~♡~Sophia's POV~♡~

1,999,787 followers.

Instead of gaining more followers, I have lost 14 followers.

FOURTEEN!

And it's all because of that stupid, sickly-looking psycho! Does he know how hard it is to get fourteen followers on Instagram? Not to mention, the hundreds - no, thousands - of people who might be thinking of hitting that follow button!

Letting out a sigh, I lean my head on one arm of my crappy old sofa and rest my feet on the other. My gaze is inadvertently drawn to the ceiling. There are wide brown spots on the white-painted ceiling; evidence of last week's heavy rain.

What if next time, the rain flood my entire house?

Shit. Not wanting to think too much about it, I throw my gaze to my left. Instead, I'm greeted by a huge crack on the wall - one that was caused by my neighbor's home renovation a few months ago. The original white paint on the wall has now turned yellowish and some of them are peeling.

Just as I'm about to close my eyes, the flickering light above the small dining table on my peripheral vision grabs my attention. Throwing a quick glance at my right, I let out a long sigh.

I suppose it's rather funny how a construction worker's house looks like it can collapse any minute. But having worked 24/7, Dad doesn't have the time to fix our house and frankly, the cost for such renovation is too high for us. That's why I need to earn more money.

The thing is, I haven't gotten any new jobs in the past couple of weeks.

Damn recession!

Resting my left arm on my forehead, I close my eyes and let out a long sigh.

I bet Dylan never has to worry about shitty stuff like this.

I shake my head rapidly. No, no. Jealousy is not your ticket outta here, Sophia. Opening my eyes, I inhale, trying to focus my mind on my own problems.

Now, where was I?

Ah yes. I need to earn more money. But what can I do? I'm really just a talentless person. The only things I have are my good looks and even those don't really get me anywhere.

Sure, modeling pays well. But my appearance - which is highly crucial for my line of work - also costs me a lot. The only thing that can help me right now is getting more followers so I can get more jobs. But now, that psycho has put me in a dangerous position. If my agent - worse, if my clients - find out that I'm losing followers, I can get fired!

Fired.

Oh, no! The thought drains all the energy I have in me. My heartbeat becomes highly irrational as my chest pounds heavily. In a split second, my whole body grows cold.

Okay, calm down, Sophia.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

I inhale and exhale like a dolphin. My chest still rises up and down as I now feel the walls are closing in on me. This is bad. This is really bad!

Suddenly, the ringing sound of my phone breaks my thought. I look at it and a photo of a beautiful 30-year-old woman is shown on the screen.

Angela Matheson. My agent.

I gulp loudly and close my eyes for a quick second. The fear inside me keeps reverberating louder and louder, giving chills all over my body.

Everything's going to be okay. I have to chant the words like a mantra to calm myself down.

Then, a sudden thought crosses my mind. Could it be... another job? As a wave of hope slowly starts to fill my brain, my lips curve up a little, forming a small smile.

Yes. Stay positive, Sophia.

I clear my throat for a quick moment before receiving the call.

"Angela!" I put on my fake cheery voice. "What's the good news?"

"Good news?" Angela replies. There was a certain depth in her croaky voice - one that is only heard when she just gained a little weight.

Uh-oh. This can't be good.

"What good news, Sophia? You tell me." The anger that is spreading through her voice begins to scare me.

Angela is a great mentor, but she can also be super scary when she's angry.

Like the Hulk scary.

I close my eyes for a quick second and gulp. After I take a deep breath, I pull myself together and open my eyes. "Look, if it's about my follower loss-"

"Your follower loss?" she shrieks, causing me to flinch and drag the phone away from my ear. "Your follower loss is the least of your problem, Sophia!"

I wait for a short while in silence before I bring the phone closer to my ear cautiously. "Then... what's wrong?"

"What's wrong, is that a 30-second video of you" - she inhales and exhales loudly, trying to calm herself down - "embarrassing yourself by falling into that fucking swimming pool has reached our clients!"

In my two years of knowing Angela, I have never heard her swear. Not even once. But at this point, I can imagine smoke coming out of her ears.

Oh God, please don't let her fire me! Fear starts to take over my body once again and my head begins to pound.

She lets out a long sigh. "We just lost Younique."

"What?!" I shoot into a sitting position. Younique, a luxurious boutique downtown, is - well, was - my biggest client. The owners are highly influential in the fashion industry, that's why losing Red Room threatens to end my whole career.

"B-b-but... why? Just because a video of me went viral? They should thank me! I'm now more famous than before!" I try to defend myself, although deep down, I know it's not true.

"Sophia..." Angela growled. I can feel her piercing gaze even though I can't see her. Through gritted teeth, she continues, "What did I tell you when we first met?"

Trying to brighten the mood, I joke, "I... looked like a Goddess?" A wide, awkward grin was plastered on my face.

Instead, she growled louder. "Never go all-out Kardashian, Sophia! You're not them and if you continue to do this you will never be them!"

I give a sigh and drop myself back at the couch. "I know, I know... I was just... I got carried away, I guess. I'm sorry."

She doesn't answer right away, making my heart beats a little faster in anxiety. After a while, she lets out a small huff. "I know."

Just when I think I'm out of the shark's pool, she continues, "I hate to do this to you, but I have to demote you back to a Bronze."

"A Bronze?!" In Angela's modeling agency, the models are categorized into three ranks based on their prestige: The Golden Girls, The Silver Girls, and The Bronze Girls. Ultimately, it also affects the payment of the models since Angela distributes the jobs based on the ranks.

I - being one of the most requested models in the agency - was a Golden Girl. Being demoted to a Bronze means I'm only allowed to get a small paying job and I can't afford that right now.

"Just because of one simple video? Ange-"

"A video that cost us our highest-paying client, Sophia!" Her words silence me in an instant. Then, lowering her voice, she continues, "Look, I'm sorry, but I have to do this. If I don't, it'll set a bad example for others."

"But... you know I need the money, Ange," I plead.

She gave a heavy sigh. "I know that. Which is why I have a new job for you."

My eyes light up in a quick second as I sit straight. "New job? Wh-"

"Nah-ah, don't get too excited yet. It's for this small boxing gym my friend owns, so it doesn't really pay much."

Slouching a little, the smile on my face is traded with a disappointed frown. I guess that's why she gives the job to a Bronze like me.

"But, if it makes you feel any better, you'll get a free membership at the gym for the whole year."

Well, that doesn't sound too bad. After all, I can really use the extra money - no matter how small.

"Do this right and I might bump you up to a Silver in no time," she continues, her voice slowly grows lighter. "So, what do you say?"

I let out a small sigh. "Of course, I'll take it."

"Great. I'll text you the address. Be there at 9 sharp tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Sure."

After Angela hangs up, I lay back on the couch. As I look around me, I grunt loudly.

Great. Now I have to start again from the very beginning.

"Fuck!" I slam my fist onto the sofa.

This is all because of that fucking psycho! Sure, I wasn't entirely innocent. After all, I did provoke the fight. But whatever I did, I didn't deserve to be humiliated like that.

As anger slowly takes over my head, I come to a realization. Moping around won't do me any good. The only way to ease my soul right now is sweet revenge.

He's going to pay for the damage he cost me. I swear on my Mom's grave.

***

Right now, I am standing outside a 300-meter square building that clearly stands out among the others. The building looks like it has been vandalized by kids around the block. The walls to the cream-painted building had some graffiti painted on it - and not the good kind either. It's not surprising, really, considering this is quite a bad neighborhood.

Is this really the place? I look up and see a small sign with faint words painted on it.

McKenna's Gym.

I guess it is. I let out a long sigh. What the heck was Angela thinking, giving me a job like this? This gym is a rotten place! It'll tarnish my image even more!

I'm about to turn around and leave when I see a pale boy walking towards me with a sports bag placed over his shoulder.

My forehead folds into a frown. What the heck is that psycho doing here?

The surprise seems to be mutual since he stops abruptly the second he lays eyes on me. He blinks once in disbelief as he jolts his head back.

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he lowers his bag to his side. "What are you doing here?"

What is he implying? That I'm stalking him or something?

"I should be the one who's asking you." I place my hand on my waist. "Are you stalking me?"

He shakes his head lightly and scoffs. "In your dreams."

Throwing a small, mocking smirk my way, he continues to stroll past me and enters the gym.

So... he works out in a shitty gym like this? I draw my brows together and tilt my hand slightly to the side. But why? Surely he can afford a much better place to work out in.

Before I know it, my curiosity takes over me and I find myself entering the gym. The interior of the building is simple. There's a small receptionist desk near the front door and two large boxing rings placed side-by-side in the middle of the room. Four people and their respective instructors are training around the ring, punching the heavy bags that are hung on the ceiling.

My gaze is then drawn to the pale boy who just entered the building before me. Dylan is now talking to a woman in her mid-thirties, whose elegance screams from across the room, causing me to somehow feel threatened a little.

She looks gorgeous in a simple sports bra paired with a pair of black leggings that show off her toned body. Her medium-length brown hair is tied in a simple ponytail.

Ponytail.

Gosh, I hate ponytails!

As waves of memories start to surge back in my mind, I shake my head rapidly. No, no, Sophia. Don't go down that road again. The past is the past. This is now.

I focus my thoughts on the woman who seems to be having a lovely conversation with Dylan. Strands of her hair fall on either side of her strong jaw, shaping her thin, square face nicely.

The combination of the woman's strong bone structure and tall height makes me think she's another model hired for today's photoshoot. But... that still doesn't explain her friendliness towards Dylan.

The woman gives a carefree laugh at something that Dylan says, giving a few pats on the boy's bicep. Then, a shy smile comes across Dylan's thin lips. A hint of pink suddenly blushes on his cheeks.

Who is she? I squint my eyes as my curiosity peaks. Could it be... she's her Sugar Mama? I let out a small gasp at the thought.

Then, my lips form a straight line as another realization comes to my mind. Dylan's filthy rich! Why would he need a Sugar Mama?

Wait... maybe that's why he's rich.

"Hi!" The woman's voice breaks my thought. Before I know it, she has already approached me. "You must be Sophia!"

"Uhm, yeah." I draw my brows together, suspicion fills my mind. "How do you know?"

Stopping right before me, she stretches out her right hand to shake mine. Out of mere politeness, I extend my hand to greet hers.

With a warm smile, she continues, "I'm Elizabeth McKenna, owner of this gym. You can call me Lizzie."

Ah! Yes, of course. That makes more sense. My gaze relaxes. "Sophia Wilde. Pleased to meet you."

Her smile grows bigger. "So" - she clasps her hands together - "let's get started, shall we?"

She gestures for me to follow her. "I know our gym is unlike the luxurious places you usually model for, but I'm really glad you decided to take the job."

Well, it's not like I have any other choice. "No, no! I'm the one who's supposed to be grateful for this chance! It's an honor to be representing your company."

She lets out a small chuckle. "You're too kind."

As we continue to walk in the vast building, the pictures hanging on the wall grab my attention. I find myself stopping before them and look up in awe.

There is a huge golden championship belt hung on top of the rows of photos. Below it is a picture of a muscled man - a boxer, it seems, judging from his red shorts - in his late 30s holding that same belt. A huge, proud smile is plastered on his face. I step closer to examine the man in the photo. He has a strong resemblance to Lizzie - the same square face, the same strong jaw, and the same high cheekbones.

"That's my father," Lizzie says, now standing beside me. "He won the heavyweight championship back in '89. That's also around the time when he started this gym."

"Oh..." I nod to myself. Then, as my gaze trails down to the rows of photos, my eyes widen in shock as I see three photos of my sworn enemy is hung on the wall.

"Dylan?" In each photo, Dylan is photographed on the ring with an annoying - if not creepy - grin plastered on his face. Below each photo, there are some words carved in gold.

Dylan Little - Champion of 2015 Youth Westwood Boxing Championship.

All the photos have the same words with varying years: 2015, 2016, 2017. Three consecutive years. No wonder he could beat that gym-freak the other night.

"Oh, you know him?" Lizzie asks, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," - he's my sworn enemy - "we go to the same college."

"Ahh... I see... Dylan's one of my father's most gifted students." Her lips curl up into a proud smile. "My father used to encourage him to go pro, but he always refused. To him, it's just a way to escape his life, which is unfortunate because he's really good at it."

A way to escape his life? Seriously? That guy literally has everything!

But then, my mind rewinds to a more important subject in Lizzie's words. "He... used to?" I ask, hesitation spreads in my voice.

"My father passed away last year," a hint of sadness is heard in her voice as she lowers her gaze. With a sad smile, she continues, "Ever since then, this gym has lost a lot of members. We gained some new ones, but..." She shakes her head heavily and gives a long sigh.

I guess that's why they need me, huh? "I'm so sorry," I say, passing off a sympathetic look to her.

"Thanks."

As I shift my gaze back to the wall, the last photo frame on the bottom row grabs my attention - more specifically, the words carved below the photo.

Mark Hamilton III - Champion of 2018 Youth Westwood Boxing Championship.

My eyes are drawn to the photo above the carvings. A handsome boy not much older than I am is photographed in the middle of the ring. His hand is holding a black championship belt. The sight of his perfect, rock-hard abs causes a smirk to form on my lips.

Wow. If girls find out a hot guy like that is training here, I bet they'll come swarming this place like it's the 4th of July.

"That's Mark. He's one of our newer members that I talked about," Lizzie explains. "He's a really talented guy." A smile is formed on her face as she nods to herself. "Last year, he beat Dylan in the final. I remember Dylan was so pissed when he..."

Hmm. So he's Dylan's foe, huh? The smirk on my face continues to grow bigger as a brilliant - although slightly evil - idea pops into my head.

"Ah!" Lizzie's loud voice brings me back to reality. "There he is!"

When I turn around, the boy - no, the man - pictured in the photograph is approaching us. He's only wearing a pair of black shorts and matching sneakers. The sight of his bare chest causes my eyes to widen a little and my mouth to fall open.

Wow. That man is built like a fucking God!

His abs are even better than in the picture on the wall. They look like they've been sculpted by Leonardo Di Vanci - or whoever that famous artist's name is. The strong muscles on his arms cause me to raise my brow a little while I'm trying my best to hide my awe by pursing my lips together.

With every movement that he makes, it's as if the whole world stops to turn around and stare at him. The fact that he's a little over six-feet-two doesn't really help my soul.

"Lizzie, hi!" Mark stops right before Lizzie and bends down to give her a friendly hug. Then, he shifts his gaze towards me. "And this is..."

"This is Sophia," Lizzie says, shifting her gaze between me and him. "She's the model I told you about."

"Ah! Of course! I should've known, silly me." He extends his hand towards me and I reply the gesture. "Mark Hamilton the third."

I find it odd how he stresses the word 'the third.' But, I ignore it and throw him a playful smirk instead. "Sophia Wilde. Pleased to meet you."

He flashes a charming smile. "Now, I'm not a professional model like you are and I've told Lizzie about it too."

Oh, no. An amateur.

He glances at Lizzie, who's shaking her head lightly while letting out a small chuckle. "Still, she insisted" - he shrugged - "so what else can I do?"

I give a small, fake chuckle. "I'm sure you'll do fine." Please don't make my job any harder than it already is.

"Alrighty then!" Lizzie clasps her hands together. "Now that you two have officially met, let's get started with the photoshoot, shall we?"

"Sure." I flash a polite smile to the two of them.

I'm about to follow Lizzie and Mark towards the boxing ring when I suddenly feel a sharp glare from behind me that causes me to stop.

What...? I turn around slightly and spot Dylan staring my way.

No, not at me, per se. After all, he couldn't care less about me. While giving a few jabs to the punching bag before him, his eyes are green with envy. I start to put two and two together and turn around to look at the person who is standing behind me: Mark Hamilton III.

Aahh... So he's still angry about losing the competition a year ago, huh? My lips curve up into a mischievous smirk. It seems like I've found Dylan's greatest enemy.

Oh, boy. This is going to be fun.

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of update. I've been really busy these past couple of days. But I'm back now!

So, what do you think Sophia has in mind? I sure would love to hear all your theories so leave a comment below! :)

I hope she doesn't come off as too evil or annoying xD

As always, don't forget to vote if you like what you're reading! Your votes and comments encourage me to keep writing ❤❤❤

Thank you for reading this chapter. Hope you like it!