Chapter 5: The First Line

Milena Dragovic

My heart climbed into my throat.

I was always the kind of girl who stood her ground. Not many things shook me, but ever since the incident, confrontation scraped against a raw place inside me in ways it never used to. I’d avoided gyms for a long time. Avoided fighters. Avoided anything that smelled like sweat, adrenaline, or violence. I built an entire life on staying far, far away from the world that had taken so much from me.

And now here I was.

Drawn. No, pulled right back into everything I fought so hard to avoid.

The hallway felt narrower than before, the dim overhead lights buzzing faintly as Alexander uncrossed his arms, rolled his shoulders back, and pushed off the wall with slow, casual ease. The faintest sheen of sweat still clung to his jawline, catching the dim hallway light. He didn’t look surprised to see me. He didn’t look curious either.

He looked like a man who had already decided something.

About me.

About this moment.

My pulse still thumped hard in my ears.

The air between us felt charged.

His gaze tracked me with that unsettling precision he carried even in the ring.

Eyes steady.

Unblinking.

Like he was reading the things I hadn’t said aloud.

A few feet separated us, but it felt like inches.

And then he moved.

Not fast.

Slow.

Just controlled, like every step was deliberately chosen.

Somewhere behind us, the thud of gloves hitting pads echoed in bursts, distant but recognizable.

He took a few steps toward me. Unhurried, deliberate, until there were only a few feet left between us.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “I was just taking a break.” I comment as he looks at me with a questionable look.

He tilted his head slightly, dark hair falling into place in a careless sweep. His attention dragged down my face and back up again, slow enough to make heat crawl across my cheeks.

“From what? Watching me?”

My breath caught. His tone held no arrogance, just quiet certainty, the kind that made denying it feel pointless.

“From the atmosphere,” I said, my words tighter than intended. “The noise.”

“Mmh.”

A soft, almost amused sound.

He stepped even closer, and the hallway seemed to shrink further. I could smell the faint trace of soap beneath sweat, clean and warm and distracting in a way that made it hard to think straight.

“I thought I heard Coach say the gym used to be like your second home,” he murmured.

The breath I took afterward wasn’t steady.

Because it had been my second home.

Once.

Before everything.

“Like I said,” I managed, “I just needed a minute to take a break and freshen up.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something softer than the cold calm he carried in the ring. Almost like he noticed the way my voice dipped at the end. Almost like he understood too much without knowing anything at all.

Then he leaned in.

He lowered his head toward me, his mouth now almost brushing my ear. His arm came up, hand bracing against the wall just above my head, his forearm a barrier trapping me in a cage that somehow didn’t feel physical. It felt psychological.

His breath brushed over my neck, warm and steady.

Goosebumps raced down my spine.

I tried to step back, but my shoulder hit the cold wall behind me.

I glanced to the side, but the hallway was empty. Just the low buzzing lights and the distant thuds from the gym, muffled now, like they were miles away.

“Looked more like running,” Alexander whispered, his voice so low it sank straight into me.

I stiffened.

His gaze sharpened as he stepped back, like he’d caught the exact second I tensed.

Of course he noticed. He pulled back a fraction, his expression sharpening.

“Let me guess,” he said softly. “Coach sent you to fix me.”

“I’m not here to fix anyone,” I replied, lifting my chin. “I’m here to observe.”

He smiled then.

Slow.

Dangerous.

The kind of smile that curled at the edges like it knew too much. “Have you observed enough?”

The air shifted when he stepped closer again. The warmth radiating from him made my exhale falter. I hated that he noticed it. I hated even more that a part of me wasn’t sure I wanted to step away.

He lowered his voice until it settled like velvet against my skin.

“Then let me make something clear…”

My pulse hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

“You can’t help me. Not you. Not anyone.” His eyes flicked to my lips. Just for a heartbeat, but enough to steal the air from my lungs.

“Don’t waste your time.” He continues.

Before I could respond, before I could even scrape together a thought, he leaned past me. Close enough for the heat of him to skim across my shoulder.

He reached for the bathroom door behind me.

I had to step aside, breath shaky, my body moving without permission.

He paused long enough to glance back at me.

A smirk tugged at his mouth.

Knowing.

Unapologetic.

“Be careful, princess.”

Then he walked away.

His steps silent.

Shoulders relaxed.

Mask firmly back in place.

And I stood there, spine locked, breath trapped somewhere between outrage, fear, and something far more dangerous.

Something I wasn’t ready to name.