"My name isn't Claire," I said coldly, not breaking stride. "And save your breath. You’re going to need it to pack your bags."

Chapter 8 - The Cage Door Closes

The roar of twelve thousand spectators inside the Denver arena felt like physical pressure against my skin.

The smell of popcorn, hot sweat, leather, and adrenaline hit me the moment I exited the tunnel. Walking behind me was Ryan, carrying my water bucket, and Marcus Kane, slapping my shoulders with rhythm.

"Just remember your distance, Evelyn," Marcus yelled over the deafening noise. "She has twenty pounds of muscle on you, but she lunges when she gets frustrated. Make her miss. Make her pay."

Ryan leaned into my ear before I stepped onto the canvas. "I love you. Win or lose, you owe these people nothing."

"I'm not doing this for them, Ryan," I said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'm doing this to close the door on my past forever."

I stepped into the octagon. The heavy steel door swung shut with a metallic clang that reverberated in my chest.

Across the cage, Tatiana Silva was already pacing, bouncing like a caged tiger, pounding her four-ounce gloves together with terrifying force. In the front-row VIP section sat Viktor Petrov, wearing a tailored silk suit, sipping champagne, smirking like a man who already had my destiny counted in cash. Beside him sat Diane Vance, clutching her rosary beads in trembling hands.

The referee waved us to the center of the cage.

"Fighters, protect yourselves at all times. Obey my commands. Touch gloves if you want to."

Tatiana didn't touch gloves. She spat on the canvas and drew her thumb across her throat.

I simply nodded to the referee and backed into my corner.

*DING.*

Round one began.

Tatiana came out like an avalanche. She threw a thunderous right overhand that split the air inches from my chin with a horrifying whistle. I dipped under, pivoting on my heels, circling away toward the fence.

She pursued relentlessly, throwing heavy, bone-crushing low kicks aimed directly at my surgically repaired left knee. She wanted to cripple me early.

*Crack!*

Her shin connected with the outside of my thigh. Pain flared like a white-hot iron, but my face remained an emotionless mask. I absorbed the impact, used the momentum to slip inside her guard, and popped a clean, stinging jab straight between her eyes.

Tatiana’s head snapped back. Her eyes flared with rage. She roared, lunging forward with a clinch, using all twenty-six pounds of mass to smash me against the chain-link fence.

Chapter 9 - The Masterclass

The fence rattled under the brutal force of Tatiana’s weight.

Her forearm pressed viciously against my throat, cutting off oxygen while her short, heavy knees drove into my ribs. The crowd gasped. From the corner of my eye, I saw Diane Vance cover her face, unable to watch, while Viktor Petrov laughed and signaled for another glass of champagne.

Tatiana leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "You're done, champion."

She made one critical error.

In her eagerness to crush me against the cage, she overcommitted her hips, locking both arms around my upper torso without securing my base.

I stopped fighting the pressure. I went completely limp for a split second, allowing her forward momentum to pull her off balance. Then, sliding my right arm under her armpit, I locked my fingers behind her neck—a textbook whizzer.

With a violent, explosive rotation of my hips, I performed the exact same throw that had won me my first world title ten years ago: an *Uchi Mata* inner-thigh reap.

Tatiana’s feet left the canvas. A woman weighing nearly one hundred and sixty pounds sailed through the air like a ragdoll and slammed onto the canvas with a bone-jarring crash.

The arena erupted.

Before she could roll to her knees, I transitioned onto her back like water flowing downhill. My legs wrapped around her waist, locking in the body triangle. Tatiana thrashed wildly, bucking like a wild horse, throwing blind backward elbows at my skull.

One elbow grazed my temple, drawing a line of bright red blood that dripped onto the canvas.

I didn't blink.

I snaked my right forearm under her chin, burying the blade of my wrist directly against her carotid artery. My left hand gripped my own bicep, locking the rear-naked choke into place.