Page 44 of Wrestling With Love

And so she let him take the lead as he planted his lips on her, soft but demanding.

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

A year later, this was it. The last fight. The final match.

One more win for the Gold Medal.

The air in the arena was thick with tension, the kind that settled in Diamond’s bones and vibrated through her skin. The crowd was a living, breathing thing—thousands of voices merging into one deafening roar. The blue mat under the bright lights felt massive, larger than life, but she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

She had bled for this.

She had sacrificed for this.

And now, she just needed one more win.

Her gloves tightened as she flexed her fingers, rolling her shoulders. Steady. Focused. The smell of sweat and adrenaline hung heavy in the air, but she tuned it all out.

Then she felt his eyes on her before she saw him.

Luca.

Front row. Standing tall, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked onto her with an intensity that made her pulse spike. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire damn arena.

"One more fight, Perez." His voice was drowned out by the crowd, but still readable.

She exhaled, her heart steadying at the certainty in his tone.

"You’ve got this." He shouted, high enough to reach her ears.

And for the first time in her life, she believed it.

The bell rang, and it began.

Her opponent was fast. Powerful. Unforgiving. A fighter who didn’t make mistakes, who forced Diamond to earn every single second she stayed standing. They traded blows, neither of them willing to give an inch. Every muscle in her body screamed, every hit rattled her bones, but she didn’t back down. She never did.

In the second round, the woman slammed her down so hard her vision flickered. The world tilted. The mat was suddenly beneath her, cool and unforgiving, and for a split second, doubt crept in.

She could stay down.

She could lose.

Then—his voice.

"Get up."

Two words. Low. Firm. Unshakable.

She didn’t think. She reacted.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed off the mat and got up.

The next few seconds were a blur—her body moved on instinct, every muscle knowing exactly what to do. And then—the final move, the perfect strike, the one she had trained for her entire life.

The referee lifted her hand.

She won.

---