Chapter 2 The Surprise Victory

The referee waved both hands in the air, his face tight with alarm as he stepped closer toward us.

"Miss, you cannot do this. This is a serious violation. If you do not step down by the count of three, this match is declared a disqualification and Marcus Miller wins by default."

"Do not try ending this match with a disqualification," I cut in sharply, turning to face him fully. "My brother was competing while in poor health, after being targeted by dirty provocation. If the organizers want to protect the reputation of the Grand Arena, change the status of this fight right now. Weight classes or gender do not matter. I will sign whatever agreement you need this very second. Make this an official exhibition match, or I will ensure this arena is all over the news tomorrow morning."

The referee froze. My firm tone, honed in high stakes negotiations back in London, left him momentarily speechless. The crowd around the ring began roaring, their chants demanding the fight go ahead.

Marcus, whose pride had been stung by my ultimatum, waved the referee off dismissively.

"Give her exactly what she wants," Marcus called out loudly toward the officials below the ring. "Let all of Las Vegas watch as I knock out some corporate manager in seconds. Get her gloves."

The crowd cheered even louder. A ring attendant hurried over, climbing through the ropes with a pair of bright red boxing gloves in hand.

I slipped my hands into them quickly and efficiently, letting the attendant lace them tight and secure. The feel of the leather and the weight of the gloves settled into place, waking muscles and nerves I had not used in a long time.

From ringside, Mother covered her mouth with both hands, tears streaming down her cheeks, while Father watched me, his breath caught in his throat. Ethan leaned weakly against the corner post, his eyes heavy with concern as he looked up at me.

The referee sighed in resignation, patted us both on the shoulder, and stepped back two paces.

"Listen to my instructions. Fight clean, protect yourselves. Box."

The bell rang.

Marcus stepped forward immediately, leaning into a cocky, aggressive stance.

"Come on then, Miss Rose, show me what you have before..."

BAM.

A sharp straight right from Marcus snapped out and caught me flush on the left temple. The force snapped my head sideways, and a sharp burning sensation bloomed across my cheek. I took one small step back.

"Elena," my parents cried out in unison from outside the ring, their voices thick with fear.

Ethan tried to pull himself up but sank back down weakly. "Stop, Elena... please just leave the ring. I accept defeat... but I cannot watch you get hurt," he whispered, tears spilling over.

Marcus laughed mockingly, spreading his arms wide and turning to face the crowd.

"You see that? That was barely even a hard hit. Ready to quit now, Miss London?"

But beneath the heat on my cheek, my mind was working through the situation with cold clarity. I had chosen not to fully block that first punch. I let it land on purpose, just to measure his reach, his speed, and read how he shifted his weight.

Marcus relied on brute strength and intimidation, not technique. He breathed too heavily, his guard was sloppy, and his overconfidence was his biggest weakness.

I straightened back up. My right foot shifted slightly back, anchoring my stance. I tucked my elbows in close, protecting my body and chin, forming a tight defensive guard. My eyes locked onto his every movement, calm and focused.

"Is that really all you have, Marcus?" I said quietly, loud enough for him to hear clearly.

Marcus’s face flushed bright red with anger.

"You witch," he roared, charging forward and throwing a wild series of looping left hooks with all his strength behind them.

But as his hardest punch sailed toward my face, I did not step back. I ducked low, slipping neatly underneath his swinging arm. The wind from his missed blow brushed past my hair.

Before Marcus could even register that he had hit nothing but air, I struck back with blinding speed.

BAM.

A crisp left hook landed perfectly right to his liver.

Marcus’s eyes went wide. All the breath left his lungs in one sharp, painful gasp. His large body stiffened. Before he could even clutch at his stomach, I twisted my hips, driving all my weight from my feet right up through my right fist.

CRACK.

A perfectly timed right uppercut connected squarely with his jaw.

His head snapped backward. His jaw clicked shut. His eyes rolled back, and the powerful, arrogant man who had stood so tall just moments before crumpled like an old building coming down.

Marcus hit the canvas face first and lay still, completely knocked out cold.

The entire Grand Arena fell dead silent. Thousands of people seemed to forget how to breathe, every eye fixed on the ring in utter shock.

The referee rushed over, dropped to his knees beside Marcus, and started the count.

"One. Two. Three... eight. Nine. Ten."

He waved both hands in the air, signaling the fight was over.

"The winner of this exhibition match... ELENA ROSE," the announcer boomed over the speakers.

The crowd erupted into cheers that shook the building. People leaped to their feet, whistling and applauding wildly at what they had just witnessed.

My parents jumped for joy, their faces shining with disbelief and relief, hugging each other tightly before looking up at me with overwhelming pride.

I walked over to my corner, knelt down and wrapped my arms around Ethan. He stared at me, his mouth hanging open, eyes glistening with emotion.

"You... how did you even do that, Elena," he stammered, tears rolling down past the cuts on his cheek.

"London is not just boardrooms and meetings, Ethan," I whispered with a gentle smile, brushing his hair back.

"Sis..." his voice trembled. "You... you really did this for me?"

I smiled softly and shook my head. "Not just for you. Because you are my brother."

As I stood up and helped Ethan to his feet, the main promoter of the national championship stepped forward from the VIP section where he had been watching. He climbed quickly through the ropes, holding a microphone, looking at me with unconcealed admiration.

"That was a truly remarkable display of skill and courage, Miss Rose," he said loudly, his voice carrying across the arena as the crowd quieted to listen. "Under emergency ruling and given that your brother’s standing has been unfairly compromised and is now vindicated through your family’s victory... it is my great honor to declare the winner of this contest... Elena Rose."

He took my hand and raised it high above my head. The roar of the crowd echoed through the arena, lighting up the Las Vegas night.

I looked out into the sea of flashing cameras and bright lights, then glanced over toward the corner where medical staff were now checking on Marcus. I had never set out to become a fighter. I came here only to protect the people I loved.

"I would like to formally nominate Miss Elena Rose as one of the candidates to compete in the national women’s championship tournament three months from now," the promoter announced.

His voice rang out over the speakers, sending another wave of excitement through the Grand Arena. Thousands of eyes turned toward me, cameras flashing from every direction. I stood there stunned, hardly believing what I had just heard.

"A championship contender," I thought to myself, still processing it all.

"However, the final decision does not rest with me alone," the promoter continued, bringing the microphone back to his lips. "To confirm Miss Rose’s eligibility, we must hear the official assessment from the person who oversees all national boxing regulations and selections."

He turned toward the VIP seating area. "It is my pleasure to invite the Chairman of the National Boxing Commission, Mr. Adrian Blackwood, to share his thoughts on this extraordinary performance."

My breath caught in my throat. Adrian Blackwood. He was here.