Chapter 3 The Lion’s Den

Valerie Point Of View

I stared down at the yellow foreclosure notice on my father's desk, my chest suffocating with built-up anger.

"So what are we supposed to do?" I cried out, my voice cracking in the quiet office. "Are we just supposed to give up? Let Sterling take the building? Let Roxanne walk away with my title and Sofia's career?"

"No," Sofia said, her dark eyes flashing with sharp, icy light. "We don't give up. We just stop playing by Sterling's rules. There is one place in this city where Harrison Sterling has zero power. One promoter who doesn't answer to the athletic commission."

Hector stood up from his chair so fast his wooden seat scraped loudly against the floor. "Sofia, no! I will not let your sister go to that place! It is dangerous!"

"Where?" I asked, looking between them. "Sofia, where?"

"The Crucible," Sofia answered cleanly.

The room went dead silent. Every fighter in the state knew that name. THE CRUCIBLE was an elite, private fight house located in the dark industrial warehouse district across the river. They ran unsanctioned, high-stakes tournaments with massive cash prizes. No television networks, no corporate sponsors, and no athletic board interference.

And it was owned by one man: Damian Dubois.

Damian was a legend, an undefeated former world champion who walked away from mainstream wrestling when Sterling tried to force him into a corrupt contract. He built The Crucible into his own private empire.

"Damian Dubois is a cold-blooded businessman, Valerie," Hector warned, shaking his head. "He doesn't care about our family's debt. If you walk into his gym asking for help, he will laugh in your face and throw you out."

"I am not going there to ask for help," I said, my voice turning hard as iron. "The Crucible has a fifty-thousand-dollar tournament prize next month. It is our only way out."

Sofia reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, thick leather notebook with worn pages. She pressed it firmly into my hands.

"It's my old fight journal," Sofia whispered. "Every combination, every counter-move, and every weakness I found on Roxanne before she broke my back. Damian Dubois is the only trainer in this city smart enough to fix your technique and make you strong enough to take down Roxanne. Go to The Crucible tomorrow morning, Val. Don't beg him. FORCE him to notice you."

The next morning, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a cold, thick fog that hung over the city's industrial district.

I stood on the wet pavement, holding my heavy canvas gym bag in one hand and my sister's leather notebook in the other. Across the narrow road sat The Crucible, a massive, dark gray concrete building surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with sharp barbed wire.

I took a deep breath, walked across the street, and pushed the iron door open.

Inside, the building was clean, quiet, and intense. Three professional wrestling rings sat in the center of the floor, surrounded by elite fighters working out in dead silence.

"Can I help you?" a sharp voice called out. A broad-shouldered security guard stepped into my path. "You're Valerie Ruiz. The girl from the news last night. This is a private facility, Miss Ruiz. We don't allow suspended athletes on the floor."

"I'm not here to talk to reporters," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm here to see Damian Dubois. Tell him I have Sofia Ruiz's tactical notebook, and I'm not leaving until he tells me no himself."

The guard stared at me, then spoke into a walkie-talkie. A moment later, he grunted. "Top floor. Office at the end of the glass walkway."

I walked up the metal staircase, feeling the eyes of every fighter tracking my movements. I pushed open the glass office door at the top.

Damian Dubois stood behind a large black desk, looking out over the floor. He wore a fitted black athletic shirt, showing off his broad frame. His short dark hair was neatly styled, and his sharp blue eyes cut right through me as he turned around slowly.

"You have thirty seconds, Valerie," Damian said, his deep voice completely empty of emotion. "Make them count."

"I want a spot on your independent tournament roster next month," I said, dropping my gym bag onto the floor.

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. "I run a professional fight house, not a charity for disgraced athletes. The media calls you a cheat. To me, you are just a distraction."

"I didn't take those drugs!" I snapped. "I was set up! My sister was Sofia Ruiz. She mapped out every counter to Sterling's fighters in this notebook. She said you were the only one smart enough to see the truth."

Damian walked toward me, stopping just two feet away. "Look at you," he said softly, staring down into my eyes. "You're shaking with raw, stupid rage. Rage makes a fighter wild. It makes you weak."

"Test me," I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Put me in your ring against your best fighter right now. If I lose, I walk out. If I stay on my feet, you give me a spot."

Slowly, the corner of Damian's firm mouth pulled up into a razor-sharp smile.

"I won't waste my fighters' time on you, Valerie," Damian said, stepping past me toward the door. "If you want a spot on my roster, you step into the ring with me."