𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➻ CHALLENGERS

prologue, the mastermind

                 
                          prologue, the mastermind

          Tennis brought more burdens than blessings.

It opposed relationships and what they stood for. It was psychological warfare—dissecting layers of you or your partner until you were bare. Every swing, every match point unveiled vulnerabilities and fractures. Every strategy was a calculated move for humiliation, weakness, and defeat. The echoes of their struggles reverberated in the sound of the ball hitting the court—a constant reminder of the fragility of their bond. The deeper one delved into the game, the more skill became misguided, and dominance became the only goal. From that point on, it was beyond a game; it was a relentless struggle for power that consumed everything in its path, especially regarding the paths of Idris Carter and Melanie James.

Born into the two most influential and historical Black tennis families in the world, Idris Carter and Melanie James were ideally a perfect match—on the court, in the eyes of their parents, and in the public's view. Despite what felt orchestrated, the bond that the two had formed since they were adolescents was visceral and undeniable, stronger than all odds. It was a bond that carried them extremely far, not only through their hearts but wherever life took them. Melanie's fierceness and passion echoed Idris's calm, composed nature. They were known on the courts as Quicksilver and the Flame, but in their own entity, they were the love of each other's lives. By the age of 25, after ten years spent winning continuous titles, the two had tied the knot and became pregnant with their only child.

To Idris, joy was an understatement. Family was something he had always longed for, one that nourished him emotionally and mentally. Yet for Melanie, it was an erasure—an erasure of her identity. Marriage was bearable, but when she found herself vomiting on the hotel bathroom floor the night of their awards dinner in Rockland, it felt like the inevitable end of a life that was just beginning. Motherhood loomed over her, and the fire that once fueled her game waned, smothered by the weight of demands and expectations in a new role she felt she did not have the patience or capacity to play. Tennis was all she ever knew and everything she sought herself to be. While tennis to Idris was all he ever knew, despite his loyalty to his passions, he deemed it a separate entity and yearned for something more.

So, Idris Carter held onto the oblivion of a love that was starting to deteriorate, while Melanie found her isolation growing stronger than the love she once had.

Tennis was no longer their common ground; it became the very thing that drove them apart.

And as for Ramona—she never needed to watch any games to understand. She observed it through and through. She was born to it. If Ramona Iris James had to be shaped to live or love this way, to hell would she detest it. It didn't matter how much money was spent on weekly tennis sessions, how often she was reminded by radio stations, the media, dinner parties at her grandparents', or overheard conversations from her mother about upholding their legacy. She would rather consume herself with the few things that made sense in her life: her record of "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill," her munchkin-bred kitten, Margo, the Claude Monet and Van Gogh posters scattered all over her wall, and most significantly, her collection of canvases and paintbrushes she had gotten from her father every year for her birthday.

However, consumption of a world she cherished became harder to manage when silence settled over the dinner table, with stacks of divorce and custody papers scattered around. Tiny Dancer played on her cassette, blasting through her headphones every midnight at two a.m. to drown out the repetitive banter that echoed within those thin walls. The house, once lived in and full of life, became a storage unit plastered with boxes filled with the remnants of what once was. And those remnants would be cast into two separate homes, two separate lives—six hours apart from each other. Eight-year-old Ramona was now playing two separate roles, living as a temporary child under her mother during holiday breaks in California—known as "The Maverick"—and permanently residing in one of her grandparents' apartments in Brooklyn Heights alongside her father, as " just Ramona".

Playing doubles was no longer fun anymore.

It mattered until it didn't.

Until she was no longer alone.

Until California's golden boy with thorns on his side appeared in her hindsight.

VENUS WRITES.

sorry for the hiatus lovies! the
wait for chapter one is over I hope u enioy!