Payback Fight

When I arrived at my own wedding wearing my formal suit, I found a professional octagon sparring ring erected in the center of the stage.

My fiance, Isla, was holding the hand of her male best friend, Wesley. She offered me a pair of boxing gloves with a bright, reassuring smile.

Lucas, it is an old custom from our hometown. The groom is supposed to have a playful wrestling match with the male members of the bridal party to bring good fortune. I specifically asked Wesley to step up. Just play along and keep it light.

Looking at the slender, lanky Wesley, I did not think twice before climbing into the ring.

But the very next second, he executed a highly professional, brutal spin kick that struck my temple, causing a severe concussion and knocking me out cold.

When I woke up, paralyzed in a hospital bed, Isla stood over me, holding Wesleys hand.

"The guests contributed so much money in wedding gifts, the ceremony could not go on without a groom. Wesley is willing to take care of me in your place. You are so kind, Lucas, I know you will not mind, right?"

Driven by sheer despair and severe depression, I pushed my wheelchair to the edge of the apartment terrace and plunged into the dark abyss.

But when I opened my eyes once more, I had returned to a month before the wedding.

I turned on my heel and knocked on the heavy metal doors of the elite national martial arts training academy.

"Coach, can you teach me how to shatter someones jaw in just thirty days?"

The head coach looked me over, his eyes lingering on my thin arms and legs for several seconds before he let out a scoff.

"Shatter someones jaw? With your frame, someone could knock you down with a single slap."

I did not say a word. I simply pulled a thick stack of cash from my bag and placed it on his desk. Five thousand dollars, every penny of the secret savings I had managed to keep over the past two years.

The coach pushed the cash back with a look of indifference. "I do not need your money."

But when I rolled up my sleeve, exposing the dark, yellowing bruises left by Isla during her latest drunken rage, his expression shifted. He quietly retrieved a legal waiver from his desk drawer and slid it toward me.

"Sign this. The academy is not liable for any injuries sustained during your sessions."

"This includes, but is not limited to, fractures, concussions, and internal bleeding."

I grabbed the pen and signed my name without hesitation.

Once the waiver was secured, the relaxed expression vanished from the coachs face.

"Alright. From today on, I will train you with the intensity of an active professional lightweight champion."

"I cannot promise you will be shattering jaws in thirty days, but I guarantee you will be wishing you were dead by the end of the first week."

On my first day, my sparring partners threw me to the canvas forty-seven times.

Every single time my back slammed against the heavy padding, the memories of my past life flashed before my eyes. I saw Wesleys foot connecting with my temple. I saw myself lying in that sterile hospital bed, tubes running in and out of my body, while Isla stood at the foot of the bed with a look of false concern.

"Lucas, Wesley is willing to take care of me in your place. You are so kind, I know you will not mind, right?"

How could I not mind?

Only three days after my paralysis, she had registered her marriage with Wesley. They lived in my fully paid apartment, spending my hard-earned savings. The world praised Isla for her loyalty and called Wesley a saint for stepping up. Not a single soul cared whether the paralyzed groom, left with a shattered skull, wanted to live or die.

Driven by the memory, I pushed myself up from the canvas and gestured to my sparring partner.

"Again."

The partner looked at the coach, who gave a brief, firm nod.

"Go."

That night, as I lay on the narrow cot in the academy dormitory, my body was covered in dark bruises. My phone screen lit up with a message from Isla.

"Sweetheart, I am still at the office working late. I am keeping an eye on the wedding planners, so just focus on being the most handsome groom."

I stared at the words working late, then opened her social media feed.

Wesley had posted a selfie in a formal suit three minutes ago. In the background, resting on the arm of a velvet sofa, was a designer Herms handbag: the exact bag I had purchased for Islas birthday last month.

The caption read: Only the favored ones get the privilege of a trial run before the wedding.

I gripped my phone, opened my chat with Isla, and sent a voice message.

"Thank you for your hard work, darling. I trust you completely with the planning."

Then I typed out a quick follow-up.

"By the way, I saw a custom-tailored suit, a limited edition. The deposit is twenty thousand dollars. What do you think?"

"Is it too expensive? A regular suit is fine."

"But I only get married once, and you promised to give me the grandest wedding in the city."

She remained silent for nearly two minutes before sending a single word.

"Alright."

A cold smile touched my lips as I locked the screen and turned toward the wall.

Isla, in my past life, you wanted my money, my home, and my life. In this life, I will drain you dry first.

By day, I played the part of the doting fianc, discussing suit styles with colleagues, tasting wedding cakes, and projecting an image of absolute bliss.

The moment my shift ended, I headed straight to the gym.

I put on my protective gear, laced up my gloves, and transitioned from sending sweet messages to my fiance to striking the heavy bag with absolute fury.

Following my instructions, the coach trained me specifically to counter the spin kick.

"You said your opponent is experienced with this kick?"

"Yes."

"What is his background?"

"He used to be a sparring partner in underground rings."

The coachs brow furrowed.

"Fighters from those rings have dirty techniques. They do not follow standard rules; they target vital areas."

He pulled up a video of an underground match to show me.

"Look closely. Before they launch the kick, there is a tiny rotation of the hip. It is incredibly fast, taking less than three-tenths of a second."

"Your job is to slip the angle within that fraction of a second, absorb the force, and close the distance for a counterattack."

I nodded, practicing the movement thousands of times.

When Harrison, my closest friend, came to pick me up from the gym, he stared at the dark bruises covering my arms, his eyes filling with tears.

"Lucas, have you lost your mind? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I removed my hand wraps and took a long drink of water.

"Take a look at this."

I handed him my phone, displaying a series of financial statements provided by a private investigator. Isla had taken out eight thousand dollars in high-interest online loans. Six thousand of that sum had been spent on a gold Cartier bracelet delivered directly to Wesleys apartment.

Harrisons jaw dropped.

"She took out loans to buy him luxury jewelry? What has she ever bought for you? A cheap bouquet of flowers on your birthday! Call off the wedding, Lucas! You cannot go through with this!"

I took my phone back, shaking my head.

"I cannot call it off. I need her to climb onto that stage so I can make her spit out every single dollar she stole."

Harrison stared at me, his expression turning solemn.

"I do not know what your plan is, Lucas, but whatever you do, I have your back."

I watched him drive away, then turned back to the heavy bag.

Three days before the wedding, the investigator sent me a final audio recording, captured by a device hidden in Islas car.

Wesleys voice came through clearly.

"Isla, after the wedding, he will be a vegetable. The house is fully paid for, right? We can transfer it to your name and move in together."

Islas laughter followed.

"Do not worry. Once the house is secure, we will drain his savings. This marriage will be worth every penny."

"You are so wicked, Isla."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it."

I sat on the bench in the locker room, listening to the file three times. My hands remained perfectly steady as I backed up the audio to three separate cloud servers.

Then, I wired the final payment to the investigator with a short note: Excellent work. Worth every penny.

Two days before the wedding, Islas mother arrived at my apartment.

She brought a small bag of discounted fruit, sat on my sofa with her legs crossed, and began delivering her demands.

"Lucas, I want to discuss something with you."

"Your apartment is registered solely under your name because you bought it before the wedding, correct? But now that you and Isla are becoming a family, keeping only your name on the deed looks terrible."

"Add Isla's name to the title. Our relatives will see it as a sign of your devotion."

I kept my eyes on my teacup, remaining silent.

"Even Wesley said that a real man does not divide his property from his wife. Being generous brings good fortune."

How interesting. A complete stranger was dictating the terms of my estate, and my future mother-in-law saw nothing wrong with it.

I took a deep breath, forcing a polite, submissive smile onto my face.

"You are entirely right, mother. Let me have the deed, and I will take care of the paperwork tomorrow."

She beamed with delight, pulling the deed from her purse and handing it to me. She had been carrying it with her, waiting for this exact moment.

I took the document and ushered her out of the apartment.

The moment the door closed, the smile vanished from my face. I took the deed straight to a mortgage broker. I did not add Isla's name; I applied for a home equity loan.

The apartment was valued at $3.8 million. I secured a loan of $2.6 million.

The funds cleared the same afternoon, and I immediately transferred the entire sum to Harrisons account.

In my past life, Isla had successfully transferred the title and sold the property, leaving me with nothing. In this life, she would not get a single penny.

When I returned home, Isla was standing in the kitchen, offering me a bowl of dark, herbal soup.

"Sweetheart, you look exhausted lately. I prepared some soothing herbal soup for you. Drink it and get some rest so you can be the most handsome groom."

I took the bowl, immediately detecting the medicinal scent hidden beneath the sweet dates.

In my past life, this very soup had kept me asleep for ten hours, giving Wesley ample time to transform the wedding stage into a sparring ring.

I brought the bowl to my lips, pretending to drink, but the moment she turned her back, I spat the liquid into a tissue and stuffed it into my pocket.

"Thank you, darling. It is wonderful."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed her eyes.

"Get some sleep. We have rehearsals tomorrow."

She took her coat and left the bedroom, closing the guest room door behind her to make a call. I pressed my ear against the wall, listening to her quiet voice.

"Wesley, he drank it. He is out cold. Everything is set for the wedding."

Wesleys voice came through the receiver.

"Isla, should I target his left temple or his right on stage?"

Isla chuckled. "Whatever makes you happy. As long as he spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair."

I retreated to my desk, opened my laptop, and began compiling all the evidence I had gathered into a detailed presentation.

The title screen read: The Groom's Reality.

I programmed the file to upload and broadcast automatically on the wedding venues primary display screens.

Once the preparation was complete, I lay down on the bed. I was no longer a victim; I was a blade waiting to be drawn.

The morning of the wedding arrived.

At six in the morning, Harrison arrived to help me prepare. He opened the garment bag containing the twenty-thousand-dollar custom suit, held it against my frame, and froze.

"Lucas... your arms..."

The suit was a short-sleeved style, leaving my newly developed, bruised muscles visible.

"Do not worry about it. Just help me cover them with makeup."

Harrison bit his lip, applying three thick layers of heavy concealer to hide the yellowing bruises.

Once the suit was on, I turned to look in the mirror.

The man staring back at me was strong and steady, completely different from the broken, paralyzed victim who had rolled off the roof in my past life.

The old Lucas was dead.

The man standing here had returned from the depths of hell.

At eight in the morning, the bridal car arrived.

Isla stood by the limousine, looking stunning in her white bridal gown. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. I offered a warm smile, taking her arm as we stepped into the car.

Wesley sat in the passenger seat, dressed as the best man. He turned around, offering a weak, gentle smile.

"Lucas, you look incredibly handsome today."

He let out a soft, delicate cough.

I shook his hand with a smile.

"Thank you, Wesley. I know you are not in the best of health, so I truly appreciate you stepping up as my best man."

"It is my pleasure. Seeing Isla happy is all I care about."

Isla met Wesleys gaze in the rearview mirror. It was a brief, silent look of mutual triumph and anticipation.

The limousine pulled up to the Grand Regent Hotel.

The venue was magnificent, decorated with floral arches and red carpets. Isla got out first, opening my door with a dramatic, playful bow.

"Sweetheart, we have arrived."

I stepped out, taking her arm. As we pushed open the heavy doors of the grand ballroom, the guests erupted into thunderous applause.

I scanned the room. The flowers, the lighting, and the tables were exactly as planned.

But in the center of the stage, where the champagne tower should have stood, there was a professional octagon sparring ring.

The perimeter was secured with thick ropes, and the floor was covered in heavy blue mats. Two pairs of boxing gloves hung from the corner posts.

I turned to Isla, pretending to be startled.

"What is this?"

Isla patted my hand, her tone light and reassuring.

"Do not worry, Lucas. It is an old custom from our hometown. The groom is supposed to have a playful match with the bride's male best friend to bring good fortune to the marriage."

She stepped aside, and Wesley emerged from the wings, wearing an athletic jacket and holding his gloves. His voice was soft and gentle.

"Lucas, Isla insisted on this. I could not say no. Do not worry, I have a very weak constitution. Just play along and keep it light."

Below the stage, the relatives began to cheer.

"Get in there, Lucas! It is for good luck!"

"Do not be a coward! Show us what you can do!"

"Wesley looks like he would blow away in a strong wind, what are you afraid of?"

The pressure from the crowd built, exactly as it had in my past life.

I remained silent for ten seconds, then looked directly into Islas eyes.

"I will do it."

Isla looked startled.

"But on one condition," I added, my voice carrying across the stage. "In case of any accidents during the match, we must sign a legal liability waiver first."

I took a document from Harrison and slid it toward her. The terms were printed clearly on the white paper.

"During the sparring match, both parties agree to waive all liability for any physical injuries sustained. The injured party assumes all responsibility, and no civil or criminal action may be pursued."

Isla skimmed the text, a small, arrogant smile playing at the corners of her lips. She saw this as my final, desperate attempt to protect myself.

Wesley snatched the pen and signed his name with absolute eagerness.

Once the document was signed and handed back to Harrison, I turned to face the audience, slowly removing my jacket and the heavy protective gear beneath.