also something like dread—like he was glad I survived, but scared of what came next.

He couldn’t stand still, shifting from foot to foot, hands fiddling with the chart at the end of my bed. I caught the pity in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it. He wouldn’t dare show it with Savannah around.

"Where’s Ms. Pierce?" I asked, my voice rough and dry.

My throat felt like sandpaper, words scraping out. I already knew what he’d say, but I needed to hear it anyway. Some stupid part of me hoped she’d come bursting through the door, frantic with worry.

"She had a work emergency." As he said it, guilt flashed across his face.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice dropped to a near whisper. I knew he was lying, but I let it go. Lies were easier than the truth.

I’d just nodded when loud voices erupted in the hall:

The hallway was alive with chatter—nurses, visitors, maybe even reporters. Their voices carried right through the half-open door, sharp and clear.

"Did you see the boxing championship today?"

"Did you see Carter out there? Dude’s a beast!"

"Ms. Pierce gave him the trophy—she’s gorgeous, and I heard they’ve been close since they were kids. They make a cute couple!"

Every word hit like a punch to the gut.

It was like being back in the ring, only this time I couldn’t dodge. My chest tightened, every word hammering home what I’d tried so hard not to believe. I almost laughed at myself.

"It’s not what it looks like. She had to be there, that’s all," the assistant blurted, trying to defend her.

He sounded desperate, almost begging me to believe him. Like if he said it enough times, maybe I’d buy it. Maybe he’d buy it, too.

I ignored him. With my bandaged hand, I struggled to grab the remote and turned on the TV.

My fingers fumbled, but I finally got the power button. Static, then the room filled with the roar of the crowd and the blinding lights of the championship ring.

Of course, the live broadcast was the championship ceremony.

The timing was almost cruel. There they were, blown up huge on the screen—Savannah and Carter, side by side. The camera zoomed in, catching every little detail.

Savannah and Carter stood together for a photo. Suddenly, Carter handed his bouquet to Savannah.

He grinned, all charm, and offered her the flowers. The crowd went nuts, their cheers echoing through the hospital room. My chest ached.

"Savvy, I trained this hard just to win and finally tell you how I feel. I did it!"

His voice was steady, full of swagger. The kind of voice that always gets what it wants. The crowd’s reaction was instant—cheers, whistles, even a few teasing shouts.

The crowd’s cheers were thunderous. People started chanting for them to get together.

Their names bounced around the arena, clapping and stomping making the whole place shake. I could almost feel it in my hospital bed.

Savannah looked at him with a love I’d never seen.

She looked at him like he’d hung the stars. Her hands shook as she took the bouquet, tears glimmering on her cheeks. I’d never seen her cry for me—not like that.

"Carter, thank you."

Her voice cracked, soft and trembling. The words landed heavy, impossible to ignore.

The image froze on the two of them embracing, and then someone turned off the TV.

The silence was sudden, absolute. I blinked, trying to process what I’d just seen. The remote clicked in the assistant’s hand, the screen going black.

"Sir, Ms. Pierce has to play along at events like this. It’s just part of the job," the assistant insisted, still gripping the remote.

He tried to sound convincing, but it fell flat. His knuckles were white on the remote, and he wouldn’t look at me. The lie hung in the air, obvious.

I waved him off, cutting him short:

"I’d like to be alone for a while."

My voice was steady, but inside, I was unraveling. I just needed space. A few minutes to breathe, to pull myself together.

Once the assistant closed the door, a faint smile crept onto my lips.

Even in the middle of all this, I found a scrap of hope. Maybe I was nuts, but I held onto it anyway.

Right then, my phone buzzed—a message from Mariah:

Her flight home was in three days. Finally, I wouldn’t have to keep looking after Savannah.

Mariah’s message was short—just a few words, but it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Three days. I could make it three more days.