(open to female muses)
The fight had ended only ten minutes ago, Max watching from the sidelines as his prized fighter went down for the fourth time in two weeks. He was furious, practically seething, because a lost fight meant lost money and a blow to his reputation. This time, however, he had warned the fighter that if he lost another match, he’d find the man’s girlfriend after the last round and show her how a real man got things done. The fighter had laughed it off and agreed, but the moment had actually arrived and Max was walking straight towards the girlfriend in question. “Looks like you get to pay for your boyfriend’s mistakes tonight, love,” he growled as he approached the woman. “I’m down thousands of dollars because he’s apparently lost the ability to land a decent fuckin’ punch.”
ophelia had watched from one of the boxes, the door guarded by one of max’s entourage. she had also been fuming, angry that her boyfriend had agreed to max’s little bet. it made her bristle, the way he had laughed it off, but ophelia knew how much the previous loses had made more of a blow to his ego then to his body, how it had effected his confidence, his ability. she hadn’t tried to run when she watched her boyfriend lose. there was no point. she’d warned him not to get involved with these people. although, you could argue it was partly her own fault - she should’ve left him when she’d seen the first red flags.
she was terrified as max approached, gripping her own wrist so tightly her knuckles turned white. her heart was hammering, and for one insane moment she thought about making some sarcastic remark, but she swallowed it. max was so angry. she didn’t put it past him to show her a decent fuckin’ punch. instead she let out a shaking breath, her gaze moving to the floor. “...i see.”














