Irvin's POV
I drove straight to the underground, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My mind was a fucking mess, tangled up with emotions I didn't understand, didn't want to understand.
I needed an escape.
The underground boxing ring wasn't just a place I fought. It was a world I controlled. A place where I could silence everything—my thoughts, my emotions, her.
I didn't have a scheduled fight tonight. I wasn't supposed to be here. But it didn't fucking matter.
The second I stepped inside, heads turned.
Fighters paused their training. Bets were placed in whispers. But no one questioned me. They all knew who I was.
Irvin Jenkin.
Without saying a word, I stepped into the ring.
There was no ceremony, no build-up. Just a brutal exchange of fists.
I didn't dodge.
Didn't block.
Didn't care.
I took the hits—one after another.
A punch to the ribs. Another to my jaw.
Pain exploded across my face, and still, I didn't move.
Another hit. And another.
