𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒

𝐓 𝐇 𝐈 𝐑 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐍

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐘𝐌 was bathed in a soft, amber glow, the air thick with the scent of leather, sweat, and determination. Heavy bags swayed gently from the ceiling, and the faint sound of weights clinking echoed in the otherwise silent room. Mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the dim light and amplifying the sense of space.

I stepped inside, my heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. He stood in the center of the room, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes met mine. He was wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweats, showing his toned skin and muscular body. 

What the fuck was I nervous for?

"You're late," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Fuck being late, I didn't even want to be here in the first place. The maids kept bugging me about how their 'don' wanted me downstairs and how urgent it was. It was annoying me.

I squared my shoulders, refusing to let his presence intimidate me. "Fashionably late," I retorted, shrugging my shoulders. I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze. "I'm ready." I say tightening my ponytail 

We started with basic stretches. His hands occasionally brushed against my skin as he corrected my form, each touch sending a jolt through me. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, making it hard to focus on the exercises. I couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt.

It's so hard to stay mad at this man.

"Keep your back straight," he instructed, stepping behind me to adjust my posture. His breath was warm against my neck, and I fought to suppress a shiver. His eyes never left mine, dark and intense, as if daring me to look away.

God, I fucking hate this man.

"Keep your focus," he advised, his voice low and steady.

"I am focused." I say firmly, lying straight through my teeth. 

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk on his face, making me roll my eyes at him.

After the warm-up, he led me to the sparring area. The mat beneath my feet was firm, yet gave slightly under my weight. "Show me what you've got," he nodded at me, tossing me a pair of gloves. The leather felt cool and smooth against my skin.

I took a deep breath, slipping on the gloves and stepping into the ring.

"Hit me."

I landed a hit, smirking at him. He stepped back and plastered a devilish smirk on his face. He responded with a swift, controlled counterattack, his body brushing against mine as he moved. I did a roundhouse kick. He dodged, but only barely, his eyes widening in surprise. Seizing the opportunity, I followed up with a series of rapid punches.

 Left punch, right kick. Right punch, left kick. 

Shit, call me Mike Tyson.

"Is that the best you've got?" he teased, his voice low and husky.