Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 194

Chapter 194: Chapter 194
Seraphina’s POV

The canvas was wet with my blood.

I could taste it. Copper and salt flooding my mouth. Every breath sent fire through my cracked ribs.

He was standing over me. Grinning. Waiting for me to stay down.

*Fuck him.*

The thought exploded through my brain with crystalline clarity.

*Fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck everything.*

I wasn’t dying here.

Not for him. Not for this crowd. Not for anyone.

He came at me.

And I moved.

Not away. Not defense. Not survival.

Attack.

My body moved before my brain caught up. Pure instinct. Pure rage.

His fist swung toward my face.

I dropped low. Felt the air whistle over my head.

Then I exploded upward.

My fist drove into his chin with everything I had left. The impact traveled up my arm like an electric shock. Knuckles meeting bone with a crack that echoed through the warehouse.

His head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his mouth—bright red droplets catching the overhead lights.

The crowd roared. I didn’t hear them.

I hit him again.

Ribs. Same spot I’d been aiming for all fight. Felt something give way under my glove. Cartilage maybe. Or bone.

He grunted. Doubled over.

My knee came up. Found his face.

The crunch was sickening. Beautiful. His nose exploded in a fountain of red.

He staggered backward. Both hands flying to his face. Blood pouring between his fingers.

*Not enough.*

Three years of pain. Three years of breaking apart in silence.

*Not. Fucking. Enough.*

I went after him.

My fist hammered into his exposed ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. Each hit landing with wet, meaty thuds.

He tried to cover up. Too late. Too slow.

I switched targets. His jaw. My glove connected so hard I felt teeth shift.

More blood. His this time. Spraying across the white canvas in an arc of crimson.

The referee was shouting something. I didn’t hear him.

All I heard was my own breathing. Harsh. Ragged. Animal.

And my heart. Pounding so hard it hurt.

*More.*

My elbow drove into his temple. He went sideways. Caught the ropes.

I didn’t let him recover.

Body shot. Body shot. Uppercut.

His head rocked back. Eyes rolling.

Blood everywhere now. His nose. His mouth. A cut above his eye pouring red down his face.

He swung wild. Desperate. His fist caught my shoulder.

Pain exploded through me. My cracked ribs screaming.

I didn’t care.

My fist slammed into his solar plexus. All the air left his lungs in one explosive gasp.

His face went gray. That look of someone who can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but panic.

*Good.*

I stepped in closer. Too close for him to hit properly.

And I unleashed hell.

Left hook to the liver. Right cross to the jaw. Elbow to the side of his head.

No breaks between hits. No breathing room. Just violence.

Raw. Brutal. Relentless.

He tried to clinch. To hold on. To make it stop.

I drove my knee into his thigh. Dead leg shot. His leg buckled.

He went down to one knee. Blood dripping from his face onto the canvas. Making dark pools that spread like spilled wine.

The referee was between us now. Pushing me back. Checking him.

“Can you continue?” The referee’s voice sounded distant. Muffled.

The fighter nodded. Spat blood. Struggled to his feet.

*Wrong answer.*

The referee waved us on.

He charged. One last desperate attempt.

I sidestepped. Easy. Like dancing.

My fist caught him in the kidney as he passed.

He made a sound—high and broken and absolutely pathetic.

Then I hit him again. Same spot.

His whole body locked up. That particular kind of pain that makes everything stop working.

He fell.

Not a stumble. Not a trip.

A fall.

His knees hit the canvas first. Then his hands. Then his face.

Face-down. Completely flat. Blood pooling beneath him.

Not moving.

The referee dropped beside him. Counting. Checking.

“One!”

I stood there. Swaying. My whole body trembling.

“Two!”

Blood ran down my chin. Mine. His. I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Three!”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Even through the gloves, I could see them vibrating.

“Four!”

The canvas was red now. Dark splotches everywhere. A massacre scene.

“Five!”

My vision blurred. Everything going soft around the edges.

“Six!”

Something warm on my face. More blood? Or tears?

Both.

Definitely both.

···

“Ten!”

The bell rang.

The referee jumped up. Grabbed my arm. Raised it high.

“Winner!”

The warehouse exploded.

Screaming. Stomping. The whole building shaking with noise.

I heard none of it.

All I could hear was my own breathing. Harsh. Wet. Breaking apart with sobs I couldn’t control.

Tears streaming down my face now. Hot. Mixing with blood and sweat.

Washing away three years of holding everything in.

The referee let go of my arm.

It dropped like dead weight.

My legs started to give out. I locked my knees. Refused to fall.

Around me, the crowd was chaos. Money flying. People screaming. Pure madness.

I stood in the center of it all.

Bleeding.

Crying.

Victorious.

And completely destroyed.

Rico was there. In the ring. His face doing something complicated. Pride and terror and relief all mixed together.

“You did it,” he was saying. “Holy shit, Sera, you actually did it.”

I nodded. Opened my mouth to respond.

Nothing came out but a sob.

“Okay.” Rico’s arms went around me. Holding me up. Holding me together. “Okay, I got you. Let’s get you out of here.”

He half-carried me out of the ring. Down the steps. Through the crowd that parted like water.

I was still crying. Couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

The hallway was dark. Quiet. The crowd noise fading behind us.

“Almost there,” Rico murmured. “Just a little further.”

The locker room door opened.

Fluorescent lights. Cold tile. The smell of disinfect and old sweat.

He lowered me onto the bench.

The second my weight left his arms, I collapsed.

The pain finally hitting. Every injury. Every bruise. Every broken piece of me screaming at once.

I curled into myself on that cold floor. Arms wrapped around my knees. Still crying. Still shaking.