I was right. Diane Vance was not a woman who accepted defeat.

By eight o’clock the following morning, my phone began vibrating continuously on the nightstand. It wasn’t a text from Derek demanding money for medical bills.

It was an alert from an old sports blog: *“Former Champion Evelyn Carter Spotted in Denver Suburbs After Decade of Seclusion.”*

Someone had leaked the footage.

Not the fight from ten years ago—someone had uploaded a thirty-second clip of Derek getting dismantled on the back patio. Marissa had taken a video from the doorway before the confrontation ended, and somehow, within hours, it had been sold to a local sports tabloid.

The headline was scathing: **MMA QUEEN HUMILIATES SPOILED REAL ESTATE HEIR AT FAMILY BBQ.**

Beneath the video, hundreds of comments were already pouring in.

*“That wrist lock was textbook. She barely even shifted her stance!”*

*“Who is that clown who poured beer on her? Dude got what he deserved.”*

*“Wait, Evelyn Carter is alive and married? Where has she been?”*

My phone rang again. This time, it was an unknown number from a New York area code. I answered it cautiously.

"Evelyn?" a raspy, familiar voice boomed through the speaker. A voice I hadn't heard in eight long years. "Marcus Kane here. Tell me you didn't just break some kid's arm over a steak dinner."

Chapter 4 - Shadows From Las Vegas

Marcus Kane had been my head coach, promoter, and the closest thing I had to a father during my seven-year reign in the underground and professional circuits. He was a gruff, silver-haired veteran who smelled of cheap cigars and liniment. When I walked away from the sport after my final title defense, he was the only one who didn't call me a coward. He knew my knees were degenerating, and he knew my soul was tired of violence.

"Marcus," I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter while Ryan brewed coffee. "How did you get this number?"

"You think a viral video of my star pupil breaking wrists in Colorado wouldn't hit my desk before sunrise?" Marcus gave a dry, gravelly chuckle. "Kid, you look sharp. Hip rotation was crisp. But you stepped into a hornets' nest."

"It was a family spat, Marcus. It’s over."

"It's not over," Marcus's voice dropped, losing all humor. "Listen to me carefully, Evelyn. Who is that guy you dropped? Derek Vance?"

"My brother-in-law. A loudmouthed real estate agent who thinks he's Connor McGregor."

"Well, your loudmouthed brother-in-law owes three hundred grand to people who don't take promissory notes," Marcus said flatly.

I froze, the mug of coffee in my hand pausing midway to my lips. Ryan noticed my expression and looked up with immediate concern.

"What do you mean?" I asked into the phone.

"Derek Vance runs with high-stakes underground poker tables in Black Hawk and private bookies out of South Denver. The outfit running those books belongs to Viktor Vance—no relation to you, but a ruthless piece of work who runs illegal promotion circuits. Derek was using his mother’s estate assets as collateral. Now that this video blew up, Viktor knows Derek is tied to *you*."

"Why would that matter to Viktor?"

"Because Viktor has been trying to launch a high-stakes, unregulated pay-per-view women’s exhibition for three years, and he needs a legendary name to legitimize it," Marcus warned. "Derek owes money, Evelyn. And now Derek’s creditors know he has access to the most elusive female fighter in American combat sports history. Watch your back. Family like that will sell you out twice before breakfast."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, my stomach tightening. Ryan walked over, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Who was that, Claire? What's going on?"

Before I could explain, our front doorbell rang.

It wasn't a polite chime. It was a rapid, furious pounding that rattled the frosted glass insert of our entryway door.

I signaled Ryan to stay back, walked to the hallway, and peered through the peephole. Standing on our front porch was Diane Vance, her designer coat disheveled, flanked by two men in dark suits who definitely weren't real estate agents.

Chapter 5 - The Ultimatum

I opened the door, keeping the brass security chain firmly locked in place.