Chapter 3

"Michael, why did you turn The Champ's gold belt into jewelry for me again? This is what you earned with your life on the line. It's too precious, and besides, I'm running out of space to store all these things."

"Then I'll just buy you a few more mansions. I want to share my glory with you. When you wear them, it's as if I'm right there by your side, and on you..."

No wonder every time he returned victorious, The Champ's gold belt was never seen on him.

If I ever asked about it, Michael would impatiently say:

"Of course I put it away. Why do you keep asking? Sarah, you're not the type of shallow woman who only cares about money, are you?"

In the computer photo album, there were countless pictures of Emily, from the first day my brother brought her home until now. There were even many details I had never noticed before.

Over the years, Michael had given Emily countless pieces of jewelry and properties. All I ever got were freebies and various medicinal wines, which he bought for me to use when massaging him after his matches.

Emily loved the sea, so Michael bought her a private island and built her a crystal palace.During the days when he claimed to be traveling abroad for exchanges with foreign boxers, he was actually spending quality time with Emily.

Beyond that, they had countless intimate photos together.

The only photo we had together was the one on our marriage certificate.

I remember on the day of that photo shoot, the photographer kept urging the groom to smile. Unfortunately, in the final picture, Michael still wore a serious expression.

I thought he disliked taking photos, so we even canceled our wedding photoshoot.

Seeing these pictures now, I realized he could smile so happily after all, just not when he was with me.

Feeling dejected, I shut down the computer and made a phone call:

"I'm willing to be the tactical analyst for the international women's boxing competition. See you in three days."

After hanging up, I bought myself a plane ticket and printed out a divorce agreement.

Back in bed, I lay staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep all night.

The next morning, Michael thoughtfully changed the dressing on my foot and had his apprentice bring over a lavish breakfast, all my favorites.

He smiled sheepishly:

"Sarah, you know I'm just a rough guy. These hands of mine are only good for boxing. But I promise I'll learn from a chef and cook for you myself in the future."I looked at the circular, pale scar on the back of his hand. It was a burn he'd gotten while cooking for Emily in the Maldives, worried she wouldn't like the local food.

Just as I was about to bring up divorce, his phone chimed with a special ringtone - Emily's favorite song.

"Sarah, I've got a boxing match today. I wanted to take you, but with your foot injury, it's best you rest at home. I'll bring back something tasty for you."

He rushed out without waiting for my reply.

I knew well that even if my foot wasn't hurt, he still wouldn't take me to the match.

Once, concerned about a tactical error in my design, I wanted to accompany him to a match. But Michael said:

"Sarah, if you're there, I'll be distracted. Plus, I don't want you remembering how your brother looked before he died. I can't bear to see you upset."

"You know I'm in underground boxing. I've got many enemies. What if they use you against me? How could I fight then?"

I thought he was genuinely worried about me, but last night I saw those pictures of Emily wiping his sweat, giving him water, and the two embracing excitedly at the venue.It wasn't until then that I understood. He simply didn't want me to disturb the moment when he shared the joy of victory with his beloved.

As evening approached, Michael still hadn't returned. Instead, I received a text message from him:

"Madison Square Garden. Michael severely injured and unconscious. Come quickly."

Underground boxing matches were notoriously brutal, with no rules to speak of. Severe injuries were common, and deaths in the ring weren't unheard of.