Chapter 45: Meeting The Coach 2

Artemio intercepted Rocky before he could rejoin the crowd.

“Walk with me.”

They slipped away from the music and laughter, cutting across the lawn to a darker corner near the hedges. Out here, the fairy lights didn’t quite reach. The party noise dulled to a distant hum.

Artemio stopped and adjusted his cuffs, casual on the surface.

But his eyes were already searching.

They found Lara.

Across the lawn, she stood beside Ares. Close. Too close. Their silhouettes nearly touching under the lights.

Artemio’s expression hardened.

“So,” he said quietly, “how was it?”

A beat.

“Is she pretending?”

Rocky followed his gaze.

His face stayed unreadable.

“Didn’t look like it, Boss,” he said. Calm. Certain. “Back then, even if she was calm outwardly, her eyes would show a flicker of fear.”

He let out a short breath through his nose.

“Tonight? Nothing. No fear. No recognition. Like I was a stranger.”

He picked up a glass from a passing waiter and drained it in one swallow.

“If she’s acting…” He set the empty glass down with a soft clink. “Then she deserves an award.”

Artemio’s fingers tapped once against his sleeve. Thinking.

“And the card?”

“I gave it to her.” Rocky’s mouth twitched faintly. “She didn’t remember me. But the gym caught her attention. Held it a little too long.”

A pause.

Artemio nodded slowly. “Good.”

His gaze stayed fixed on Lara.

“We don’t push. We don’t rush.” His voice was smooth, measured. “If she walks in on her own… we remind her. Piece by piece.”

“Of who she is,” Rocky said. “And what she was trained for.”

The music swelled as laughter erupted from the tables. Bright. Carefree.

It didn’t reach them.

Rocky rolled his shoulders, the old ache settling into his bones like a memory.

If she came back to that gym, his gym— things would be different.

He flexed his hand unconsciously, remembering the day she’d put him on the floor. He could not forget the humiliation and the whispers.

This time, there would be no witnesses.

And no mercy.

…

Meanwhile, Lara sat beside Shay.

Shay was talking—hands moving, voice bright, something about the caterer or the music—but the words slid past her like water.

Lara nodded at the right moments and smiled when expected.

But she wasn’t there.

The gold card in her purse felt hot against her palm.

And the past kept pushing in, unbidden.

Flashback

The first thing she smelled was antiseptic.

Lara opened her eyes to a white ceiling stained yellow at the corners.

Not a hospital. It was too small. Must be a family clinic.

Every inch of her body ached—her ribs. her jaw. her ankles.

Even breathing hurt.

A chair scraped.

Her father sat beside the bed.

His face was blurred, but she didn’t need to see it clearly to recognize the tension in his posture.

Disappointment had a shape. And it was him.

“You’re wasting money, Lara,” he said.

No greeting. No concern in his voice.

“You’re out for two weeks. I still have to pay Rocky.”

The words landed harder than any punch.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. Her throat burned. “I’ll train harder. I’ll be more careful.”

“You’d better.”

A beat.

“He’s only with us for three months. You don’t have time to fall behind.”

She swallowed. “He’s not teaching me. He just… hits me.”

Silence. Cold, heavy silence.

When he spoke again, his voice was flat.

“Then stop waiting to be taught.”

Her fingers tightened in the sheets.

“Watch. Adapt. Think. Use your head. No one is going to hold your hand in a fight.”

“What good is all that brain of yours if you don’t put it to use?” His father’s voice was harsh.

His chair scraped back, and then the door shut behind him.

No goodbye. Not even a “get well soon.” wish/

Just the smell of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights.

Lara stared at the ceiling, then reached for her phone.

If no one would teach her, she’d teach herself.

She grabbed her phone and searched for videos of Rocky’s fights.

For the next two weeks, she immersed herself in boxing videos.

She studied Rocky’s every move—his footwork, his timing, his tells. Each night, she replayed the matches, imprinting them on her mind until she could almost predict what he would do before he moved.

When she walked back into the gym, Rocky smirked.

“Back already, princess?”

He swung.

She wasn’t there.

His glove cut through air.

This time, Rocky threw a punch, harder than the first.

She dodged. Every single one. Her movements were fluid and calculated.

And when she struck back, her punches connected—light as they were, they still landed.

She moved differently now—lighter, sharper. Not stronger but smarter.

Touch him once—then retreat.

Touch— retreat.

Her hits were annoying.

Rocky’s jaw tightened, frustration palpable. Though her hits barely fazed him physically, his ego took the brunt.

Each time she slipped out of his reach, his growls of irritation grew louder.

His punches got heavier, sloppier, and angrier.

Good, she thought.

Angry people make mistakes.

For the first time, she saw Rocky’s confidence falter. He became more distracted as he focused on hurting her, and his punches became more forceful but careless.

Lara spotted an opening.

She was too small to land a powerful uppercut—her punches barely reached Rocky’s chest.

Instinct took over. In the heat of the moment, she shifted her weight and launched a front kick, aiming high.

Crack.

Her foot slammed into his chin.

His head snapped back.

Something white flew out—followed by blood.

“F*ck! #@^!” Rocky spat, clutching his jaw as he staggered. The air was thick with the sting of sweat and humiliation.

Enraged, he lunged toward Lara, bellowing a string of obscenities.

The gym shook with every step.

But Lara was quick, darting around the gym like a shadow. She weaved between punching bags and ducked under equipment, her small frame giving her an edge in agility.

Rocky’s heavy steps thundered after her, his breath growing and labored with each failed attempt to catch her.

Panting and worn down, Rocky faltered.

Lara seized the opportunity. With precision, she unleashed another kick, this time striking him squarely in the face.

The impact reverberated through the room.

“I’ll… I’ll kill you, you b*tch!” Rocky snarled, his words dripping with venom.

But his curses became his downfall. Every time he opened his mouth to bark an insult, Lara found her chance.

Another kick, and then another, each one striking hard. His once-dominant stance crumbled under her relentless, calculated strikes.

For the first time, Lara felt something new coursing through her veins—power!

She was no longer the helpless girl avoiding blows.

She was fighting back, and with each kick, her confidence surged. For once, she wasn’t just surviving. She was winning.

After she was done, Rocky’s face was badly bruised, just like she was two weeks ago.

She pulled off her gloves and dropped them on his chest.

He didn’t get up.

…

The memory shattered.

Music rushed back in.

Shay laughing beside her.

Lara blinked.

Her fingers were digging into her purse so hard her knuckles had gone white.

And somewhere across the lawn—

Rocky stood tall.

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