Anastacia POV:

After dinner, I headed back up to my room to start getting ready for bed. I took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the tension of the day. As I stepped out, my phone rang. I grabbed it and saw that it was Ollie calling me.

"Hey, Stace, how's everything going?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and excitement.

"Fine," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. "What's up?"

"I was just calling to let you know that I organized a fight for you tonight," Ollie said, getting straight to the point.

Ollie is kinda my manager for fights. I would get Lily or Noah to do it, but they're both too forgetful.

"Thanks, Ollie. Who's it against?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

"Uhhh, I think it's against this dude called Scar. Apparently, he's pretty good," Ollie replied, sounding a bit uncertain.

"Scar, huh?" I mused, pacing my room. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah, just be careful, Stace. He's got a reputation," Ollie cautioned.

I rolled my eyes, though a small smile played on my lips. "You know me, Ollie. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I know. Just don't want you getting hurt," he said, his voice softer now.

"Thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine," I assured him. "What time and where?"

"Midnight, at the old warehouse on Fifth," Ollie informed me.

"Perfect," I said, hanging up the phone.

I felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of the fight. This was what I needed—a way to channel all the pent-up frustration and anger. I quickly changed into my fighting gear, black leggings, and a tight-fitting top, something that allowed for maximum movement and my contacts and mask. I grabbed my jacket and slipped out of the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw any attention.

The night air was cool as I made my way to the warehouse. The streets were mostly empty, and the silence was a stark contrast to the chaos inside my head. I took deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves and focus on the fight ahead.

When I arrived at the warehouse, the familiar faces of other fighters and spectators greeted me. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation. The makeshift ring was set up in the centre, and people were already placing bets and talking excitedly about the upcoming fight.

I found a quiet corner to stretch and mentally prepare. The buzz of the crowd faded into the background as I focused on my breathing, centering myself. This was my sanctuary, where I could be in control, where nothing else mattered but the fight.

As midnight approached, I made my way to the ring. Scar was already there, a tall, muscular, kinda handsome guy with a scar running down his cheek. He looked tough, but I wasn't intimidated. I stepped into the ring, locking eyes with him, ready to show everyone what I was made of.

The crowd hushed as we squared off, and I could feel the tension in the air. This was it. Time to prove myself.

The bell rang, and we circled each other, sizing each other up. Scar threw the first punch, a quick jab aimed at my face. I dodged it easily, feeling the rush of adrenaline heighten my senses. I countered with a swift jab of my own, aiming for his ribs. He blocked it, but I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Scar moved in closer, attempting a combination of punches. I weaved and ducked, each movement fluid and precise. I saw an opening and went for it, landing a solid punch to his jaw. The crowd erupted in cheers as Scar stumbled back, but he quickly regained his footing.

He came at me again, this time with more aggression. He landed a punch to my side, and I felt the sharp sting of pain, but I didn't let it slow me down. I retaliated with a series of quick strikes, keeping him on the defensive. My fists moved on their own, guided by years of training and instinct.

Scar managed to land a powerful uppercut, and I tasted blood in my mouth. The metallic tang only fueled my determination. I wiped the blood from my lip and met his gaze, the fire in my eyes unwavering. He grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge.

I feigned a left hook, and when he moved to block it, I spun and delivered a fierce roundhouse kick to his side. The impact sent him staggering, and I pressed my advantage. I followed up with a barrage of punches, each one finding its mark. Scar's defenses were crumbling, and I could see the weariness in his movements.

But he wasn't done yet. With his anger evident on his face, he lunged at me, catching me off guard. We grappled, each trying to overpower the other. I used my agility to slip out of his grip, landing a knee to his stomach as I broke free. Scar doubled over, gasping for breath.

I stepped back, giving him a moment to recover. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, the tension in the air palpable. Scar straightened, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of respect and determination. This was it—the final round.

We circled each other once more, both of us bruised and battered but far from defeated. Scar threw a wild punch, and I saw my opening. I ducked under his arm and came up with a powerful uppercut that connected squarely with his chin. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground.

The referee began the count, but I knew it was over. Scar struggled to rise, but his body wouldn't obey. The crowd erupted in cheers as the referee declared me the winner. I stood there, chest heaving, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

As I scanned the crowd, a tall figure caught my eye, making his way toward me. Realizing it was nearly 2 a.m., I tried to make my way over to my bike to get home before any of my brothers realized I was gone.

"Devil's Blade, it's a pleasure to meet you," the tall, handsome figure stated, his voice smooth and commanding.

"Elijah Romanov," I replied, my tone flat. "I can't exactly say the same."

No one knew who I was, either as Donna or Devil's Blade, so he was most likely here to try and convince me to join the Russian mafia as an assassin.

"So you know who I am?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Romanov. You aren't very secretive."

"Very well then," he continued, unfazed. "I'd like for you to join the Russian mafia. We can have a partnership that will benefit you more than us."

"No," I said firmly, turning to walk away.

Elijah's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising gentleness but undeniable strength. "Think about it, Devil's Blade. We could do great things together."

I yanked my arm free, glaring at him through my mask. "I don't need your offers or your partnership. I'm doing just fine on my own."

He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You're making a mistake. But I respect your decision. For now."

With that, I turned and walked off, making my way to my bike. The encounter left a sour taste in my mouth, and I revved the engine, speeding away from the warehouse. The city lights blurred past as I navigated the streets, my mind racing.

Elijah Romanov was a powerful man, and his interest in me was both a compliment and a threat. But I had no intention of being anyone's pawn. I had built my reputation on my own terms, and I wasn't about to compromise that for anyone.

As I reached the outskirts of the city, the familiar routes leading back to the house came into view. I parked my bike a few blocks away and walked the rest of the distance, slipping in through a side entrance. The house was quiet, everyone likely asleep.

I made my way to my room, shedding my fighting gear and slipping into something more comfortable. The adrenaline from the fight and the encounter with Elijah still coursed through my veins, but I forced myself to relax.

At seventeen, sleep often eluded me, haunted by nightmares that seemed to blend the harsh reality of my past with the fantastical battles I faced as Devil's Blade.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reached for the book I had been reading—an epic fantasy novel that whisked me away to realms of magic and adventure.

The worn pages offered a sanctuary from the complexities of my dual life. As Stacy during the day, I navigated the ordinary challenges of high school, hiding the scars of my past behind a facade of normalcy.

But as Devil's Blade by night, I embraced the thrill of the underground fighting scene, where skill and strategy meant survival.

Tonight's fight against Scar had been gruelling, each blow resonating with the echoes of past traumas. Scar had been a formidable opponent, his strength and agility testing my resolve in ways that pushed me to my limits. And Elijah's unexpected appearance had only added to the turmoil, his mysterious offer dangling like a dangerous lure.

Opening the novel, I delved into a world where heroes battled dragons and wizards wielded arcane powers. The fantastical landscapes and larger-than-life characters offered a brief reprieve, a reminder that courage and resilience could triumph over even the darkest of adversities.

Outside, the city hummed with life, oblivious to the battles raging within the confines of my room. The soft glow of my lamp cast gentle shadows, transforming the ordinary into something magical. I read on, losing myself in the epic quests and intricate plots that unfolded before me.

As I read, the tension began to ease, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe. The adrenaline subsided, leaving behind a quiet sense of fulfilment. In the pages of the fantasy novel, I found solace and strength—traits I sought to embody both as Stacy and as Devil's Blade.

Eventually, I set the book aside and lay back, staring at the ceiling. The night stretched on, the silence broken only by the faint rustling of leaves outside my window.

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A/n:
Ok so its like 2am and im exhausted that last bit probably doesnt make sense, hell it doesnt even make sense to me but whatever.

Let me know what you think! Should i delete that last bit? I think i should but idk you tell me. I'd probably delete the at 17 bit and everything after that but idk

TELL ME WHAT TO DO PLSSSS

LOVE YOU ALLLLLLL TYSM FOR READINGGG

Word count: 1816