𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 1999
________________
𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The Georgia Dome was buzzing with energy for tonight's Monday Night Raw. And with No Mercy just six days away now, the stakes on the show were extremely high well especially for me and my story.
For months now, Lisa aka "Ivory" and I in story had been at each other's throats and last weeks chaos only was the cherry on top.

Last Monday Ivory had a match with Lita, and I was locked in the women's locker room stopping me from walking out and being at ringside for my best friends match. But that didn't stop me as I managed to get out, and eventually cost her the match with Lita as she got pinned.

But it wasn't until after the show in story when Michael Cole, tried interviewing us before we left the building Ivory tried to run us down with her car. Luckily I didn't get hit but in storyline Lita got bumped by the car, this was a way of writing her off as she's dealing with an ankle injury.

So I was out looking for revenge, tonight in Atlanta I wasn't waiting for her to make the first move. She wanted to play dirty ? Fine. Two could play that game, but I can do it better.

I stood in the parking lot where the camera men were around, a bat in my hand as the grip I had on it was extremely tight as I leaned against a stack of crates, eyes fixed on the entrance. But even though it could hear muffled roar from the crowd inside the arena, but out here, it was just me, the night air, and my blood that felt like it was on fire due to the anticipation and adrenaline I'm feeling.

Then suddenly a low rumble pulled my attention, and then I saw it—sleek black car pulling into the lot.
Ivory. The second she parked she barely had the chance to cut the engine off, right as I stepped out of the shadows.

I didn't hesitate. Raising the bat, I swung it hard at the car, the shatter of the glass cutting through the air as it connected with her windshield.

Ivory's scream was muffled by the car, but the shock on her face was clear. "You crazy bitch!" She shouted, fumbling to unbuckle her seatbelt.

"Get out!" I yelled, swinging the bat against the driver side windshield breaking it.

"Get away from me-" Ivory Yelled

But I cut her off as I reached in the driver side window, grabbing a fist full of her hair. Her nails clawed at my hands, but I didn't care as I then dragged her out the car window as I laid punches on her, before she managed to kick me in the stomach sending me stumbling back.

"You're out of your damn mind!" She Spat

"Oh, I'm just getting started," I Shot back, picking up the bat and swinging it again aiming at her.

This time, she dodged it and the bat clanged against the driver side window completely shattering it as glass went everywhere. Ivory then tackled me, and we hit the concrete ground hard, her fist were flying from every direction.

I managed to roll us over and pinned her down, slamming her head—not too hard—against the ground for emphasis. She then twisted beneath me, her knee connecting to my side as I let out a groan.

We then scrambled to our feet, and she grabbed a trash can lid nearby swinging it at me but I blocked it with my bat, as the loud sound of metal on metal rang out loudly.

I let out a loud scream tossing the bat aside, then I lunged at her as we crashed onto a stack of equipment cases, sending them toppling over us as we continued brawling.

The fight continued as it spilled into the backstage area, the chaos drawing the attention of many other wrestlers nearby, crew members, and referees. I saw a chair nearby and picked it up, swinging it at her back as she groaned, as I went to hit her again suddenly I was hit with a steel pipe in the face sending me down.

"You want championship?" She yelled, "You're gonna have to kill me for it!"

I smirked and looked up at her, licking the blood from the corner of my face. "Don't tempt me, bitch."

Ivory went to hit me again with the steel pipe but I raked her eyes, and she couldn't see for a moment until I grabbed the fire extinguisher from off the wall, spraying and directly aiming it in her face.

She screamed, blinded from the chemicals and I tackled her down to the ground again. Until finally referees and officials showed up to break us up, but we clearly weren't done.

"I'm gonna kill you Sonya, you'll regret this bitch!" Ivory Shouted

"I dare you, I want you to try!" I yelled, as blood leaked down the side of my lips, "Sunday that championship is mine!"

"Never!" Ivory screamed, her raw voice full of fury.

The referees got us far away one on the other side and the other on this side. The cameras stayed with me, my chest heaved as I finally caught my breath, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins as I couldn't wait till Sunday.

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On this early Thursday morning it was 4:30 in the morning here in L.A, and the faint glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft light across the room. I was up, already dressed in a hoodie and leggings, quietly gathering clothes for David. A black button-up shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and his favorite boots—I laid them out neatly on the chair by the bed, double-checking everything while suppressing the urge to sigh out loud.

David was sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world, his arm dangling off the side. He'd stumbled in around 1:30 AM, drunk as usual, mumbling half-coherent apologies before collapsing face-first onto the mattress. Now, as I moved around the room, he stirred slightly, groaning at the sound of me shuffling clothes and zipping up a bag.

"What're you doing?" His voice was hoarse, groggy, barely above a whisper.

I turned to him, hands on my hips. "Good. You're up," I said firmly. "Get dressed. We've got to leave soon."

David blinked slowly, confusion etched across his face. "Leave? Go where?"

I stared at him, incredulous. "Don't tell me you forgot. Or are you too drunk to remember what I told you last night?"

He frowned, trying to piece things together. "I remember..."

"Sure you do," I muttered under my breath. Crossing my arms, I reminded him, "You've got a morning radio show with the band. Kevin and Bean. It starts at six. You need to be there, David."

"Oh... yeah," he said, rubbing his face as realization finally hit. "I remember now."

"Uh-huh." I wasn't buying it, but I didn't have the energy to argue. "Just get in the shower. Don't worry about your clothes; I've already picked them out for you."

David groaned and shifted slightly, making a half-hearted attempt to sit up. "I'll do it in, like, ten minutes..."

"David, no." My tone sharpened as I watched him flop back onto the bed. "Get up. Don't fall asleep, because if you do, you're not getting up."

"Calm down," he mumbled, eyes closed, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. "I'll get up. I promise."

I stood there, glaring at him even though he couldn't see me. "David." Nothing. "David." Still nothing. I tried one more time, my voice sharper. "David!"

"Ten minutes," he muttered, his words slurred and barely audible. "Just... give me ten minutes..."

I let out a long, frustrated sigh and rolled my eyes, grabbing a towel from the dresser. Without a word, I tossed it over him, the fabric landing on his chest with a dull thud. "Fine. Ten minutes. But I'm going downstairs to make you a hangover drink, and when I come back, you better be in that shower."

He mumbled something that vaguely sounded like "okay," but before I even made it to the door, I heard him start snoring again.

I paused, closing my eyes for a moment as I fought back the growing irritation bubbling inside me. "What a way to start my morning," I muttered to myself before heading downstairs, leaving him to his drunken stupor. If he wasn't up when I got back, I swore I was dragging him into the shower myself.

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The car ride to the studio was quiet, aside from David occasionally muttering complaints about the brightness of the streetlights or how much his head hurt. He downed the hangover drink I made him earlier, grimacing at the taste but knowing better than to complain about it to me. I didn't have the patience for his whining this morning, not after practically dragging him out of bed and into the shower.

By the time we arrived at the studio, the parking lot was already buzzing with activity. David slumped out of the car, his sunglasses hiding the exhaustion in his eyes, and trudged behind me as we made our way inside.

The rest of the band was already there, standing in a corner near the coffee station. Atticus, one of David's bandmates and his partner-in-crime from last night, looked a little rough around the edges too, but at least he was upright and functioning. The other guys—Trevor, Richard, and Robin—looked annoyingly fresh-faced, sipping their coffee like they'd just had a full eight hours of sleep and a hearty breakfast.

"About time," Trevor said, raising an eyebrow as we approached.

David gave him a half-hearted wave, muttering something that sounded like "Traffic," though we both knew that wasn't the reason. Atticus smirked, clearly amused by David's struggle, though he didn't look much better himself.

"Rough night?" Atticus asked, his tone light, though his bloodshot eyes gave him away.

David snorted, pulling off his sunglasses. "Speak for yourself."

"Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" Atticus shot back, holding up his coffee cup like it was some badge of honor.

I stepped back, letting them exchange their usual banter as I leaned against the wall near the back of the studio. The producers ushered them into the recording room a few minutes later, and I followed, staying out of the way but keeping a close eye on David.

The interview started off smoothly. Kevin and Bean were their usual energetic selves, cracking jokes and hyping up the band's latest album. The guys played along, laughing and joking back, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that David had only gotten three hours of drunken sleep.

He was holding it together well—too well, almost. His voice was steady, his answers sharp, and he even managed to laugh at a few of the jokes. But I could see the cracks if I looked closely enough. The way his foot tapped nervously against the floor, the occasional glance at the clock on the wall, the subtle way he pinched the bridge of his nose when he thought no one was looking.

When they started talking about the success of their new album, David perked up a little, leaning into the conversation like he wanted to prove he wasn't as hungover as he looked.

"It's been a wild ride," he said, his voice warm and animated. "We're just grateful for the fans, you know? They've been amazing."

Trevor nodded, jumping in to share a story about a particularly wild fan encounter a few weeks ago, and the room erupted in laughter. Even David managed a genuine smile, though I could see the exhaustion creeping back in as soon as the laughter died down.

From the back of the room, I watched him closely, my arms crossed over my chest. He was trying, I'd give him that. But I knew him too well to believe this was anything more than a temporary reprieve. The moment the adrenaline wore off, he'd crash hard, and I'd be the one left picking up the pieces.

The interview wrapped up about twenty minutes later, and the guys filed out of the recording room, shaking hands with Kevin and Bean and thanking them for having them on the show. David lingered near the door, rubbing the back of his neck and looking like he was ready to collapse.

I walked over to him, handing him a bottle of water I'd grabbed earlier. "You did good in there," I said softly, my tone a mix of praise and warning.

He took the bottle, giving me a tired smile. "Told you I'd be fine."

I didn't respond, just raised an eyebrow as he drank the water. He knew better than to push his luck right now.

"Come on," I said after a moment, nodding toward the exit. "Let's get you something to eat before you crash."

David nodded, following me out of the studio putting his arm over my shoulder, "What would I do without you, Sony."

He kissed my temple as we continued walking out,
For now, he was holding it together for the long day he had ahead of him. Later on that day back at the he house which was quiet, the kind of silence that only comes late at night when the world feels like it's winding down.

I was curled up on David's couch, my legs stretched out as I absentmindedly flipped through the channels on the TV. Nothing caught my attention. The low sound of some late-night show played in the background, but my eyes were fixed on the window. Even at this hour, the view outside was stunning—city lights glittering like stars against the dark skyline.

I tugged at the hem of the oversized white sweatshirt I was wearing, a little comfort for an overactive mind. My legs, clad in shorts and socks, rested on the couch as I let my thoughts drift. It had been a long day. The show at the Palladium earlier had been electric, and David and the band had absolutely killed it on stage. But now, hours later, the high of the evening had worn off, and my mind was stuck on the one thing I couldn't shake: Sunday.

I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind me and turned slightly as David walked into the room. His white tank clung to his frame, and his grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a familiar, comforting sight. He flopped down on the couch next to me, grabbing my legs and tossing them over his lap as he settled in.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and a little raspy from the night's performance.

I nodded, giving him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" He rested his arm across my shins, his fingers absently tracing patterns on my leg.

"Sunday," I admitted, letting out a sigh. "It's all I can think about right now."

He tilted his head, studying me. "What? Are you worried the match isn't going to be good?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It's not that. I'm worried if I'm even going to win. Vince is infamous for changing his mind at the last minute, making decisions on the fly."

David raised an eyebrow. "So you're not sure if you're even winning on Sunday?"

"Well," I shrugged, "I'll find out when I get there. Technically, we'll know before the show starts. So I've got three days to sit with this uncertainty."

He didn't say anything right away. Instead, he shifted, leaning forward until his head rested on my stomach, his body stretched out between my legs. He tilted his head up to look at me, his dark eyes locking with mine.

"I wouldn't stress it, Sony," he said softly, his voice steady. "Like you said, you've been working hard for this. On Sunday, you're 100% winning the title. Out of all the women on that roster, you deserve it."

"Yeah?" I asked, my fingers slipping into his hair, brushing through the soft strands.

"Hell yeah," he said firmly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Sunday, you're gonna kick Lisa's ass. And look good doing it, especially in that new gear of yours. Red and black—my two favorite colors."

"Thank you," I said, a little smile creeping onto my face. "It's nothing too crazy. Pretty simple, but it fits the theme."

"Everything's gonna be fine," he said, his tone soothing as he leaned up and kissed me gently. "Believe me. Look how everything went today, and you were worried about that too."

"Well, that's because you were functioning on three hours of sleep," I shot back, narrowing my eyes playfully.

"I know," he admitted with a chuckle, leaning back down on my stomach. "That was stupid. But tonight, for once, all I want to do is sleep—a good nine hours."

"You mean eight," I corrected, smirking.

"No, I meant nine," he said, grinning up at me before closing his eyes briefly.

"For what it's worth," I said softly, running my fingers through his hair again, "thank you for staying in tonight."

"No problem, babe," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more relaxed.

He shifted, crawling up to lie on top of me, his weight comforting rather than stifling. He pressed soft kisses to my neck and cheek, making me smile despite the heaviness in my chest. For the first time all day, I felt a little lighter.

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Three days later here at the Gund Arena, the energy backstage was busy which I'm used to. I could feel it buzzing through the walls of and my stomach churned with anticipation, a mix of nerves and adrenaline coursing through me as I tightened the straps of my black-and-red gear. This was it. No Mercy. October 17th, 1999, the night I'd been waiting for my entire career.

My fists clenched at my sides as I stood in the gorilla position, watching the monitor. The match before me was wrapping up—a short opener that barely scratched the surface of what this crowd deserved. The pop they gave when the pinfall hit made my chest swell. They were ready. They wanted more.

And so did I.

A producer, Michael Hayes leaned in, his headset askew. "Eight minutes. Make it count."

Eight minutes. Eight minutes to prove that everything I'd worked for, bled for, sacrificed for, wasn't in vain. I nodded, my jaw tightening as I rolled my shoulders. My theme hit, and the crowd erupted. The pulse of the music vibrated through my chest as I stepped through the curtain. The wave of noise slammed into me, almost overwhelming, but I fed off it.

The fans were on their feet, hands reaching out as I walked down the ramp, my face locked in determination. Every step I took, I felt the weight of the past ten years on my shoulders. The nights in dingy gyms, the long drives, the injuries. It was all for this upcoming no disqualification match.

Sliding into the ring, I climbed the turnbuckle flipping my hair back and raised my fist, the fans screaming louder in response. My eyes scanned the sea of faces, but I wasn't looking for anyone. Not tonight. Tonight, it was about me and that championship.

And then Ivory's music hit.

She strutted out with that damn smug grin, her Women's Championship held high like a trophy she didn't deserve. My fingers twitched as I watched her taunt the crowd, basking in their boos. My body vibrated with energy. I couldn't wait to wipe that grin off her face.

I didn't.

The second she got close enough, I bolted. Sprinting against the ropes, I dove under the bottom rope, my shoulder colliding with her chest in a clothesline that sent her sprawling to the floor. The crowd exploded as the bell rang.

I didn't let up. Dragging her to her feet, I whipped her into the barricade with enough force to rattle the steel. She yelped, but I wasn't interested in mercy. Not tonight. Grabbing her by the hair, I pulled her forward and slammed her face into the edge of the apron. She retaliated with a rake to the eyes, and for a moment, my vision blurred.

"Shit," I growled, blinking furiously as I stumbled backward.

Before I could recover, she grabbed me by the back of the head and drove me into the steel steps. Pain exploded through my shoulder, but I gritted my teeth and shoved her away.

The match spilled back into the ring, both of us exchanging blows with reckless abandon. Every punch, every kick, every chop was stiff and deliberate. The crowd's energy surged with every move we landed. I hit a suicide dive through the ropes that sent both of us crashing into the barricade, the fans roaring as I rolled to my feet, clutching my ribs.

Ivory was relentless. She scrambled under the ring and came up with a kendo stick, swinging it with precision three times. The crack of the wood against my back made me wince, but I bit down on the pain and caught the stick mid-swing. I ripped it from her hands and hurled it across the ring before nailing her with a dropkick that sent her sprawling.

The fight grew nastier. She found a trash can and slammed it over my head, the impact ringing in my ears. Stars danced in my vision as she climbed the top rope and stomped down, flattening the trash can and me beneath it. My ribs screamed in protest, but when the referee dropped to count, I forced my shoulder up at two.

"Stay down!" Ivory hissed, her voice laced with frustration.

I spat on the mat, glaring up at her. "Make me."

The climax of this match came fast and brutal. Ivory dragged a table into the ring, her face twisted in determination. She set it up near the corner and grabbed me by the hair, dragging me to my feet. I could hear her shouting something about how it was over, but I didn't care.

She positioned me on the top turnbuckle, setting up for a suplex. My body screamed in protest, every muscle taut with pain, but I wasn't going to let her have this moment. I blocked her suplex with everything I had, driving an elbow into her side. She stumbled, and I shoved her off the ropes.

"Not tonight," I muttered under my breath, climbing down and grabbing her by the hair. I didn't hold back. My fist connected with her face, one, two, three or four times before I bit her nose out of sheer instinct.

She screamed, her hands flying to her face as the crowd collectively gasped. I licked the blood off my fingers, smirking as I reared back and delivered the stiffest chop I'd ever thrown. It echoed through the arena, and Ivory crumpled onto the table.

The crowd was deafening now, their chants of my name ringing in my ears as I climbed the turnbuckle. My chest heaved as I steadied myself, looking down at Ivory sprawled across the table. This was it, time to make a moment.

I leaped.

The moonsault was perfect, my body twisting through the air before I crashed down onto Ivory, the table splintering beneath us. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but I rolled onto my side, draping an arm over her chest.

"One... two... three!"

The bell rang, and I let out a shaky breath, relief washing over me as the announcer's voice boomed through the arena.

"And the winner of this match... and NEW WWF Women's Champion...Sonya Sawyer!

The referee handed me the title, and as I stared at it, everything else faded away. The noise of the crowd, the pain in my ribs, even the blood dripping from my forehead—it all disappeared.

I raised the title high, tears stinging my eyes as I climbed the turnbuckle. The fans were on their feet, chanting my name, their voices blending into a single roar of approval.

Then I glanced back down at Ivory, still lying in the wreckage of the table. Jumping down I approached her, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear.

"I told you this would happen."

And then, just because I could, I kissed her bloody face before shoving her back to the mat. I left the ring with my title in hand, walking up the ramp I felt lighter than I had in years. This was my moment, my victory, and no one could take it away from me.

The roar of the crowd was still echoing in my ears as I stepped through the curtain and into the backstage area. My chest heaved, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins as I clutched the Women's Championship to my chest. I was shaking—part exhaustion, part disbelief. This wasn't a dream. It was real.

The moment the curtain fell behind me, a wave of applause broke out from the crew and agents standing nearby. It caught me off guard, and for a second, I just stood there, staring at them. Then it hit me—they were clapping for me.

"Hell of a match, Sonya," Michael said, clapping me on the back. "You went out there and killed it."

"Damn right she did," another voice chimed in. I turned to see one of the agents grinning at me. "That moonsault? Perfect. You ladies just made magic out there."

Their words washed over me, filling the cracks in my confidence that had lingered for years. I smiled, breathless, as I nodded and thanked them, my voice trembling slightly.

And then Vince walked up.

He wasn't one for overly sentimental moments, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes as he extended a hand. "You delivered tonight, Sonya. You and Ivory proved why you guys belong here. Great job."

His words hit me harder than I expected. I shook his hand, swallowing the lump in my throat as I nodded. "Thank you, sir" I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

As Vince walked off, I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The weight of the championship in my hands, the sting of my bruises, the lingering burn in my ribs—it was all worth it. Every ounce of pain, every setback, every tear I'd shed had led me to this moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joan and Amy standing near the entrance of gorilla, watching me with matching smiles. Joan's arms were crossed, her signature tough-as-nails expression softened by the glimmer of pride in her eyes. Amy was beside her, grinning ear to ear, practically bouncing on her heels despite her injury.

I didn't even think. My feet moved on their own, carrying me toward them. By the time I reached them, the tears I'd been holding back were spilling over.

Joan opened her arms, and I practically fell into her embrace. She held me tight, her strength grounding me as I let out a shaky breath.

"You fucking did it," she said, her voice low but full of emotion. "I'm so damn proud of you."

Amy joined in, wrapping her arms around both of us. "You were incredible out there, Sonya. Absolutely incredible."

Their words broke something in me, and I started to sob—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief and joy that coursed through me. I clung to them, my friends, my sisters in this crazy business, as the weight of the past year hit me all at once.

The car crash that nearly ended my career. The breakup with Shawn that shattered my heart. The months of depressive episodes where I didn't even want to get out of bed, let alone step into a ring.

But I did.

I pushed through all of it, and it had led me here, to this moment, with this championship in my hands and the people I cared about by my side.

Joan pulled back slightly, her hands on my shoulders as she looked me in the eye. "This is just the beginning, you know that, right?"

I nodded, sniffling as I wiped at my eyes. "Yeah. I know."

Amy grinned, reaching out to touch the championship. "It looks good on you, champ. Real good."

I laughed, a watery sound that was half a sob, half a chuckle. "Thanks, Ames."

We stood there for a moment, the three of us, before Joan pulled me back into another hug. "You deserve this, Sony. After everything you've been through, you deserve this."

Her words sank deep into my heart, and for the first time in a long time, I truly believed them.

I smiled through my tears, holding onto them both as tightly as I could. "I couldn't have done it without you guys."

And I meant it. They'd been there for me through everything, never letting me fall too far, always reminding me of my worth when I couldn't see it myself.

Tonight was my moment, but it wasn't just mine. It belonged to all of us. To every person who had believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself.

As we pulled apart, I glanced down at the championship in my hands, the gold glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"This is just the beginning," I whispered to myself, the fire in my chest burning brighter than ever.

═════════ ♡ ═════════

A little while later as I walked backstage, clutching the championship belt that felt like a dream wrapped around my waist. I had just defeated Ivory ten minutes ago, a moment I had worked for since stepping foot in this business.

The cheers of the crowd were still ringing in my ears, and a smile crept across my face as I admired the gold and leather glinting under the fluorescent lights. This was all mine.

"Congratulations Sonya!" I heard one of the crew members call out, giving me a thumbs-up as they passed by.

"Thanks!" I replied, beaming with pride. My heart raced as I took a moment to relish the victory before moving towards the locker room.

As I turned the corner, lost in my thoughts, I collided with someone. I stumbled back a bit, startled. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I blurted out, looking up to see who it was.

My breath caught in my throat when I realized it was Shawn.

"Hey, watch where you're going, champ," he said with a teasing smile that brought back a wave of memories, both good and complicated.

"Right. Sorry about that," I managed, the words feeling inadequate in the weight of our shared history. It had been so long since we had seen each other. I felt an awkward silence stretch between us, reminding me of all the unspoken words since last year when he dropped that bomb about marrying Rebecca.

"Hey, how have you been?" he asked, breaking the tension.

"Busy," I replied, trying to keep my tone light, even though it felt heavy with unresolved emotions. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do. I've been around on and off," he nodded. "Just filling in as commissioner and whatnot, for now."

"Right, I heard about that..," I said, looking down at the title in my hands, trying to find something else to focus on.

"And Rebecca, how's she?" I asked before I could stop myself, the question slipping out despite my better judgment.

Shawn's expression shifted slightly, and I held my breath. "She's good," he said, a small smile spreading across his face. "Actually... she's pregnant."

The words hung in the air, and my heart felt like it sank. "Oh," was all I could manage. "How far along is she?"

"Around mid January," he replied, his tone brightening. "We're really excited, it's a boy."

"I... uh, wow congratulations Shawn," I said, forcing a smile even as a mix of emotions twisted in my gut.
"I really hope everything goes well for you both, really."

"Thanks, Sonya," he said, the warmth in his voice contrasting the chill creeping up my spine. "And hey, congratulations on winning the title. I always knew you'd be a champ one day."

A half-smile tugged at my lips, feeling a flicker of pride amidst the swirling confusion. "Thanks. It means a lot coming from you."

We shared a moment of silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. I could feel the history between us, the past mingling with the present, and for a brief second, I wanted to reach out and bridge that gap. But I knew it wasn't that simple.

"Well, I should get going," I said, breaking the spell.

"Yeah, me too, gotta talk to Vin man." he replied, taking a step back.

"Okay, but I guess I'll see ya." I Said

"Yeah..good luck with everything." Shawn Said

"You too." I Nodded

As we both turned to leave, I felt his gaze linger on me. Then I glanced over my shoulder, catching him looking back at me, and we shared a fleeting moment, a ghost of what we used to be. I quickly turned away, the bittersweet weight of our encounter pressing down on my heart.

Walking away, I felt the championship belt's weight on my waist, a reminder of my triumph and the tangled feelings that came with it. It was a victory in the ring, but in my heart, it felt as if the battle was far from over.

When the show was over I couldn't wait to get some sleep, I arrived at the hotel and went up to my room that I had to myself. The door clicked shut behind me, and I stood there for a moment, leaning against it, letting the weight of the night catch up to me. The silence in the hotel room felt deafening after the roar of the crowd.

I looked down at the championship belt in my arms, its polished gold plates gleaming under the dim light. It felt heavier than I expected—not just physically, but emotionally.

I crossed the room slowly, placing the title gently on the bed like it was made of glass. For a long moment, I just stared at it, sitting there against the plain white comforter. It was everything I'd ever dreamed of, and yet, there was a strange ache in my chest. Pride mingled with something else I couldn't quite name.

I sank down onto the bed, running my fingers over the engraved details of the belt. I should've been celebrating, shouting from the rooftops, but instead, I felt a strange mix of joy and loneliness. Shaking off the thought, I reached for the hotel phone and dialed home.

"Sonya!" Mom's voice came through after a couple of rings, warm and full of excitement. "Oh, honey, we are so proud of you!"

I smiled despite myself, her enthusiasm washing over me like a warm hug. "Thanks, Mom. Did you guys watch?"

"Of course we did!" she said, her voice almost giddy. "Your dad had everyone over—Dylan, Cade, Ryland—we were all here. You should've seen the chaos when you pinned her. Your dad nearly spilled his drink jumping up."

I laughed softly, picturing it. "That sounds like him."

The phone passed from person to person—Cade teasing me about how serious I looked in the ring, Dylan telling me how proud he was, and Ryland gushing over my moonsault like it was the coolest thing she'd ever seen.

"When are you coming home?" Ryland asked eagerly.

"Soon," I promised. "I miss you guys. We'll celebrate properly when I do."

After hanging up, the room felt quieter than before. I sat down by the window, staring out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. My fingers hovered over my Nokia, scrolling to David's name. For a second, I hesitated, but then I hit call.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. "Hey," he said, his voice warm but casual.

"Hey," I said softly, the corners of my lips tugging into a smile despite myself. "Guess what?"

"What?" he asked, his tone playful.

"I won," I said, the words barely above a whisper as the emotion I'd been holding back all night bubbled up. "I'm the new Women's Champion."

David laughed, a sound full of pride and joy. "Sonya, babe that's amazing! I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," I said, my chest tightening. "Did you see it?"

There was a pause, and I already knew the answer. "I really wanted to," he said finally, regret lacing his voice. "But the band's been slammed all day. We've got an appearance on Leno tonight—talking about the album, performing—it's been nonstop."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "It's okay," I said quickly, forcing a lightness into my tone. "I get it. You're busy."

"I'm sorry," he said again, and I could tell he meant it. "I know you were incredible, though. You always are."

"Thanks," I said softly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You can watch it later when you have time."

"I will," he promised. "After the show, we're heading out to celebrate, I'll take a shot for you and I promise I'll try not to get too crazy, though."

I let out a soft laugh, even as a pang of disappointment hit me. "Enjoy yourself, David," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You deserve it."

"I love you, Sony," he said after a moment, his voice gentle.

"I love you, too," I replied, and I meant it, even through the lingering ache.

When the call ended, I set the phone down on the nightstand and turned back to the championship belt. It glimmered under the soft light, a reminder of everything I'd fought for. I wanted him to see it, to share this moment with me. But I understood. Our lives were chaotic, always pulling us in different directions.

Climbing into bed, I pulled the title close, the weight of it grounding me. I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, finding the channel where David's performance would air. As I waited, I let myself sit with the mix of emotions swirling inside me—the pride, the loneliness, the exhaustion.

This was my moment, and while I wished he'd been there to see it, I knew this was just the beginning. There would be more nights, more victories, more moments to celebrate. For now, I held onto the joy of what I'd accomplished, letting it carry me forward.