My husband’s family never knew I had once been an MMA champion. At my mother-in-law’s BBQ, my brother-in-law poured beer over my head. My husband stood up and told him to apologize to me. He laughed, shoved my husband, then punched him in the mouth. He told me to sit down because it didn’t concern me. Then he grabbed my wrist... and that’s when my sister-in-law started screaming.

The night before the fight, the convention center ballroom was packed with eight hundred people.

The weigh-in was supposed to be a low-key charity event, but Marissa’s video had turned it into a viral circus. Local news stations had live satellite trucks outside. The sports internet had descended upon Ohio.

Tara Cruz stepped onto the scale first.

She stripped down to her fight bikini, screaming as the digital readout flashed *134.8*. She flexed her biceps, pounding her chest, barking like a rabid dog at the cameras. Derek was standing in her corner, wearing a three-piece suit that didn't hide his cast, grinning like he had already won the lottery.

“Evelyn Carter to the scale,” the commissioner announced.

I walked out in plain black athletic shorts and a sports bra.

No music. No entourage. Just Marcus Vance holding my towel and Ryan walking two steps behind me, carrying my gym bag.

I stepped onto the platform.

*134.2.*

Tara Cruz immediately stepped forward, shoving her forehead against mine, baring her teeth. The scent of her peppermint mouthwash and hot adrenaline washed over my face.

“You’re an old woman, Carter!” she snarled, loud enough for every microphone in the room to pick it up. “You belong in a kitchen! I’m going to break your orbital bone and send you home to your little pussy husband in an ambulance!”

Derek laughed loudly from the back row.

I didn't push back. I didn't yell. I looked directly into Tara’s dark eyes.

I looked through them, down into the mechanics of her posture. Her shoulders were bunched too high. Her breathing was shallow. She was expending twenty percent of her adrenaline reserve just standing on a scale trying to terrify me.

“Tara,” I said softly.

She blinked, thrown off by my tone.

“You have never fought anyone who didn't care about being famous,” I murmured. “Tomorrow night, you’re going to find out what that feels like.”