Chapter 3
Back then, Spencer was boxing's rising star, an undefeated dark horse tearing through the ranks straight to the championship final.
The betting odds against him hit an insane 170:1. Someone powerful got nervous.
They cornered Spencer with threats, bribes for the whole nine yards. They ordered him to take a dive in the final round.
The carrot, a ten-million-dollar check, would be his the moment he agreed.
Spencer took the check. Then he walked straight to the authorities with the check and a recording of the conversation, blowing the whistle on them.
That was Spencer then, pure integrity, disgusted by the corruption of fixed fights.
Even though the money involved was huge, because no actual deal was finalized, the authorities only issued a stern warning, no real punishment.
But Spencer had made powerful enemies.
They didn't come after him directly. Instead, they went for his coach, Cole Locke, the gym owner.
I never learned the specifics of their conversation, but from that day on, Cole started working on Spencer. Trying to persuade him, manipulate him. He even stooped to using me.
I was a month pregnant by then.
Spencer refused Cole point-blank.
"Cole, I get it. I really do. But my kid's about to be born. I don't want him growing up hearing whispers, carrying the shame of a father who threw fights."
"If we keep it a secret, who's gonna know? Besides, think about the money, not just your rep! Look how thin Madeleine's gotten! She needs proper food now she's pregnant, and babies cost a fortune! You want them stuck in that crappy little apartment forever?"
Spencer's eyes blazed. "If I win the championship, the prize money will fix everything!"
Cole threw his hands up. "Get real, kid! You're a rookie! How are you gonna beat a champ with ten years under his belt? You're gonna lose anyway! Since it ends the same, why not take the cash and lose?"
Spencer wouldn't budge.
The conversation ended badly.
Meanwhile, I was tied up in some empty room, watching my fiancé's determined face on a grainy monitor. He wasn't wrong, not for a second.
My heart swelled with pride for him.
But then they brought him in, the champion Spencer was supposed to fight, and showed him to me. A chilling wave of dread washed over me.
As Spencer's partner, I'd done my homework. While he trained, I studied his potential opponents.
The boxer about to face Spencer in the ring nicknamed the Death Truck, was known for his explosive power, which he used to violently knock his opponents down.
His opponents rarely walked away. Most ended up crippled. Some didn't end up at all.
Spencer couldn't beat him, not like this. I knew it with chilling certainty.
He didn't have that killer instinct, that utter disregard for another human life.
If they met in the finals, Spencer wouldn't just lose.
He'd likely be maimed or, worse, die.
So, I made a choice. I would take the fall, wear the shame.
My baby needed money. I needed money.
He had to lose, but not like that, not broken and bleeding. He had to walk away healthy, with a future.
So, I took their money and agreed to their terms. The day before the fight, I left the note and the clinic receipt.
He trusted me, believed I loved him unconditionally, and I would never leave.
That betrayal hit him exactly as hard as I knew it would.
As I had expected, he was still sluggish when he stepped into the ring and was easily knocked down.
The opponent kept his promise, leaving him with only a few light injuries to ensure that his future career wouldn't be affected.
Otherwise, according to their original plan, they would have completely sidelined Spencer.
I was quite satisfied with this deal.
But later, whenever I saw him on screen or on the field, sweating and full of energy, I couldn't help but feel a subtle, dull pain in my heart.
Yet, at the same time, I was happy. After all, he was finally shining in the world he loved.
My phone buzzed. Caller ID showed a law firm.
A man identifying himself as a lawyer informed me that the fifty thousand Spencer had sent was technically company funds, co-owned with Tessa.