The hallway feels longer than it used to. Every step Remi takes echoes softly against the polished floor, the sound sharp in the otherwise controlled silence. This house has always been like this, quiet, like even noise isn’t allowed unless it serves a purpose.

Order, control, and expectations… always.

At the end of the hall, his office door is open like he was waiting for her. And maybe he was. She slows as she reaches it, stopping just outside the threshold, peering beyond. The room hasn’t changed since she could remember. Dark wood lines the walls. Shelves filled but not cluttered. Every book was placed deliberately. Every object chosen, not collected. The kind of space that reflects a man who believes in precision. And behind the heavy mahogany desk…

Griffin Storm.

He’s seated, posture straight, one hand resting lightly against the arm of the chair, the other holding a pair of glasses he had just taken off. A document lies in front of him but he isn’t reading it anymore.

He’s aware.

He always is.

His cool unwavering gaze levels on her. “Remington.” He speaks her name calmly, like this is just another conversation, and not one that was a long time coming for both of them. Like what he had done wouldn’t cause her to show up, even if he hadn’t demanded it of her the night that she had found out…

“You have me followed.” No greeting, no easing into it. Just a flat out fact, one that he hadn’t confirmed but she knew anyway. Once she had figured it out, she had been looking out for it and really, was nearly ashamed she hadn’t noticed sooner. But she hadn’t thought he’d go quite that far.

Griffin doesn’t respond immediately. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look surprised. Why would he? He simply folds his glasses carefully, sets them down on the desk, and looks at her, unbothered. “Yes.”

Just that one simple word. No attempt to expound on the situation… Just confirmation. Remi lets out a slow breath as she takes another step forward. Her insides churn, the singular word creating chaos with her already turbulent emotions. “And you don’t think that you owe me some kind of explanation?”

“No.” He leans back in his chair. “I don’t.”His head cocks to the side, expression still impassive. “But since I know how you are…” He gestures vaguely. “You were making choices that required oversight.”

“I’m not one of your investments.”

“You are my daughter.”

“And that means what exactly to you?” she fires back. “That you get to monitor me? Control who I see, where I go, and what I do?”

“It means,” he cuts in, tone still even but firmer now, “that I have a responsibility to ensure you are not placing yourself in situations beneath you.”

A triad of emotions flash across her face. Anger. Disbelief. Hurt. “Beneath me?” she repeats, a short humorless laugh escaping. “You mean like wrestling?”

Griffin’s silence answers for him

Remi’s eyes harden. “Or was it him?”

That one hits its target. A flicker of a change, small but there, and gone again just as quickly. He watches her for a moment, quiet. Measuring. Then… “Tell me Remington.”

Her full name. Not Remi. It’s never Remi.

His tone is calm.

“Did that… man… walk away from you?”

She stills and for a second she doesn’t answer because she’s reliving it again. The car ride. His voice. ‘He’ll abandon you. Mark my words’. Her jaw tightens.

Griffin rests his elbows on his desk, leaning forward now. “I told you he would.” The corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. ”Reckless. Undisciplined. Concerned only with himself.” Silence stretches heavy between them as Remi doesn’t answer. “Well? Did he?”

“.... Yeah.” Quiet and reluctant… but honest.

There’s a shift in Griffin’s demeanor, nothing visible, subtle, but much like a shark scenting blood in the water. “And you still defend him? A man who just walked away and never looked back.”

Remi’s eyes lift to his, steadier now, the knowledge she owned after her trip to Houston giving her strength. “You paid him.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen before he schools his features back into the stoic mask. Her voice softens dangerously. “You actually thought you could just…what? Hand him money and he’d walk away for good?”

“He was given an opportunity,” Griffin replies, smooth as ever. “To make a smart decision.”

Remi shakes her head slowly. “An opportunity.” She laughs. “You tried to buy him.”

“I offered him clarity.”

“You tried to keep him away from me.”

“Yes.”

No hesitation and no apology. Not that she would have expected one. Remi feels the scalding heat of anger rise before she forces it back down. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know enough.” His gaze stays steady on hers. “Impulsive. Undisciplined. Chasing whatever’s easiest in the moment. Whatever benefits him the most.” A pause. “No loyalty. They just take what’s in front of them.” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. His next words cut just the same. “He’s the type of man who would choose money over anything to do with you.”

Remi’s head tilts, a smirk of her own appearing. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a thick envelope, doesn’t hesitate. She strides forward and slams it down on the desk. The sound cracks through the room. Griffin looks at it briefly then back to her. “He didn’t keep it.” She watches a calculating look flit through her father’s eyes. “No,” she continues. “Because not everything works the way you think it does… even when you push. Even when you think you leave someone without a choice.”

She has the satisfaction of seeing him at a loss for words for a moment.

“You formed… feelings… for him..” Griffin says finally.

“Not like that.”

“What would you call it?”

“A bond.” Remi shrugs. “A friendship.” It was hard to put into exact words what they'd had.

“And this friendship is worth jeopardizing your future?”

“This isn’t about him. This is about you thinking that you get to decide my life.”

“I am trying to protect it.”

“From what?” she demands. “From…. Me?” He doesn’t reply. “You don’t even see it do you?” Griffin’s gaze remains steady. “You don’t see me,” she continues. “Not really. You see what I’m supposed to be. What you planned. What you decided before I even had a say in it.”

“This is not…”

“I’ve been winning.” she butts in. “You said I’d never be any good? I went out there, four matches in, and I won the Prestige title. I earned that. Not because of you. Not because of anything you built. Because I worked for it. And now you’re trying to take that away like it doesn’t mean anything”

“It doesn’t.”

“Of course it doesn’t to you.” she mutters, more to herself than anything.

Griffin slowly stands. “You are walking away from a life people would do anything to have. Opportunities that matter. Stability. Influence.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You will.”

“No.” she says, shaking her head. “You want that. I want to earn what I need while wrestling, that's my dream.”

Griffin can’t help the curl of his lip. “And if this XWF or Divide go under?”

Still had his fingers on the pulse of everything. “I already got back up once and kept going. And I’ll do it again. As many times as it takes.”

Griffin draws a breath and for the first time there's something else there. Something close to… concern.

“If you continue on this path,” he starts. “I can’t… Won’t,” he amends. “Guarantee…” His voice trails off.

Remi’s brow furrows, confusion cutting through the rest of the mix of emotions. “Guarantee what?”

But he’s already turning away, resetting. “It doesn't matter.” he says, dismissive now. Controlled again. “This conversation is over.”


“What does that mean?” she presses. “What aren’t you telling m…”

“Remington.” Sharp. Final. A line drawn in the sand. “Enough.”

She stands there searching his face looking for something, anything. But it’s gone. Whatever had slipped through, buried again. “... you don’t get to do that.”

No response.

Of course not.

“...fine. But I’m not stopping.”

For a bit, nothing, then as she turns to go, his voice cuts through the air, as icy as a blizzard. “Once you walk out that door, don’t come back unless you’re summoned.”

Remi stifles a gasp, but doesn’t turn around. “... then I guess I won’t be back.”

No response.

No surprise.

She walks out, her choice having been made. And it hurt, God, did it hurt. Every step away felt like something pulling at her. Something breaking. Something that she can’t take back. By the time she reaches the front door her chest is tight, breathing uneven. Once she steps outside and shuts the door, she pauses there a moment, letting the sunlight beat down on her. She chose this, over her family, over everything. She straightens up and raises her chin.

But she’ll take that pain, every piece of it and turn it into something else.

Something sharper. Something stronger.

Fuel for wrestling.

Because if she was going to lose everything else….

Then she was going to make damn sure it was worth it.



“There’s something strange about the way certain paths line up.

Not a coincidence. Not luck. Something a little more deliberate than that, like two life stories being written in completely different places, under completely different circumstances, and somehow still ending up on the same page at the same time.

That’s what this feels like Rowan.

But before we even talk about what's about to happen between us, it’s worth looking at what already has.

I walked into XWF and didn’t hold back. I didn’t just ease into anything. Didn’t wait to start proving anything. I stepped directly into that triple threat match with John Blade and Dr Clown, two very different competitors, and approached it the only way I know how.

Full force.

There’s no room for hesitation in a match like that. No space to slow things down and find a rhythm at your own pace. Everything happens all at once. Every movement and every decision matters. You’re not just watching one opponent, you have to keep eyes on your back for the second one. Constantly recalculating and adjusting, constantly aware that even if you only lose focus for a fraction of a second, everything can slip away.

And somehow in all of that, I didn’t just ‘keep up.’

I took control.

And I dominated.

When it was all over, there wasn’t any question who had stepped into that moment and made it hers.

You’ve done the same since you entered this fed.

You know, if you get down to it and look at everything, you and I have more in common than most people are going to realize at first glance.

You trained quietly, almost in secret… because the people who were supposed to believe in you, didn’t.

I get that more than you think.

We both have faced the clowns… and hate their actual existence.

We are about the same age. We both came up the same way, not guided into wrestling but drawn into it from a young age. We built ourselves in other places, and we didn’t just show out… we bulldozed the competition. You went undefeated. So did I. You captured gold early on. So did I. You proved something in a place that mattered to you… and then watched it disappear.

So did I.

That kind of loss, that kind of reset? It changes you. It strips everything down to the core and forces you to decide if you’re going to build it again or walk away from it entirely.

Neither of us walked away.

We came here instead.

You’ve had two matches and two wins.

And I respect that, I really do.

But respect doesn’t change what this is, because this isn’t just any match. This is a submission match, and that matters.

While some people look at that stipulation and see a different way to win. A variation, a twist.

I see control.

Patience.

Submission isn’t about impact. It’s not about the flash of a finish or the sudden shock of a three count. It's slower than that. More deliberate. It’s about breaking someone down piece by piece until there's nothing left for them to do but give in. It’s knowing exactly where to pull, where to twist, where to hold on just long enough that escape stops being an option.

And that’s where I’m comfortable.

Because even though I might not be as proficient with them as others, I rather like submissions and dabble with them in nearly every match I’ve had.

There’s something about taking control of a match in that way, about forcing someone to feel every second of it, about making them realize that no matter how strong they are, no matter how confident they walked in…

They’re still human.

They still break.

When I look at you Rowan, I don’t just see someone with momentum and the same ideas I have. I see someone stepping into a match where my strengths become the entire battlefield.

And that changes things.

Now it’s not just about who’s faster, or stronger, or more aggressive. It’s about who can endure longer. Who can think clearly when the pressure starts to build. Who can hold on when everything in their body is telling them to let go.

I don’t let go Rowan.

Not of moments, not of opportunities that matter, not of anything.

I’ve already lived through what it feels like to build something and lose it, I’m not really interested in repeating that lesson.

Not here.

Not now.

So here we are, both stepping into this match looking for our next win, looking to build that momentum to see what could come next for us.

This isn’t about stopping you for me.

It’s about moving forward, and right now, you’re standing in the space I need to move through.

This isn’t personal, but it is unavoidable.”



Remi was still seething with anger and hurt hours after that encounter.

From her father.  From the visit with Cashe and finding out the reason he had stayed away. She absently rubs her knuckles. He HAD deserved that punch to the jaw honestly. He was so damn hard headed though, it probably didn’t do a damn thing. She moves from the living room into the kitchen, staring out the window in the dappled sunlight of the dying afternoon filtering through the trees.

The worst part about it was… he knew. He knew about her past and her struggle to be accepted for who she was. He had made it seem like they formed a true bond, an unbreakable friendship where they embraced the others' quirks. And then for him to go and just accept her father’s bribe, and all his asinine reasoning behind it as gospel? To just walk away and never look back, making her think she had done something wrong? It cut. Deep.

And despite what she had said to her father… she wasn’t entirely sure it was salvageable, adding a different layer of hurt on top of the already thick enough shit cake she’d been handed lately.

A ping comes from her phone pulling her attention away from the thoughts assaulting her. But not for long.

A scowl mars her face as she reads the drop down, not even needing to see the name to know who it was from. ‘HEY.. HOW’D IT GO WITH POPPA BIG BUCKS?'

Too little. Too late.

She crams her cell into the back pocket of her jeans, not even bothering to respond. She closes her eyes on the hot sting of tears that threaten. Nope. She needed to get out of the house and get her mind off things. She needed to put the focus back onto Rowan Vance and Warfare. That’s what mattered now. She couldn’t sit here and think about Cashe or what her father had meant about guarantees or what her mother had meant about ‘after’... Her chin lifts and she spins, darting towards the front door, snatching her hoodie off the hook. She would see if Iris wanted to go through some practice with her… two for one deal.

Remi steps out onto the stoop into the deepening gloom of twilight, chocolate hued eyes automatically scanning the street, coming to a halt as they spy the nondescript sedan. She blinks in disbelief.

Seriously?

It was never the same one, but she had become hyper aware in the past month. She angles across the front lawn, making a beeline for the car. “Hey!” she calls as she stomps closer, hands as animated as ever. “Hey! Didn’t he tell you that your shticks been cancelled?”

Nothing.

“So babe, sorry to inform you that this paychecks your last.” she says, leaning forward at the waist to rest her arms on the edge of the open driver's side window. The man in the suit remains staring straight ahead. “I admire your dedication to the bit, but this is a little ridiculous.”

Still nothing.

Uneasy now, Remi waves a hand in front of the sunglasses he still wore.

Zip. Nada. Not a damn twitch.

Was he asleep? Hard to believe given she had just been screeching at him. “Hey…” she reaches out and places her hand on the area of his chest, giving him a little shake. His head lolls listlessly to the side at the same time she realizes something doesn’t feel right under her palm. She pulls it away, staring blankly at the dark smears marring it for a few seconds, alarm bells starting to toll in her head.

She gingerly reaches out and pinches the edge of the suit jacket, tugging it back enough to reveal three circular defects in the crisp white linen underneath, stains, nearly black in the gloom, spreading outwards. Remi’s heart stutters in her chest. “Oh…” She lurches backwards as her brain finally catches up to what her eyes were seeing. “Oh shit!” She stumbles, landing hard on her ass as she scrambles backwards, nails digging into the concrete. Hot bile tries to crawl its way up her throat as she gags. “Help!” she screams, except it only emerges as a whisper. A low whimper emerges as the edges of her vision go blurry, gaze fixated on the window of the murdered man in her father’s employ, a singular sentence blaring through her mind over and over with every beat of her thundering heart, as her world tilted even further.

What the fuck?



“You know Rowan, it wasn’t enough that we have all that other stuff in common, we had to both choose to step into that Gauntlet at Divide as well, so of course I had my eyes on you.

Well done.

I would absolutely be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.

I had hoped to go further than I did, but when you’re standing across the ring from Shawn Warstein… Well, you have to hope that you don’t make a single mistake. But I took a few things from that with me, lessons learned and adjustments applied. I can’t complain much, within six matches i’ve found myself sharing the canvas with people I didn’t think I would until much further on. Jason Cashe, Peter Vaughn, Shawn Warstein. All well known names, and only one loss.

And now there is you.

I’m not walking into this blind, nor cocky. What I am doing is looking at this as an opportunity. As something more than just another match on the card. You and I, we are both so new… but so damn good at this. We’ve both already shown the talent, in nearly identical ways. We could be the ones that absolutely steal this show.

Rowan, you’ve got this way about you that makes people stop and watch, whether they want to admit it or not. It’s not just the talent, though trust me, I already know when real talent it’s standing across from me, its the way you carry it. Calm. Calculated. Like you already know how the story ends and you’re just waiting for the rest of us to catch up. In a business like this, respect isn’t just handed out, it’s earned, and you’ve earned every bit of it.

But here’s the thing… I’ve been paying attention too.

See, I didn’t get here by accident. I’ve been putting in the work as well, earning my own respect. I’ve studied the way you move, the way you think, the way you turn one opening into three more before anyone can even react. And yeah, I admire it. I admire how sharp you are, and how dangerous you can be when someone underestimates you.

But admiration doesn’t mean hesitation.

While you’ve been building your reputation, I’ve been building mine right alongside it. Different path, same destination. And if there’s one thing about me that you’ll learn real quick, it’s that I don’t step into opportunities like this just to stand across from greatness. I step in to test it. To push it. To see if it cracks under pressure.

I’ll rise to meet you no matter what you bring, I promise you that. But what you might not be ready for, is what happens when I don’t stop there. I’m not walking in starstruck, I’m walking in focused.

Standing across from someone like you? That raises the stakes in the best way possible.

I don’t want a watered down version of you, I don’t want an off night or excuses or a ‘what if’. I want you at your best. I want the version of Rowan Vance everyone’s been talking about. The one thats precise, imperturbable, and just a step ahead of everyone else.

So if I beat you… there’s no doubt.

I hope that you’ve looked into me. Maybe you even respect or like me too. Hell, I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.

But when that bell rings?

I’m not there to admire you anymore.

I’m there to prove that everything you are… still isn’t enough.

All the similarities between us, the parallel paths, the shared experiences, the mirrored success… they stop mattering once we step up to each other. What matters is what we do in that moment. What matters is who adapts faster, who pushes harder, who refuses to break when the match starts building with intensity.

And in a submission match?

It always gets intense.

So bring your confidence, bring your renowned past, bring everything that got you here, to this moment.

You should.

I’m going to meet you with all of it, and then I’m going to take control of it.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

I’m going to wear you down, take away all your options, and leave you with a choice you don’t want to make.

But eventually… you will.

Because this third time?

It’s not your charm.

It’s where you break. And when that moment hits? You’ll understand that you didn’t just step into a match…

You stepped into a storm..”