My Family Wanted a Sacrificial Bride, They Got a Boxing Queen Chapter 10

My Family Wanted a Sacrificial Bride, They Got a Boxing Queen Chapter 10

My new gym officially opened its doors the same day Reginald and his family permanently vanished

from Stillwater.

Cleo, the fake heiress who’d once been unable to twist open a water bottle, now sat at the front desk in sharp black workwear, her sculpted shoulders on full display as she reviewed the books with a

calm, unreadable expression.

Some low-level thugs showed up demanding protection money. Cleo didn’t even lift her head. She crushed an apple with one hand and said a single word.

“Leave.”

The thugs tripped over themselves running away.

A month later, Magnus sent invitations to the entire city.

The wedding was a nationwide sensation and hardcore to its bones.

There were no tedious vows and no delicate wedding dress with a trailing train. The ceremony took place in Stillwater’s largest arena.

I wore a custom-tailored white suit, the fabric pulled taut across the sharp, powerful lines of my

back muscles.

Magnus stood opposite me in black tactical-style formal wear, and in his hands was not a ring box but a pair of heavy, custom-forged boxing gloves plated in gold and set with diamonds.

Under the stunned gazes of Stillwater’s entire elite, Magnus dropped to one knee and fixed me with a burning stare.

“Vesper Kane, we’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Magnus’s voice was rough with obsession as he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand in front of

everyone.

“As long as you can still throw a punch, I, Magnus Thorne, will be your one and only living heavy

bag.”

I took the gloves from him, then tapped a light, playful hook against his jaw with a defiant grin.

“You said it, Mr. Thorne. No compensation if I break you.”

The arena erupted in a standing ovation. Knox sat at the head table, his weathered face split by a massive grin, and behind him, dozens of elite operatives roared in unison.

“Congratulations!”

At the press conference after the ceremony, a rookie reporter summoned every ounce of courage

and shoved a microphone toward Magnus.

“Mr. Thorne, rumors say both you and your wife have rather aggressive tendencies. So after the wedding, who holds the purse strings? And who’s the one calling the shots?”

Magnus-the man notorious for his cold, untouchable demeanor-leaned back in his chair with a lazy sprawl.

He tilted his head slightly and pointed at the bruise still fading on his left cheekbone, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward against his will.

“You see the location of this bruise?”

Magnus casually unfastened a collar button, and his smile was pure, blissful satisfaction.

“Last night, we settled the terms in the octagon. My wife went with Muay Thai rules, and she choked me out cold in the final round.”

He shrugged, and his voice dripped with the most obnoxious pride.

“So as of today, my paycheck, my decision-making authority, and my life-all of it belongs to her.”

I was leaning against the backstage doorframe, lazily tossing a diamond ring between my fingers. I caught the camera’s lens and threw up a fist.

Two predators who finally met their match.

That was us. That was exactly who we were.