Chapter 4Trained to KO My Bridesmaid

The morning of the wedding was crisp and cold.

At six o'clock, Naomi arrived to help me dress. When she unzipped the twenty-thousand-dollar custom silk gown and held it up against my bare shoulders, her breath hitched.

“Flora... your arms.”

The gown was a strapless sweetheart cut, exposing my entire collarbone and upper arms. Under the bright vanity lights, the faint yellowing bruises from my final sparring sessions were visible.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice steady. “Just layer the concealer. Thick.”

Naomi bit her lip but didn’t ask any more questions. It took three heavy layers of professional-grade body makeup to completely hide the marks of my training.

Once the veil was pinned, I stood and looked at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror was wrapped in layers of delicate white silk, but she looked nothing like the fragile, broken girl who had been wheeled out of a hospital ward a lifetime ago.

The Flora who had died on that pavement was gone.

The woman standing here now had crawled back from the grave.

At exactly eight o’clock, the limousine arrived.

Garrett was waiting by the door, looking exceptionally handsome in his tailored tuxedo. His shave was immaculate, his cologne expensive.

When he saw me, a genuine spark of admiration lit up his eyes.

I smiled, taking his arm as he led me into the car.

Sabrina was already sitting in the front passenger seat, dressed in her maid-of-honor gown. She looked pale, her hair pulled back in a loose, delicate low bun.

She turned around, offering me a faint, watery smile. “You look beautiful, Flora.” She let out a small, delicate cough.

I reached forward and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Sabrina. I know you haven’t been feeling well lately, so it means the world to have you stand by me today.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t miss your special day for anything.”

I saw Garrett catch her eye in the rearview mirror. It was a fraction of a second—a shared look of absolute, breathless anticipation.

They couldn't wait.

The limousine pulled up to the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel.

The entrance was flanked by towering floral arches and a plush red carpet. Garrett got out first, offering me his hand with the grace of a perfect gentleman.

“We’re here, beautiful,” he whispered.

I lifted my skirts and stepped out, securing my grip on his arm.

As we pushed through the heavy double doors of the ballroom, the crowd of three hundred guests erupted into applause.

I scanned the room.

The tables, the centerpieces, the lighting—everything was exactly as I had planned.

Except for the main stage.

Where the towering champagne fountain was supposed to stand, there was a raised, professional-grade octagon cage.

The chain-link walls glistened under the spotlights, the floor lined with thick, blue wrestling mats. Hanging from the corner posts were two fresh pairs of leather sparring gloves.

I stopped, feigning confusion. “Garrett... what is that?”

Garrett patted my hand, his voice smooth and reassuring. “Don’t worry, babe. Like I said, it’s a tradition from my family’s old neighborhood. Just a playful little spar to bring some excitement and good fortune to the marriage.”

He stepped aside, and Sabrina stepped forward, holding a pair of gloves.

“Flora,” she said softly, her voice carrying through the room’s microphone system. “Garrett really wanted us to do this. Don’t worry, I’m still feeling a bit weak from my cold. Just a light touch for the cameras.”

In the crowd, Garrett’s family and friends began to cheer.

“Go on, Flora! Show her what you’ve got!”

“Don’t be a party pooper! It’s tradition!”

The pressure mounted, a wall of smiling, demanding faces. Nobody saw anything wrong with it.

Just like last time.

I let the silence stretch for ten seconds, staring directly into Garrett’s eyes.

“Alright,” I said, my voice echoing over the speakers.

Garrett let out a breath, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“But on one condition,” I added.

I waved Naomi over. She stepped forward, holding a legal document.

“Since this is a contact sport, and we’re wearing expensive gowns, I want to make sure everything is official. We sign a standard mutual liability waiver. If anyone gets hurt up there, we agree not to pursue legal action or damages.”

I took the pen and signed my name with a flourish, then handed it to Sabrina.

Garrett’s mother laughed from the front row. “Oh, look how serious she’s taking it! How cute!”

To them, this waiver was just a joke. To Sabrina, it was a guarantee that she could cripple me without facing a single day in court.

She grabbed the pen and eagerly scribbled her signature.

I handed the paper back to Naomi, who tucked it safely into her bag.

Then, in front of three hundred stunned guests, I unzipped my twenty-thousand-dollar designer gown, stepped out of it, and let it fall to the floor.

Beneath the silk, I was wearing a black compression top and athletic shorts.

I walked toward the cage, lacing up my gloves.