Ellen’s POV
As we stepped from the black luxury limousine, a buzz of excitement enveloped us. I smiled at the cameras, waving graciously. I didn't give a damn about any of them.
Maintaining my elegant poses and fake smiles proved challenging as I noticed the women swooning over Gabriel. He'd always been a jerk, notorious for his playboy ways. Suppressing a snort of disgust, I reminded myself to stay composed.
Walking hand in hand with my father, I felt pride and anticipation. Tonight was Liz's fight, and the atmosphere crackled with energy. My mother, however, was linked arm in arm with Gabriel, who basked in the attention.
We were guided to our family's reserved front-row seats. The view was perfect; the excitement mounted. Tonight wasn't just about Liz's fight; it was about supporting her and celebrating her achievements. I was ready to cheer her on.
You wish! That was for the headlines. I smirked at my own thoughts.
Contrary to media coverage, Liz's fight was intended to boost the Manor's image. No one really cared about her fight; she always won anyway.
As we settled, a smirk played on my lips as I surveyed the arena. The atmosphere throbbed with anticipation. Bright lights illuminated the expansive space, casting dramatic shadows. The scent of sweat and excitement mingled with faint popcorn aromas. Jumbotron screens overhead displayed larger-than-life images of past fights—mostly Liz's wins.
At least here, the organizers showed us the respect we deserved, despite ongoing media persecution. This contrasted sharply with the treatment I'd received from my own handlers. But I'd make them regret backing out of my concert.
The roar of the crowd brought me back to the present. I turned to the ring where the announcers were making their entrance: a young woman in skimpy clothing and a bare-chested man in a black leather mask, pants, and boots. The woman quieted the audience and announced Liz's opponent.
As the announcement for Crazy Tina reverberated through the arena, her fans erupted in cheers. However, Liz's devoted supporters drowned them out with a wave of boos.
In the ring, Crazy Tina exuded confidence and determination. She moved gracefully, showcasing her skills to her cheering crowd. But Gabriel couldn't resist a crude comment: "She'd be amazing in bed with that body and those legs. Sadly, Liz will beat her. Tsk tsk tsk." A mischievous glint shone in his eye.
Our mother gently smacked him; our father gave him a stern look. Suppressing a roll of my eyes, I shot Gabriel a withering glare, discreetly raised my middle finger, and mouthed, "Fuck you." He grimaced and returned his attention to the ring.
The male announcer's booming voice hailed Liz as the undefeated state champion, the fiercest Liz! The cheers were deafening. Liz's reputation in MMA was formidable.
Then, amidst thunderous applause, Liz made her entrance. The lights dimmed; her entrance music filled the air. She emerged from behind the curtains, draped in her signature robe, exuding confidence and determination. Her gaze was unwavering as she walked toward the ring, commanding everyone's attention.
The crowd roared; their cheers reached a crescendo as Liz entered the ring. The energy was palpable. "Liz! Liz! Liz!" The chant reverberated.
I noticed a smaller contingent of fans cheering for Tina, but they were quickly drowned out by Liz's supporters' boos. We rose to our feet, joining the cheers. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment.
That's it, assholes!
As the shutters clicked, I imagined the headlines: "The Manors: A Family United in Support," or "Manors Clan Unites Behind Liz: Love and Strength in the Face of Adversity." These headlines would counter the current negative news about our family.
As Liz raised her fists, a commotion erupted as reporters flooded the arena. Some rushed toward the ring, others toward our seats. That puzzled look on her face? We had it twice as much!
Confusion rippled through the crowd. I exchanged a puzzled glance with my family as the reporters approached.
Suddenly, Mr. Finley, my father's right-hand man, leaned in and whispered urgently to my father. My father's expression shifted from confusion to anger.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
Mr. Finley glanced around before whispering, "There's been a security breach. We need to handle it immediately."
I wasn't satisfied.
My father's face darkened. He nodded to Mr. Finley, who sprang into action. "Instruct them to take everything down now!" My father's voice was firm.
Mr. Finley nodded and directed the reporters to cease their activities. He then whispered to Max, who disappeared within minutes. People in the arena became engrossed in their phones. Something was wrong.
My phone pinged. A link in my inbox led to videos of Liz bullying, beating, and threatening Kamille.
What the fuck?!
I checked the live streams; chaos reigned. The hateful comments and abuse directed at Liz were shocking. One minute they adored her; the next, they abhorred her. Dirty weasels!
My parents, mirroring my shock and concern, watched in silence.
The announcer's voice cut through the murmurs: "Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that the fight will not proceed due to unforeseen issues concerning our champion fighter, Ms. Liz." He gestured for her to leave the ring.
Liz was escorted out, protected from the reporters but surrounded by guards. Our security team ushered us out.
In the limousine, frustration boiled. "Why the fuck can't our family catch a break? They're still tormenting Liz over that dead bitch!" I yelled.
No one responded. My parents looked grim, struggling to maintain composure. Gabriel was searching the internet for news.
Damn it!
At home, Gabriel turned on the TV. The news was even more shocking: the MMA organization was stripping Liz of her title and privileges, citing charges of high-level assault against a non-fighter. Liz had been detained. We were helpless.
I slumped into a chair, feeling helpless. The weight of the situation was crushing. This was not good.