Chapter Text
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Several more days slipped by almost unnoticed.
The strange thing about life in WWE is that time never moves at a normal pace. Entire weeks disappear inside airports, hotels, training sessions, production meetings, interviews, and arenas. Sometimes a month feels like three days. Sometimes three days feel like an entire season of your life.
Before I knew it, June 5th had arrived.
Another Friday.
Another SmackDown.
Another arena filled with thousands of people who had paid money to witness either greatness, violence, chaos, or some unhealthy combination of all three.
Probably the last one.
The building was already alive long before the show officially began.
Even backstage, you could feel it.
The distant roar of the crowd traveled through concrete walls and metal structures like a living heartbeat. Production crews moved with purpose through narrow hallways. Cameras rolled past. Referees checked match layouts. Stagehands adjusted equipment.
Everything existed inside that familiar pre-show atmosphere.
Controlled chaos.
A machine made of thousands of moving parts somehow functioning as one.
Tonight, I wasn't scheduled for a match.
Honestly?
Part of me didn't mind.
Every now and then it feels good to simply breathe.
To observe.
To exist without immediately preparing for physical warfare.
Instead, I had a segment later in the night alongside Raquel, Dominik, and Roxanne.
Nothing complicated.
At least in theory.
Right now, all four of us stood backstage near one of the large metal staircases overlooking part of the production area. The structure vibrated occasionally whenever crew members hurried up and down the steps.
The lighting above us cast long shadows against the walls.
Below, dozens of people moved around carrying equipment and discussing last-minute adjustments.
The atmosphere felt strangely optimistic.
For once.
No arguments.
No drama.
No titles being stolen.
No surprise attacks.
A refreshing change.
Raquel leaned casually against the railing beside me while Dominik stood nearby scrolling through something on his phone. Roxanne remained slightly off to the side, listening more than speaking, her attention shifting between all of us.
The conversation naturally drifted toward the future.
Toward championships.
Toward possibilities.
Because wrestlers spend an alarming amount of time imagining futures that haven't happened yet.
I flashed a grin toward Raquel.
A dangerous grin.
The kind that usually meant I was already planning something.
"Think about it," I said excitedly.
My hands immediately started moving because apparently remaining physically still had never been one of my talents.
"If we both keep winning, we're going to end up meeting in the finals."
Raquel's eyes lit up.
I pointed dramatically between us.
"Which means one of us gets the honor of taking that championship away from Rhea."
A laugh escaped me.
"Can you imagine her face?"
Raquel immediately laughed too.
"Oh, absolutely."
She crossed her arms.
"And honestly?"
A confident smile appeared.
"I like my chances."
I gasped dramatically.
"Wow."
I placed a hand against my chest.
"So much disrespect."
"You started it."
"Fair."
Roxanne quietly shook her head beside us, smiling slightly.
Dominik finally looked up from his phone.
"Yeah, but that's only part of it."
His expression brightened.
"I've got my qualifying match tonight too."
He pointed toward himself.
"If everything goes according to plan, Judgment Day is going to be walking around with all the gold."
That sentence immediately activated every chaotic molecule inside my body.
I turned so quickly toward Raquel that my hair almost hit somebody.
"AAAAAAH!"
The noise escaped before I could stop it.
Not that I would have.
I grabbed both of Raquel's shoulders dramatically.
"Raquel!"
She immediately started laughing.
"WHAT?"
I pointed toward Dominik.
Then toward myself.
Then back toward Dominik.
"Do you realize how iconic we're going to be?"
Dominik visibly sighed.
Which only encouraged me.
"We're going to be the perfect team."
I continued.
"No."
I corrected myself.
"The greatest team."
Another correction.
"Actually, no."
I pointed upward dramatically.
"The greatest duo in the history of professional wrestling."
Raquel laughed harder.
Dominik rolled his eyes.
"You're impossible."
"I'm correct."
"That's not the same thing."
"It usually is."
Before I could continue my completely reasonable argument, Dominik stepped closer and casually hooked one arm around my neck.
Not aggressively.
Just familiar.
The kind of gesture that develops naturally after years of friendship, shared disasters, and surviving far too many ridiculous situations together.
"There she goes again," he muttered.
"Dreaming big."
"Excuse me."
I pointed toward him while trapped beneath his arm.
"I don't dream big."
I narrowed my eyes.
"I accurately predict greatness."
Dominik looked at Raquel.
"See?"
Raquel nodded.
"She's impossible."
"THANK YOU."
I immediately pointed at her.
"Wait."
My smile disappeared.
"That's not the side you're supposed to be on."
Laughter broke out again.
Even Roxanne laughed this time.
For a moment, everything felt surprisingly light.
Simple.
Comfortable.
And standing there, surrounded by people I had spent years fighting beside, arguing with, celebrating with, and occasionally wanting to strangle, I found myself appreciating something I rarely stopped long enough to acknowledge.
The future always sounds glamorous when people talk about championships.
About victories.
About main events.
About gold.
But sometimes the real reward isn't standing alone under the spotlight.
Sometimes it's moments like this.
Standing backstage before the show begins.
Laughing with people who have witnessed every version of you.
The successful version.
The reckless version.
The broken version.
The version that wanted to quit.
And the version that stayed anyway.
Championships matter.
Success matters.
Legacy matters.
But loyalty?
Loyalty is much harder to find.
And much harder to replace once it's gone.
For a brief moment, as the noise of the arena echoed through the walls around us, everything felt exactly where it was supposed to be.
Which, in hindsight, should have made me suspicious.
Because peace has never lasted very long in my world.
An hour and a half later, SmackDown had finally come to an end.
The arena was slowly emptying.
Thousands of fans were making their way toward parking lots, hotels, restaurants, and late-night flights, carrying signs, championship replicas, and whatever memories they had managed to collect throughout the evening.
Backstage, however, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The pressure was gone.
The performance was over.
The cameras had mostly stopped rolling.
The constant demand to be "on" had loosened its grip.
People laughed louder backstage than they ever did on television.
Some wrestlers were already changed into comfortable clothes. Others were still sitting in makeup chairs while production assistants hurried around collecting equipment. Conversations drifted through the hallways in every direction.
Some discussed matches.
Some discussed travel schedules.
Some discussed absolutely nothing important at all.
A strange sense of relief floated through the building.
The kind that only arrives after a successful show.
I stepped out of my locker room still laughing.
"Haha, Dominik, seriously, stop!"
My voice echoed lightly through the corridor.
"It's going to be great."
From somewhere inside the room behind me, I heard him immediately protest.
"You say that about literally everything."
"Because I'm usually right."
"No, you're not."
"Agree to disagree."
I grinned to myself and continued walking.
Then I saw her.
Of course.
Because somehow the universe always seemed determined to place us in each other's orbit.
Further down the hallway, moving with that infuriatingly calm confidence she carried everywhere, was Rhea.
The championship rested on her shoulder.
Heavy.
Gold.
Reflecting the overhead lights as she walked.
For a moment, my eyes immediately locked onto the title.
That title.
The title.
The one she carried as if it belonged there.
The one I intended to take.
Sooner rather than later.
A slow grin spread across my face.
Dangerous.
Unapologetic.
I continued walking.
Not rushing.
Not calling out to her.
Just following.
Slowly.
The way a storm follows the horizon before finally arriving.
Rhea kept moving for several seconds.
Then, almost imperceptibly, her posture shifted.
A tiny adjustment.
Nothing more.
Most people wouldn't have noticed.
I did.
Because after everything between us, I knew exactly what it meant.
She felt it.
The awareness.
The presence.
The strange instinct that always seemed to exist between us.
Eventually she turned her head.
Only slightly.
Her blue eyes found mine immediately.
Cold.
Unreadable.
Unimpressed.
The look of someone who had been interrupted in the middle of a thought and wasn't particularly grateful for it.
Meanwhile, I continued approaching.
Twisting a loose strand of blonde hair around my finger.
Smiling like somebody who had absolutely no intention of behaving.
Her gaze lingered for a moment.
Then she looked forward again.
Completely unbothered.
Or at least pretending to be.
Her voice arrived a second later.
Low.
Rough.
Effortless.
"Well?"
She continued walking.
"Entertain me."
God.
There it was.
That arrogance.
That complete certainty that the world existed primarily for her amusement.
I hated it.
Which was probably why I enjoyed provoking it so much.
My grin widened.
I quickened my pace slightly until I was walking beside her.
The championship glimmered under the hallway lights.
I glanced at it deliberately.
Then back at her.
"You know," I said thoughtfully, "that title really does suit you."
I tilted my head.
"There's something aesthetically pleasing about it."
Rhea didn't react.
Naturally.
So I continued.
"But I've been thinking."
Dangerous words.
Always dangerous words.
"I honestly believe it would look even better on me."
The corner of my mouth lifted.
"Very soon, those shoulders of yours are going to feel significantly lighter."
I glanced toward the championship again.
"And when that happens, you're going to have to find a completely new personality."
Silence.
Several crew members passed us in the opposite direction.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody was stupid enough to.
I continued smiling.
"Honestly, I worry about you."
Still nothing.
"Without that title, what are you going to do?"
I placed a hand dramatically against my chest.
"You can't spend all your time obsessing over me."
Finally.
Her eyes shifted toward me again.
Slowly.
Like a predator deciding whether something was worth its attention.
One eyebrow rose.
The movement was minimal.
The effect wasn't.
Then she spoke.
"Telling yourself bedtime stories again, Morgan?"
Her voice remained perfectly calm.
Which somehow made the insult worse.
She looked me over briefly.
Not impressed.
Not threatened.
Not interested.
Just assessing.
"As entertaining as your fantasies about my championship continue to be..."
A slight pause.
"...reality remains remarkably stubborn."
The championship adjusted slightly on her shoulder.
"You seem very committed to discussing what belongs to me."
I opened my mouth.
She continued before I could speak.
"But here's a revolutionary concept."
Her eyes remained fixed on mine.
"Try winning consistently first."
The words were delivered almost lazily.
Which somehow made them hit harder.
Then came the final blow.
A tiny smirk.
Barely visible.
Dangerous.
"After that, maybe we can discuss what suits you."
The hallway suddenly felt quieter.
Not because people had stopped talking.
Because everyone nearby had suddenly become interested in literally anything else.
Rhea looked forward again.
Conversation over.
Case closed.
At least in her mind.
"You're dismissed."
Her voice was calm.
Final.
The kind of tone kings probably used before ordering executions.
And somehow—
somehow—
that only made me smile wider.
Because the worst thing about Rhea Ripley wasn't her strength.
Or her titles.
Or her confidence.
It was the fact that every time she tried ending the conversation—
I immediately wanted to start another one.
Rhea reached her locker room without looking back.
Of course she didn't.
That would have implied curiosity.
And Rhea Ripley treated curiosity the same way she treated vulnerability: like an enemy position that needed to be eliminated immediately.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
For a moment, it seemed as though the conversation was finally over.
Then I ruined that possibility.
Naturally.
Just as she started pulling the door shut, my palm landed against the frame.
The door stopped.
Rhea's eyes immediately lifted toward mine.
Cold.
Questioning.
Dangerously unimpressed.
I simply smiled.
The kind of smile that usually preceded bad decisions.
Then I pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
The room was quiet.
Larger than most locker rooms.
Bright vanity lights framed the mirrors along one wall, casting a soft glow across the otherwise empty space. Gear bags sat near benches. Half-open lockers reflected fragments of light from the ceiling.
The door clicked shut behind me.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Rhea slowly set her championship down on a nearby table.
Then folded her arms across her chest.
The title remained within sight.
Almost deliberately.
As if she knew exactly where my attention would go.
Then she leaned back against the wall.
Waiting.
Watching.
Like a predator observing an animal foolish enough to enter its territory voluntarily.
I began walking toward her.
Slowly.
Not because I was afraid.
Because anticipation has always been more effective than speed.
"You know," I said, tilting my head slightly, "it's funny hearing you talk about me needing help."
My grin remained firmly in place.
"Ripley, sweetheart, wake up."
I gestured toward myself.
"I've spent my entire career proving people wrong."
Another step.
"I don't need babysitters."
Another.
"I don't need rescuing."
I looked directly into her eyes.
"And I definitely don't need permission."
Rhea's expression remained unchanged.
Which was annoying.
Because normal people reacted to things.
Rhea evaluated them.
One eyebrow rose.
Barely.
"When was the last time you delivered one of these speeches without rewriting history halfway through?"
Her voice remained low and steady.
The rough edge of her Australian accent somehow made every insult sound more deliberate.
She continued.
"Go on."
A faint smirk appeared.
"I'm genuinely curious."
I laughed.
"Oh, that's rich."
I crossed my arms.
"Two weeks ago, for starters."
Then I pointed toward her.
"And if we're discussing history, should we revisit 2022?"
My smile widened.
"Or were you too busy admiring your own reflection to notice?"
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement crossed her face.
Almost.
"Hm."
She pretended to think.
"Actually..."
A pause.
"You might be right."
She glanced toward the mirror.
"I was looking fantastic."
I groaned dramatically.
"There it is."
I pointed at her.
"That's exactly the problem."
She waited.
"Your ego."
I shook my head.
"It keeps getting bigger."
Rhea shrugged.
"Unlike most people's opinions, mine is supported by evidence."
"God, you're unbearable."
"And yet."
A tiny smirk.
"Here you are."
That landed harder than I wanted it to.
I hated when she did that.
Those little sentences.
The ones that sounded harmless until they settled somewhere under your skin.
The room grew quieter.
My smile faded.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Because beneath all the sarcasm, beneath every joke and every insult, there was still the same thing that always existed between us.
Competition.
Pride.
Obsession.
Neither of us willing to look away first.
I stepped closer.
Close enough now that neither of us had to raise our voices.
"You still think this is simple."
My tone lowered.
More serious.
"You think this is just another challenger."
Rhea's eyes remained locked on mine.
I continued.
"It isn't."
The championship sat on the table beside us.
Heavy.
Gold.
Important.
But somehow it no longer felt like the center of the conversation.
"Crown Jewel isn't just another defense."
My voice sharpened.
"It's a reckoning."
Silence.
I pointed toward the title.
"That championship represents everything you've built."
Then toward her.
"Your reputation."
"Your dominance."
"The version of yourself you've convinced everyone is untouchable."
Another step.
"And I'm going to challenge all of it."
For several seconds, Rhea simply stared at me.
No anger.
No outrage.
No intimidation.
Just observation.
Which somehow felt worse.
Then she finally pushed herself away from the wall.
Straightening to her full height.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
"That's the difference between us, Morgan."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
"You think victory is about destroying people."
She glanced toward the championship.
Then back at me.
"I think it's about proving something."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You walk into every battle trying to burn the house down."
A pause.
"I walk in planning to own it."
The silence that followed felt heavier than any argument.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us looked away.
And for a strange moment, standing in that locker room with no cameras, no audience, and no microphones, it felt less like two wrestlers talking and more like two storms measuring each other's strength before deciding whether the collision was worth the damage.
Finally, Rhea reached for the championship.
Lifting it effortlessly onto her shoulder.
The gold caught the light.
"So."
Her eyebrow lifted again.
A challenge.
"Is there anything else you wanted to say?"
I looked at the title.
Then at her.
Then smiled.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
"Oh, plenty."
And judging by the look in her eyes—
she already knew that.