Page 7 of Between the Ropes

“Yeah, but I thrive on it. I love the grind. I love the competition. It keeps me sharp. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t constantly on the move.”

She nods, absorbing what I’ve said. “It sounds like you’ve really earned your place. I hope I can say the same someday.”

“You will,” I tell her with confidence. “Just keep pushing yourself. You never know what you’re capable of until you do.”

We talk some more, the conversation bouncing back and forth between us, a strange kind of ease settling in despite her obvious nerves.

After we land, we grab our bags and head straight for the rental counter. I take the keys, and we slide into a sleek black SUV that smells like leather and lemon-scented cleaner. She climbs into the passenger seat, quiet and wide-eyed, and buckles in as I pull out of the airport and onto the highway.

The city stretches out around us like something out of a movie—towering skyscrapers, flashing billboards, and the kind of energy that makes your chest feel tight. She barely blinks, her gaze glued to the skyline, soaking in every detail like she’s never seen anything like it. And judging by her expression, maybe she hasn’t.

“First time in New York?” I ask, watching her out of the corner of my eye. There’s something about the way she takes it all in—wide-eyed but trying to play it cool.

She laughs, a soft, breathy sound. “Was it that obvious?”

“Little bit.”

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she says, gazing out the window as we merge into traffic. “Just never had the time—or a reason good enough to justify it. It’s incredible, though. Really.”

“Yeah,” I say, turning down a packed street, taxis weaving like bees through chaos. “Stick with UXW long enough, you’ll see a lot of places. Sometimes the travel’s the best part. Sometimes…” I glance at her. “It sucks.”

She nods, her smile fading just a little. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“Welcome to the circus,” I say as we pull up to UXW headquarters. The building towers above everything around it, all sleek black glass and mirrored panels, with the bold silver UXW logo gleaming dead center. No mistaking where we are.

“This place is…” she breathes, trailing off.

“Massive?” I offer. “Yeah. We don’t spend a lot of time here. Most of us live out of suitcases and hotel rooms, but this is the brain of the operation. It’s where the boss lives, where your schedule gets made, where everything starts.”

She nods, but her fingers twist the strap of her bag. The nerves are back, written all over her face.

Inside, the air is cool and crisp, the kind of place that smells like new money and polished ambition. I lead her down the halltoward Brian’s office, the sound of our footsteps bouncing off the high-gloss floors.

We stop outside the door. She takes a breath like she’s about to step into the ring herself.

“Good luck,” I say, meeting her eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

She gives me a shaky smile. “Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”

I nod once, then turn to go. I don’t look back.

But as I walk away, I feel it—that tug, low and quiet. Something about her. The way she’s nervous but still showing up. The way she looked at me like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with me.

I shove the thought aside. I’ve got a title to chase and a reputation to build. No time for distractions.

Even the kind with bright eyes and a quiet fire.

5

I walk into the towering UXW offices, nerves buzzing in my stomach. This is it—the moment that could change everything for me. I’ve been working toward this for so long, and now that I’m finally here, I feel like I’m about to step into the ring for the first time.

Ryan leads me to Brian Mitchell’s office. I’ve researched him, but I couldn’t be sure what was real, and what was for show, or what they call “kayfabe” in the wrestling business. He’s the owner of UXW, the one who built it into the global brand it is today. I expect this to be a big moment—a long conversation where we discuss my role, expectations, maybe some welcome speech. Something I will remember years from now when I look back at how my career started.

Nope.

Brian Mitchell doesn’t do small talk. The second I step in, he’s all business. And quite frankly, it seems like I’ve disturbed him.

“Natalie, right?” he asks, barely looking up from his computer screen. His voice is gruff, like a man who’s spent his life shouting orders and expects them to be followed without question. He’s older, mid-fifties maybe, but still fit. You can tell he was a wrestler once, the kind of guy who took no prisoners. He’s muscular, and abrasive, and suddenly, I’m not sure what I expected.

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