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And I knew how to fucking win.

Hands up, Dalton had told me. Watch his shoulders, not his hands.

But hands and upper-body strength weren’t my gifts. I had pro-kicker legs. And I was damn well going to use them.

I stopped watching Vaughn’s fists and started watching the line of his shoulders. The way his weight shifted. The small tells he’d probably been hiding from other opponents for years but was now, just barely, making visible for me.

He cocked his shoulder right before a left hook. Just a fraction. Just enough.

So when he faked right now, weight shifting, that was all I needed. That microsecond of him already moving left.

My left foot planted.

Everything in me tightened—hips, core, calves—with the same coiled precision I’d used a thousand times on the field⁠—

See it, set it, send it.

—then I drove through with my right leg, snapping it up fast and sharp. I felt the strike everywhere—the jolt up my leg, through my spine.

It was the cleanest blow I’d landed all night.

And Vaughn had given it to me.

But I’d taken it, too. I’d read him. Timed him. Trusted what my body already knew.

Surprised him.

The kick landed flush against Vaughn’s jaw with a crack that cut through the crowd noise and made me wince in horror.

Fuck. That might have been too much rage.

After that, everything happened at once. The crowd exploded. Vaughn’s head whipped sideways, his balance gone before he could recover.

For a half second, he stayed upright, like instinct was still fighting to hold him there, but then he dropped.

He rolled to the side as he hit the mat, managing the fall, which was just enough to reassure me I hadn’t knocked him out.

But the crowd didn’t see any of that. They saw Elliot Vaughn go down… and they lost their collective minds.

Hugo stepped in, finishing the count.

Vaughn slowly rolled to his feet, his eyes already on mine. Watching me, while blood seeped from his cut lip and a nasty red splotch was already blooming on his cheek and jaw.

The noise was enormous. And somewhere in it, I swear I could hear Dalton’s incredulous huff… or maybe I was just imagining it.

My legs shook. My whole body shook, actually.

My face felt hot, and I was fairly certain I was going to burst into humiliating tears any minute.

I was also going to be wearing several of my own bruises for a week and get murdered by my father and his entire campaign staff.

But as I stood there in the middle of the cage, while people pressed toward the chain-link around us, I couldn’t make myself give a shit.

I stared back at Vaughn, our eyes locked, and for a second, the noise dropped away.

It was just him and me.

His mouth tipped at one corner—not soft enough to be a smile, but enough to tell me he’d seen me figure it out. Enough to tell me he knew exactly what he’d given me tonight… and didn’t regret a second of it. Enough to tell me I hadn’t done this alone.