You and Dominik had grown dangerously close. It started with fleeting glances, stolen moments backstage—connections forged in shadows. But Dominik belonged to Liv Morgan, one half of the ruthless WWE Women’s Tag Team Champions. And Liv? She noticed everything.

Now, you lay sprawled on the cold pavement under her Ferrari F40, the roar of the engine replaced by a deafening silence. Your head throbbed violently—blood poured from a gash along your hairline, mixing with the dirt and oil beneath you. Your beautiful face was barely recognizable, distorted by a broken nose and splattered crimson. Your vision flickered, like a dying lightbulb, the world tilting in and out of focus.

Every blink felt like it might be your last.

Just a few feet away, Liv Morgan and Raquel Rodriguez strutted off into the shadows, their laughter twisted and venomous, echoing like a curse. There was no remorse in their eyes—only satisfaction. This had been personal.

Three WWE referees came sprinting around the corner, panic written all over their faces as they shouted for medics. One dropped to their knees, trying to speak to you, but the words were muffled by the ringing in your ears. Blood bubbled from your mouth with every shallow breath, dripping down your chin, soaking into your denim jacket.

Your body wouldn't move. Your mind was screaming, but all you could do was lie there—broken, bleeding, and betrayed.