Page 98 of Stiletto's Savior

Journalists hover like vultures, notebooks in hand.

“I didn’t think it’d be this big,” I say, shaking my head.

A knot tightens in my stomach.

I was picturing a couple of local bloggers, maybe some influencers. Not this circus.

“Your mother would’ve loved to see this.” He glances away, and I catch a flicker of something—regret?

It’s gone before I can ask.

Instead, I focus on the reporters jostling for position.

They want a piece of me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, pulling my leather jacket tighter.

“Just be yourself,” Dad pats my shoulder. “They’re here to learn about the gym.”

“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “Just a gym opening.”

He smirks, but there’s pride in his voice. “With a Lion behind it, kid.”

I nod, trying to shake off the weight of expectation.

A woman calls out, waving her arm like she’s conducting traffic. “Next!”

I step forward, plastering on a smile that feels more like a mask. “Guess it’s showtime.”

The first interviewer approaches, a slick dude in a blazer. “Miles Lion, it’s opening day for your gym, huh? How does it feel?”

“Like I’m about to throw up.” Laughter erupts from the small crowd gathered.

I suppress a grin.

“Seriously, though.” He leans in, eager. “Have you thought about following in your family’s footsteps and competing?”

“Not really.” I shrug, keeping it real. “I’m not in this for fame. I want to build something solid here.”

He raises an eyebrow, pushing harder. “Solid? Like a legacy?”

“Yeah.” I cross my arms. “But it’s for my future kids, not for me.”

He scribbles notes, moving on to the next question. “Fair enough.”

I glance across the room, spotting Stiletto chatting with some fans.

She catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up.

“Next question,” the reporter prompts.

But all I can think about is her smile.

“Can we wrap this up? There’s a lot of people I need to talk to,” I cut in, feeling restless.

There’s too much noise, too many expectations.

I’m ready to break free.

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