Riven

And that's exactly what I did.

I spent the next hour pacing in circles, mentally cursing my life. Every little thing felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me—my father's manipulations, my brother's stubbornness, and now this. They were dragging me straight into a nightmare I wanted no part of.

By the time a knock echoed on my door, signaling it was time to leave, I'd run out of energy to protest. Not that it would've mattered. It never did.

Another reason I didn't want to go? I didn't want Riven to catch my scent. I didn't want him to know I was there and think I wanted to meet him—because I didn't.

He was handsome. Devastatingly so. And, against my better judgment, he awakened something in me. Made my heart stutter in ways I didn't understand. A part of me wanted to get to know him better, even though I didn't even know his name when I first saw him. My heart recognized him before my mind did.

But he was the Alpha who had nearly killed my father.

Worse, he was an Alpha who thrived in the very place I despised most in this world. A place where violence was worshipped, where people like him—people I'd spent my life avoiding—reigned supreme. And yet, here I was, being dragged back into it.

The drive was suffocating, a tense silence hanging between us. When we pulled up to the arena, my heart sank. The line outside was longer than usual, snaking around the block with people holding up signs that screamed Go Alpha Riven!!

They praised him, bet on how fast he'd take down his opponents. Some even wagered he'd finish the first fight in under forty seconds.

From what I overheard, he had three fights tonight. Back-to-back. The fighters had traveled across states just to face him, training for years for this chance.

And they still didn't stand a chance.

When we finally made it inside, the place was packed, the air electric with anticipation. The crowd buzzed louder than usual, probably because Riven hadn't fought in weeks. I'd never understand people like this.

We took our seats in the third central row, closer than I'd have liked, thanks to my father's season tickets. Just sitting there made me feel sick, knowing what I was about to witness.

My brother sat unusually quiet beside me.

"Here we go," the announcer boomed as he strutted into the ring, microphone in hand.

"Are you guys fired up?"

The crowd erupted, a deafening roar of cheers and whistles.

"That's what I like to hear!"

The energy surged around me, pressing against my skin like a suffocating blanket.

"After three weeks of absence—"

Another wave of screams and stomping feet.

"—we've got him back! Stronger and wilder than ever!"

People jumped to their feet, clapping and shouting his name. The noise was unbearable. I was sure we were the only ones still sitting.

I could feel his presence in the air, like a pulse syncing with my veins.

"Our one and only Alpha! Welcome… Riven!!"

My stomach twisted into knots. I pressed my head into my hands, wishing I could disappear.

He makes his appearance.

My heart stirs in my chest, beating faster, louder. My eyes widen.

He looks handsome.

The crowd roars, a wave of sound crashing through the arena as they welcome their beloved fighter. They chant his name in unison, voices blending into something primal, something electric.

"RIVEN! RIVEN! RIVEN!"

Feet stomp against the floor, the vibrations rattling up through my seat. The people next to us rise, their excitement infectious, urging us to stand too—but my brother stays seated, arms crossed, unmoved. So I stay seated too.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, his eyes sweep over the crowd and find me. It feels magnetic, like he knew exactly where I was. The moment his gaze locks onto mine, my heart feasts on it, greedy and wild.

"RIVEN! RIVEN! RIVEN!"

The crowd keeps chanting his name, their voices growing louder, more frenzied.

He raises his hands.

But instead of calming them, he feeds their fire, igniting the arena into chaos.

"And now," the announcer bellows, his voice booming through the speakers, "we have a courageous challenger, all the way from India! Welcome to Rahain!"

The crowd turns, booing mercilessly.

Except for my brother.

He claps—once, twice—the only sound of support in a sea of hostility.

Riven's eyes flicker to him, then back to me. I see the recognition in his gaze, like he's piecing it together. But the crowd misreads the tension, and their cheers swell even louder, mistaking his reaction for arrogance.

"Did you hear that?" the announcer eggs them on. "Riven's growing at him!"

The crowd eats it up.

"Okay, okay!" The announcer laughs. "Let's get this started. I'm ready for some blood!"

I shake my head, heart sinking. I can't watch this.

"I can't watch it," I whisper to my brother, but he doesn't respond. Either he doesn't hear me over the noise, or he pretends not to.

But somehow, Riven hears.

His eyes snap back to mine, sharp and unwavering.

A girl, barely dressed, struts onto the field holding up the round numbers. The crowd whistles and howls, their crude excitement filling the air. I roll my eyes in disgust, and when I glance back at Riven, I swear my reaction stirs something in him.

Because when the bell rings, he doesn't move.

His eyes stay glued to me, unfocused on the challenger.

The challenger doesn't waste the opportunity. He lunges forward, landing a brutal punch straight to Riven's face.

Ouch.

The crowd gasps, a collective shock rippling through the arena.

"What the fuck is he doing?" the man next to me mutters, chugging his beer.

The punch seems to wake Riven up. His expression shifts from detached to deadly in an instant.

Then he strikes back.

A punch.

Another.

And another.

The sudden, brutal violence is overwhelming. His fists fly, relentless, until the challenger's face is a mess of blood and bruises. The man stumbles, collapsing to the floor, hands covering his face as he tries to surrender.

But Riven doesn't stop.

I see the red splattered across his knuckles, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It's painful to watch.

The crowd doesn't care. They're feeding off the violence, screaming for more.

"Please! Please!" the challenger cries out, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Finally, the announcer rushes onto the field, grabbing Riven's wrist and yanking it into the air.

Thirty-six seconds.

The match lasted thirty-six seconds.

Half a minute.

That's how strong he is.

"Holy shit," my brother breathes, but I can't respond.

Nausea churns in my stomach, my head spinning. I can't sit through three more matches like this. My temples throb, each heartbeat sending sharp pain through my skull.

I hate it here.

I hate him.

"The winner, without a doubt—Alpha Riven!"

"i don't feel well." I murmur.

The second match begins, and my stomach churns violently. Nausea rises in my throat, sharp and relentless, until I feel like I might throw up with every punch that lands.

The new challenger seems slightly better than the last—not by much, though. He manages to get a punch in here and there, but it's clear Riven has the upper hand from the start. The first minute passes with Riven barely breaking a sweat. It takes him exactly one minute and forty seconds to drop his opponent to the floor.

Riven doesn't stop there. He bends over the fallen man, raining down punches on his face with ruthless precision. Flesh tears, bone cracks, and blood splatters everywhere. The crowd roars in approval, their cheers deafening, their faces alight with savage excitement.

I don't understand them. I never will.

"Kill him!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

I shake my head, trying to block out the screams, but they echo in my skull.

The room tilts slightly beneath me, as if the ground itself is giving way. My brother notices and frowns, concern etching lines across his face.

"You okay? You look pale."

Before I can answer, the announcer strides into the ring, grabbing Riven's bloodied hand and hoisting it into the air.

"Another easy win!" he shouts, his voice booming over the noise. "Let's take a break, folks. Grab your drinks, get something to eat. The next match is gonna be fun!"

"I need the bathroom," I mutter, clutching my stomach as I rise. But just as I stand, the men beside me shoot up, clearly sharing the same idea. They shove past me in their rush, jostling me hard. The dizziness that's been simmering suddenly spikes, and I stumble, my balance slipping away.

My brother's hand shoots out, gripping my elbow before I can hit the ground.

"Careful," he says, his eyes scanning my face again

I pull away from his grip.

I feel Riven looking at him

And my gaze flickering to him full of disgust and disapproval.

I force myself to navigate down the row, aiming for the bathroom, but the crowd is overwhelming, a sea of bodies pressing in from all sides.

"Lily."

I hear his voice, even through the chaos, but I pretend I don't. I can't face him. The doctors told me to rest, to stay safe. This place is the opposite of safe.

My head spins violently now, and my legs feel like they might buckle beneath me at any moment. If I fall here, I'll be swallowed by the crowd, trampled without anyone noticing.

I clutch the back of a chair for support, but the man behind me gives me a rough shove.

"Move, or I'll miss the match!" he snarls.

I'll never make it to the bathroom. I can't even turn back—the crowd won't let me. My vision blurs, darkening at the edges.

I'm going to faint.

Any second now.