Chapter 3 Shadows from the Past

Then the main spotlight of the Grand Arena slowly shifted away from the ring corner, cutting through the darkness toward the front row of VIP seats. Measured, steady footsteps echoed softly as the noise of the crowd gradually died down.

A man rose from his seat. A perfectly tailored black suit draped his tall, broad, well-proportioned frame. His jawline was sharp and defined, matched with a neat comb-over that showed flecks of silver at his temples, giving him an air of maturity, authority, and quiet power. A classic watch on his wrist caught the arena lights as he smoothed the button of his jacket with one deliberate, commanding motion.

Adrian Blackwood carried an air of cool perfection, the kind of man who could fill an entire room with his presence alone.

As Adrian climbed the ring steps with sure, steady strides, his sharp gray eyes locked straight onto mine.

The air around me seemed to vanish. Our gazes met across the canvas. For a moment every second stretched on forever. The roar of thousands of people faded away, replaced by memories rising up from a past I had never truly laid to rest.

There were old ghosts, and a heartbreak I had never fully resolved. Adrian looked at me deeply, searching as if trying to find the woman he once knew beneath the figure standing there in a black tank top, dusted with sweat and blood.

My heart still raced painfully near him. But before that feeling could take hold, I forced myself to breathe deeply and looked away, shifting my full attention back to Ethan, who lay slumped and exhausted in the corner.

Adrian accepted the microphone from the promoter. He stopped just two paces from my side. His familiar scent filled my senses, exactly the same as it had been years ago.

"Good evening, Las Vegas," Adrian said. His voice carried clearly over the speakers, steady, deep, and undeniably authoritative. The arena fell completely silent, waiting for his decision.

"Precise technique, calm judgment, and flawless execution," Adrian said without breaking eye contact, even though I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the ring floor. "What we have witnessed tonight is not just emotion. It is world-class skill from a natural fighter."

Adrian paused, letting his words sink in.

"As Chairman of the National Boxing Commission, I am exercising my authority tonight," he said firmly. "I officially approve and nominate Elena Rose as a candidate for the National Women’s Boxing Championship this year."

The crowd erupted into cheers once more. Camera flashes lit up from every angle below the ring.

But I said nothing. I gave no smile, not even a glance toward Adrian, who stood watching me closely. The title and the tournament invitation meant nothing to me tonight.

"Father, Mother, help me please," I called out clearly, ignoring reporters and the promoter who tried to push their microphones closer.

I knelt beside Ethan, slipped his trembling arm over my shoulders, and supported his weight as Father climbed through the ropes to help.

"We are leaving now. Ethan needs emergency care," I said firmly to my parents as they cleared a path.

I stepped back across the canvas, guiding my brother down the ring steps. My feet touched the cold arena floor, and I could feel Adrian’s gray eyes following me every step, all the way through the crowd and toward the exit.

"Sis... Adrian Blackwood... he is..." Ethan whispered hoarsely between ragged breaths as we stepped out through the glass doors.

"Save your strength, Ethan. Just focus on breathing," I said gently but firmly, opening the back door of the car.

"Come on, Mother, Father. Get in quickly. We are going to the hospital right now," I said, sliding behind the wheel and pulling smoothly away.

My father’s Ford Mustang V8 cut through the dark Las Vegas night at speed. The engine hummed steadily, but the tension inside the car felt far heavier than the roar beneath the hood.

In the back seat, Mother cradled Ethan’s head in her lap. The handkerchief she held to the cut on his lip was soaked through with blood. His breathing sounded shallow and labored, a painful reminder of exhaustion and the heart strain that nearly cost him everything tonight. Father sat beside me in the passenger seat, glancing constantly at the side mirror, his expression growing more tense by the mile.

"How is he doing, Mother?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the road, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

"His heartbeat is fast and irregular, Elena," Mother replied, her voice trembling through quiet tears. "He needs help as soon as possible."

"Just hold on a little longer, Ethan. We will be there in ten minutes," I murmured, speaking to him as much as to the racing thoughts in my own chest.

Because beneath my fear for Ethan, Adrian Blackwood kept creeping back into my mind. His flawless black suit, those sharp gray eyes, and the way he spoke my name in front of thousands of people. A man from my past who should have stayed locked away was here again. The faint smile he wore up in that ring felt deliberate, like a challenge meant to unsettle me.

CRASH.

My thoughts shattered as a large black SUV came speeding through an intersection and cut sharply directly into our lane.

I yanked the wheel hard left on instinct. Tires screeched loud against the pavement, the sharp smell of burning rubber filling the air. Mother cried out from the back seat, wrapping her arms protectively around Ethan.

"Elena! Watch out!" Father shouted, bracing himself against the dashboard.