Chapter 1
Hi everyone! 🙋♀️
Since I’ve been asked: I’m currently trying to translate my books into English. However, my English isn't that great, so I’m just using an online German-to-English translator. Please don't hold it against me if there are any errors in the translation.
If anyone leaves comments in English, it might take me a little while to reply, as I can't use a translator all the time.
A new chapter comes out every Sunday.
I look forward to your feedback! 😉
POV: MAXANA
I sat cross-legged on my bed, eyes closed, mentally preparing for tomorrow's fight.
I did this before every upcoming MMA bout.
My father—who was also my trainer—had been training me since I was little.
He had long been the best trainer in our scene, and I was his best fighter.
Shortly before I was born, he had been fired due to his extreme and extravagant training methods, which had driven some of his protégés to their deaths.
Since then, he had been training underground fighters, and I was now one of them.
The training was brutal; even I—as a woman and his daughter—received no special treatment.
My mother died of cancer when I was twenty-five, leaving me alone with my father, a man as cold as ice.
It was hard and unfamiliar at first, but once he realized his methods were bearing fruit, he pushed me even harder.
By the age of sixteen, I was already among the best and could even hold my own against grown men, yet that was far from enough for my father. He expected more—much more—from me; consequently, at the slightest mistake, I was punished on his behalf by the other members of the fight club.
I wasn't allowed to fight back, and sometimes I was unable to train for at least a week afterward.
They never broke any bones, but the pain was excruciating.
I rarely attended school because of the training and the underground fights. My father knew the principal—who made good money betting on the matches—so it never became an issue.
My father was the only family I had; the affection he showed me after a victory was my reward, keeping my drive to train and my will to win alive.
Yet, year after year, I increasingly felt like a puppet. For me, there was nothing but the fights and the victories—things that made me doubt my own future.
Yesterday was my thirtieth birthday, but instead of celebrating, my father trained me as if it were just another day.
I should have been used to it by now, yet year after year, it cast an ever-growing shadow over my entire existence.
Back then, my father had imposed his will on me and manipulated me into doing whatever he demanded; lately, however, he wanted me to lose fights on purpose—something that shook my spirit and made me question everything.
Just like tomorrow—I was expected to lose again.
Over the years, my father had made a fortune off me—and my victories or defeats—through illicit betting, yet it was never enough for him.
His friends, who followed his betting predictions, were also making a killing.
I was paid well, too, but I increasingly felt like I was being shortchanged; so, I started placing anonymous bets myself, and the money I made left me speechless.
By that day, I had received a mere 10 percent of the total amount and felt cheated.
My father knew exactly what he was doing; he deliberately kept me down, tossing me only scraps of what was rightfully mine.
I had decided it was time to quit and draw a line under it all. I was sick of the fighting.
But the moment I even hinted at this to my father, he laughed in my face: "Puma, what else are you going to do? You have nothing. Not even a high school diploma. Do you really want to earn a living as a cheap temp, unable to afford decent housing? You wouldn't even be able to buy a proper meal on those starvation wages. We both know that’s beneath you. Within a week, you’d come crawling back, begging me to sign you up for fights again."
His words snapped me awake and brought things into sharp focus.
They shattered the delusion that he would ever truly accept or see me as his daughter.
He knew nothing about my anonymous betting or the substantial sum I’d secretly stashed away—and that was a good thing.
He also knew nothing about the high school diploma I’d earned online, right under his nose. Nor did he know that, just yesterday, I had passed my law studies with flying colors.
I wanted to leave it all behind—him, the fights, and my past.
Tomorrow was to be my final fight.
After the fixed loss, I planned to slip away quietly and unnoticed.
The only thing that made me waver was my boyfriend, Marian.
Standing 1.80 meters tall, he towered over me by two heads, yet he never made me feel small despite my 1.65-meter stature. He had short, dark brown hair and a muscular, toned physique; he was a member of my father’s fight club, "Legendary Fighters," yet he was the only one who never took part in beating me up.
Marian was my rock, always by my side when I couldn't go on.
He was the only love I’d ever known and the only man who refused to obey my father—a stance that earned him a few beatings of his own.
His loving chestnut-brown eyes always radiated affection and concern.
He was always there when I doubted myself, keeping me afloat when I felt like I was drowning.
Neither at the club nor at the secret MMA fights did anyone notice the bond between us—not even my father, who kept a close watch on me and did everything in his power to prevent me from making friends.
If he so much as suspected anything, he’d nip it in the bud, saying, "Friends are just a distraction; you need to focus on your training. Anything else will only lead to defeat."
That attitude drove him to chase off—or even threaten—anyone who was even remotely kind to me, which is why Marian and I kept our relationship a secret.
Anyone who had previously been intimidated by my father or the club members steered clear of me, leaving me increasingly isolated—a situation that deeply bothered me.
I didn't want that anymore.
I didn't want to be controlled and shunned anymore.
Damn it, I was thirty years old and didn't have a single friend other than Marian.
All these thoughts made my focus slip, causing me to open my eyes.
I ran my hands through my long, loose, slightly wavy brown hair and let out a frustrated sound.
I sighed, shaking my head. "Just one more night, then you’ll be free."
Although Marian was my secret boyfriend and lover, I hadn’t told him a thing about my escape plan yet.
There were always those few moments when I doubted him.
Little remarks he’d make, or times I caught him alone with my father—moments when they were incredibly open with each other, almost like brothers.
Whenever I saw them alone, they didn't look hostile at all, the way they usually did. They would chat in a relaxed manner, even laughing, which made me increasingly suspicious of them both. At the club, my father always acted as though he couldn't stand Marian, and a single glance at Marian was enough to convince everyone the feeling was mutual.
A sigh escaped my lips as I stood up and glanced at my massive wardrobe.
My packed bag—containing the essentials—was already inside, hidden behind my fighting outfits.
I hated those outfits. They were far too revealing, leaving little to the imagination.
The mask I always wore resembled a puma—hence my nickname—and I wore it for every fight.
My stomach growled, signaling that it was time for my next meal.
My lean, toned body needed its carbs.
I glanced at the mirror on my wardrobe, and my ice-blue eyes lit up with anticipation.
Dressed in a black tracksuit, I stepped out of my room and headed down the narrow staircase; but before I could reach the bottom step and turn right into the kitchen, unmistakable voices brought me to an abrupt halt.
My father laughed. "Oh, Marian—you know exactly how to keep our Puma on a short leash." Marian laughed too, but with a mischievous glint in his eye: "A well-fucked woman is simply easier to control—that’s what you taught me, after all. She dances to my tune; don’t you worry."
My hand tightened around the wooden railing as my father replied: "Tomorrow, she’ll eat that amazing energy drink right out of your hand—and then drop dead. She’s getting too old and seems to be growing suspicious. She’ll never expect *you* to be the one to knock her out. And her opponent tomorrow will hit her so hard her organs will fail. After that, our newcomer takes over the fights and will rake in billions more for us."
My body froze solid.
