Chapter 1

To help her childhood best friend win the championship belt, my wife spiked my water with banned stimulants.

I was fatally allergic to them. As my throat closed up and my body swelled, I used my dying breath to call her.

Her voice over the line was dripping with disgust:

"Yeah, I spiked your water. What are you gonna do about it?"

"One belt doesn't mean shit to you, but this is Tyler's last shot!"

"Listen to me, Austin. If you dare stop him from taking that belt tonight, I'm divorcing you!"

She didn't know that after I died, the police would release that final call to the public.

And when that happened, she would be dragged straight to hell.

"Yeah, I spiked your water. What are you gonna do about it?"

"One belt doesn't mean shit to you, but this is Tyler's last shot!"

"Listen to me, Austin. If you dare stop him from taking that belt tonight, I'm divorcing you!"

I tried to sneer, but my swollen face wouldn't even let my lips curl.

Slumped in a filthy, dark alley, I quietly closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was standing on the championship stage under the blinding spotlights.

I had become a ghost.

Dozens of cameras and microphones crowded toward the center of the ring.

My wife, Serena, stood beside her childhood best friend, Tyler, soaking in the deafening cheers of the press.

The announcer gripped the microphone with one hand and held Tyler's arm high in the air with the other.

"Since the reigning champion Austin Miller failed to appear tonight, by official league rules, our new undisputed champion is—"

"Tyler Reed!"

The stadium exploded into thunderous applause. The roar shook the rafters.

Tyler wrapped a sweaty, bare arm around Serena's waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

Serena didn't shove him away or scowl like she always did with me.

Instead, she gripped Tyler's hand tight, her eyes shining with pure adoration.

Tyler locked eyes with my wife, took the mic, and spoke with raw emotion:

"Winning this belt tonight wouldn't have been possible without my gym, but there's one person I have to thank above all."

"My manager, my nutritionist—Serena."

"This belt isn't just proof of my grind. It's a gift for you."

Tyler took Serena's hand and placed it gently over the gold belt. The vicious killer from the ring was gone, replaced by a man looking completely in love.

Tears welled in Serena's eyes, her voice soft and breathless:

"You won this belt with your own sweat and blood, Tyler."

The intimacy between them practically radiated off the screen.

Flashbulbs popped frantically as reporters scrambled for the best angle.

Even Tyler's corner coaches wore knowing, suggestive grins.

Watching them tore my phantom heart to shreds.

Serena was supposed to be my wife. That championship belt should have stayed around my waist tonight.

Yet here she was, handing my glory and my life's work to her so-called friend.

Before this match, nobody thought Tyler stood a chance against me.

Why would they? I had knocked him out four years in a row. This was his fifth attempt.

His stamina was fading with age, while I was in the prime of my career. My technique, power, and mental toughness outmatched his in every single way.

Everyone in the circuit called Tyler the "Perennial Runner-Up."

Tonight was supposed to be our final clash.

Just before the fight, Serena had come to me and said:

"Austin, this is Tyler's last year in the ring. Why don't you let him win just once? Let him retire with some dignity."

She wanted me to throw the fight.

In professional boxing, nobody "gives away" a win. No real fighter ever would.

A fighter without the absolute hunger to win has no business stepping into the ring.

I told Serena flat out: not a chance. Even if I did take a dive, Tyler would hate it. It was an insult to the sport and an insult to him.

Serena had never cared about my matches before. No matter how brutal or high-stakes the fight, she stayed totally detached.

Yet this morning, she had been weirdly attentive.

She handed me a sports bottle right before I left. When I popped the lid, I smelled something off.

I asked her about it, and she casually claimed it was a new electrolyte blend, a flavor I hadn't tried yet.

I didn't doubt her. Why would I suspect the woman I had been married to for five years?

Before I walked out the door, she stood in front of me, making sure I swallowed a mouthful before letting me go.

Only now did I realize that wasn't an electrolyte drink. It was loaded with performance-enhancing drugs.

She had told me a hundred times how much she despised cheaters. Yet she threw away her morals just for Tyler.

Now they were basking in glory while I was discarded as a pathetic no-show.

The internet was already ripping me apart, calling me a coward who fled the ring.

None of them knew I had a deadly allergy to those compounds. A trace amount would trigger severe anaphylaxis, shutting down my airways. A full dose was an instant death sentence.

Reporters surged forward, shoving microphones in their faces with a barrage of questions.

Then, one reporter asked something that sucked the air right out of the room:

"Ma'am, as far as we know, Austin Miller is your husband. Do you have any idea where he went?"