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From inside the locker room, curious eyes watched. Kelly Kelly, Eve Torres, Maryse, Gail Kim, and Jillian Hall, they all saw Nikki clinging to Sandro like a lifeline. Shock rippled through the room, their gossip hungry instincts firing up like alarms. But to their credit, no one said a word. They just exchanged loaded glances, whispers forming silently in their throats.
Sandro ignored them all. After a long moment, Nikki pulled back slightly, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Come on," he said softly, lacing his fingers through hers.
She nodded, silent but trusting.
Without another word, Sandro led her out of the arena, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the heat of speculation trailing behind them. The night air was cool against their skin as they made their way to the rented SUV parked discreetly near the back lot. Sandro opened the door for her, waited until she slid in, then circled to the driver's side.
Once inside, he started the engine, the low rumble filling the silence between them. Nikki stared out the window, wiping at her eyes, while Sandro reached over and gently squeezed her knee.
"We're gonna get through this," he said quietly, his tone steady, firm. "I promise you."
Nikki sniffled, managing a faint, watery smile. "You always say that."
"And I always mean it," he replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
As they drove off into the night, the arena shrinking in the rearview mirror, Sandro's phone buzzed again. More notifications. More fire to put out. But that could wait. Right now, his priority was the woman sitting beside him, the woman the world had decided to turn into a villain overnight.
Sandro's mind was already working overtime. He had decisions to make, about statements, about timing, about whether to lean into the truth or let the rumors burn themselves out. But one thing was certain, he wasn't going to let Nikki, Alexa, or April take the fall for something that was his responsibility.
Not on his watch. Not now. Not ever.
The drive back to the hotel was thick with silence. Neither of them said much, there wasn't much to say, not yet. The hum of the engine filled the void while city lights streaked past the windows, painting the interior of the SUV in fleeting neon and gold.
Nikki sat turned slightly toward the window, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, and Sandro kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. He was thinking, calculating, strategizing like he always did, but this wasn't about a match or a storyline. This was real life, and the stakes felt heavier than any title match.
By the time they pulled into the hotel's underground lot, Sandro's mind was already two steps ahead. The chatter on social media was nuclear, and he knew if they weren't careful, someone would snap another picture before they even hit the elevators.
The thought alone made his stomach knot. He wasn't afraid for himself, he could take the heat. But Nikki? She didn't deserve to be crucified by trolls hiding behind profile pictures of their favorite wrestlers.
He killed the engine, then reached for the black hoodie he'd tossed onto the center console earlier that day. Holding it out to Nikki, he offered a small smile. "Here. Put this on. Just in case anyone's lurking."
She glanced at the hoodie, then back at him, hesitating for a moment before pulling it over her head. The fabric swallowed her petite frame, pulling the hood to caste a shadow over her face. She gave him a small, grateful nod, and that was all he needed.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
"As I'll ever be," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
They slipped out of the SUV and into the dimly lit lot. Sandro kept his head low, his hand lightly on Nikki's back as they made their way toward the elevator bank. Luck was on their side, no fans, no cameras, just the quiet hum of the underground garage.
When the elevator doors opened, they stepped inside, Sandro pressing the button for the top floor, the presidential suite level. The doors slid shut, cutting them off from the world outside.
Neither spoke on the ride up. Nikki leaned against the cold steel, her reflection looking smaller than usual, and Sandro stared at the glowing numbers above the door, counting down the seconds.
When the elevator finally dinged, they stepped into the plush hallway, the kind lined with deep red carpets and golden sconces that whispered luxury. A short walk later, they were inside their suite.
The door clicked shut behind them, and for the first time all night, Sandro allowed himself to exhale. He tossed his keys onto the marble counter and immediately reached for his phone.
Twitter wasn't going to wait, and the longer the silence stretched, the more power the rumor gained. Across the room, Nikki sank into the sofa, pulling her legs up and hugging them close like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her phone lit up in her hands, April and Alexa, blowing up the group chat with worry.
Sandro sat on the edge of the bed, thumbs flying over his screen. If he was going to put this fire out, he had to do it in a way that felt authentic, not some corporate scripted PR nonsense. No, this had to sound like him. Like Sandro Zhang, the man fans knew both inside and outside the ring.
His tweet read like a mic drop.
"This picture? Absolute nonsense. Nikki and I? Best friends, always have been since FCW days. She asked for help with her luggage because, let's be honest, anyone who knows Nikki knows she takes 10 years to pack and zero years to organize those luggage. So yeah, I stepped in to save time for the both of us. Next time, I'll let her take an hour arranging a suitcase in the trunk. To the 'news source' who ran this trash, apologize. You've caused massive mental distress to people who don't deserve it. If not… I'll happily deliver a Downfall DDT on the concrete. Your move. #RAW #WWE #DownfallDDT #FakeNews"
He tagged the account that posted the photo and hit send. The moment the tweet went live, the notifications exploded like fireworks. Retweets. Replies.
Fans eating it up, dissecting every word, debating whether to believe him. And most did, especially the ones who'd followed him since the FCW days. They remembered the stories, the old pictures, the interviews where Nikki and Sandro had laughed about being "training buddies."
Within minutes, replies poured in.
"SEE?! I knew it was BS! Leave them alone!"
"King Sandro shutting it down AND threatening Downfall DDTs on eah employees? Iconic."
"Honestly, this is why I support this menace of a man."
Of course, some skeptics lingered in the replies, tossing around theories like confetti, but they didn't have much to work with. One blurry airport picture wasn't evidence, and Sandro's tweet, equal parts kayfabe swagger and genuine frustration, hit the sweet spot for many. It gave fans what they wanted while drawing a clear line.
Across the room, Nikki's phone chimed with WhatsApp notifications. She finally typed out a reply to April and Alexa, her fingers trembling slightly as she told them she was okay and with Sandro now. Relief spilled through the chat instantly, April sending a stream of heart emojis, Alexa typing that they trusted him and to send Nikki a hug from both of them.
Sandro walked over and sat down beside her, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "It's handled," he murmured, pulling her close.
She let out a shaky laugh. "You and your Downfall DDT threats."
"They work," he said, grinning faintly. "People love the theatrics."
And for the first time that night, Nikki smiled, really smiled. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world outside didn't matter.
The next few days crawled by in a blur of headlines, hot takes, and hashtags. Sandro's tweet dominated wrestling Twitter for a full 48 hours, and fans rallied behind him in droves. Memes of him delivering Downfall DDTs to "fake news" accounts spread like wildfire, and the narrative shifted. The once hostile tide turned in his favor, mostly.
Then came the twist.
The wrestling news account finally broke their silence, quote tweeting Sandro with an apology. Their statement read.
"We take full responsibility for the misunderstanding caused by our earlier post. Our correspondent acted irresponsibly, and appropriate measures have been taken. We regret the distress caused. Our sincerest apologies to @SandroZhang, @NikkiBella, and all parties affected. Please don't hit us with a Downfall DDT."
The apology set Twitter ablaze again, fans flooding the replies with jokes, forgiveness, and plenty of memes. Sandro didn't let the moment pass without a final word. His reply?
"Apology accepted. Whether I deliver Downfall DDTs on your office? That depends on your behavior in the future, whether you stayed in your lane or not. See you ringside. 😉" It was classic Sandro, cocky, funny, and intimidating all at once. Fans loved it.
That single tweet went viral, cementing Sandro as not just a rising in ring star but a social media powerhouse. The scandal? It cooled off, fading into background noise. Sure, some diehard conspiracy theorists clung to the idea that Sandro and Nikki were more than friends, but without hard proof, they had nothing.
And just when the dust was settling, WWE lit another fire.
The announcement dropped on WWE's official Twitter, a new WrestleMania tradition being held. It would be a massive battle royale in memorial of Andre the Giant and for the first inaugural battle royale, a permanent spot was open for one superstar from RAW and one from SmackDown. A gauntlet match would decide the RAW entrant next week, and the GM would personally choose the competitor.
The internet lost its mind all over again.
"This is HUGE."
"Battle Royal at Mania? Yessss!"
"Put Sandro in that gauntlet! Let him EARN IT!"
Superstars started cutting promos, hyping the gauntlet match like their lives depended on it. Legends tweeted their approval, praising the tribute to Andre's legacy. And behind the scenes, Sandro felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with opportunity. This was his shot, not just to prove himself in the ring but to cement his name on the biggest stage of them all.
He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. The locker room was stacked with talent, and everyone wanted that spot. But Sandro thrived under pressure. Always had. Always would. And he have a feeling he will be chosen to enter the gauntlet match.
As he stood in front of the hotel window later that night, city lights glittering like stars below, Nikki asleep on the sofa behind him, his phone buzzed with a text from Alexa.
"Win that gauntlet. Make history. We'll be watching. ❤️"
Sandro stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back. "Count on it."
And with that, he set the phone down, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. The rumors, the backlash, the chaos, they were just noise now. What mattered was the road to WrestleMania.
The days blurred into a rhythm of travel, training, and quiet anticipation until finally, Monday Night RAW arrived, live from the electric city of San Francisco, California. The energy outside the Chase Center was uncontainable, fans pouring in by the thousands, their chants echoing into the crisp night air.
Tonight wasn't just another show. Tonight marked the beginning of a road paved in blood, sweat, and destiny, the gauntlet match that would determine who from RAW would cement a permanent spot in the inaugural Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal at WrestleMania.
But before the gauntlet could begin, RAW kicked off with a shocker.
The lights dimmed, the tron flared to life, and an unfamiliar yet commanding theme blasted through the PA. A chorus of confused murmurs rippled through the crowd, quickly erupting into cheers as the name appeared on the titantron, SHEAMUS. The Celtic Warrior had arrived on RAW.
Backstage, Sandro stood frozen in front of the monitor, his brows lifting in disbelief. He had no idea this was happening. "No way," he muttered under his breath. He hadn't heard a word about this. Creative had kept it tighter than Fort Knox. But there he was, one of his best friends from the FCW days, storming down the ramp, pale as snow and looking like a warrior out of legend.
Sandro couldn't help but grin. Despite everything, the drama, the rumors, the noise, this moment reminded him why he loved this business. It was unpredictable. It was magic.
On the monitor, Sheamus slid into the ring as the familiar strain of his theme blared. His opponent? Vladimir Kozlov. A beast of a man in his own right, a powerhouse who'd bulldozed through plenty of names on RAW. The bell rang, and the two titans collided in the center like rams on a mountainside. The impact practically shook the screen.
"Big lad hasn't changed a bit," Sandro said quietly, leaning forward as the two traded stiff shots that echoed like gunfire. Every thudding chop, every bone-jarring slam sent shockwaves through the canvas and through the crowd. And Sheamus? His alabaster skin told the story, reddening with every strike he absorbed, yet he only seemed to grow stronger, feeding off the pain, his fiery hair a banner of defiance.
Cole's voice cracked over commentary, trying to keep up. "Look at this! Sheamus isn't just making his debut, he's making a big statement!"
King, ever the enthusiast, chimed in. "What a fight! If this is what Sheamus brings to the table, the entire RAW roster just got a wake up call!"
The fans ate it up. Every near fall, every bone rattling slam. They were hooked. The bout ended in thunder. Kozlov went for the Iron Curtain slam, but Sheamus slipped out, drilled him with the Irish Curse Backbreaker, and then, like a cannon firing, unleashed a brutal Brogue Kick that nearly decapitated the Moscow Mauler as it hit Kozlov's jaw like a freight train, and that was all she wrote.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championship History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, & 1x TNA X Division Champion