The Price of Glory

Colton Hayes pulled his dust-covered truck up the long, winding driveway of Glenn Sterling’s North Carolina estate. The perfectly manicured hedges lining the path were so pristine they looked like they belonged in a magazine spread. At the end of the drive stood the mansion—a sprawling, ostentatious monument to Glenn’s self-proclaimed greatness. Its gleaming white façade, towering columns, and perfectly symmetrical windows practically screamed, The Golden Boy lives here.

Colton stepped out of the truck, his boots crunching against the gravel. He took in the sight of the estate with a low whistle. “Looks like wrestling is still treating The Golden Boy just fine,” he muttered.

From the passenger side, Logan Drake climbed out, fiddling with his ever-loose tie. He glanced at the mansion, visibly uncomfortable. “You think he’ll go for it?” Logan asked, his tone laced with the kind of exhaustion that only weeks of sleepless nights could produce.

Colton shrugged, his face unreadable. “We’ll find out.”

He strode up to the ornate front door and rang the oversized brass doorbell. Logan hung back slightly, adjusting his tie again, as if the gesture might somehow steady his nerves. After a few moments, the door swung open, and there stood Glenn Sterling.

Even at his age, Glenn was every bit the caricature of his former glory. He was dressed in bright gold wrestling tights—barely more than underwear—paired with a silk robe embroidered with “The Golden Boy” in glittering letters across the back. His feet were covered in thick, woolen socks, and his oversized sunglasses perched arrogantly on his nose. In one hand, he held a custom champagne flute engraved with his moniker in cursive gold lettering.

Glenn took one look at Colton and sneered. “What the hell do you want?”

“Nice to see you too, Glenn,” Colton replied, completely unfazed.

Logan, sensing the tension, stepped forward, trying to ease the mood. “I thought you two were friends,” he said, glancing nervously between them.

Glenn let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Friends? You think I’d be friends with this old fossil? The only thing worse than an MMA fighter is a washed-up one.”

Colton smirked, crossing his arms. “Good to see your charm hasn’t dulled with age, Glenn.”

Ignoring him, Glenn turned his gaze to Logan, his sunglasses reflecting the younger man’s disheveled appearance. “And who’s this clown?”

“This is Logan Drake,” Colton said, gesturing toward him. “He’s the one behind the tournament.”

Glenn’s sneer deepened, disgust flickered plainly across his face.. “Oh, you’re the guy... Another suit trying to ruin the business. Why are you even wasting my time?”

Logan stepped forward, his voice steady despite Glenn’s hostility. “Mr. Sterling, I—”

“Save it,” Glenn snapped, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of his champagne glass.

“I’ve already heard enough about you. Dragging Colton here doesn’t change a damn thing. I’m not interested.”

“Glenn, just hear us out,” Colton said, his tone calm but firm. “This isn’t just about money. It’s a chance to prove something. MMA versus wrestling. Once and for all. Who’s the best?”

Glenn took a long, deliberate sip of champagne, then shook his head. “I don’t have

anything to prove. My legacy speaks for itself.”

Colton’s smirk faded, his tone turning sharper. “Does it? Because last I checked, your name doesn’t mean what it used to. People aren’t talking about you anymore, Glenn. You think sitting in this mansion, drinking champagne, and prancing around in your underwear is gonna keep your legacy alive?”

Glenn’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he began stepping back toward the door. “Thanks for stopping by,” he said coldly. “But I’m not interested.”

Logan sighed as Glenn began to close the door. “That’s it?” Logan muttered under his breath, glancing at Colton. “That’s all you’ve got to convince him?”

Colton didn’t answer. As the door inched closer to shutting, he turned back, raising his voice just enough to carry. “I guess it’s settled, then. MMA fighters really are just better than wrestlers.”

The door froze mid-shut. Slowly, it creaked open again, and Glenn emerged, his face twisted in fury. He ripped off his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes that burned with indignation. “What the hell did you just say?” he growled.

Colton turned, his smirk returning. “You heard me. Guess you don’t have what it takes anymore.”

Glenn stormed onto the porch, his robe billowing dramatically behind him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Hayes,” he snarled. “I’ve done more in this business than you could ever dream of.”

“Then prove it,” Colton challenged, his voice strong. “Step into the cage. Show the world you’ve still got it.”

The tension was a living thing, heavy and oppressive, as Glenn’s piercing gaze flicked between Colton and Logan. After a long, tense pause, he jabbed a finger at Colton. “Fine. But not for him,” he said, jerking his thumb at Logan. “I’m doing this to shut you up. One night. And when it’s over, I don’t want to hear another word about MMA being better than wrestling.”

Colton grinned, his victory clear. “Deal.”

Logan stepped forward, his expression brightening. “Mr. Sterling, you won’t regret this. We—”

“Don’t push it, kid,” Glenn snapped, silencing him with a glare. “I’ll see you at the tournament. Now get off my property.”

Logan nodded quickly, grabbing Colton’s arm and practically dragging him back toward the truck. As they climbed in, Logan exhaled sharply, the tension draining from his body. “You could’ve told me that was part of the plan,” he said, glancing at Colton.

Colton leaned back in his seat, chuckling softly. “Didn’t need to. I knew it’d work.”

Logan shook his head, still a little shaken but unable to hide the small grin tugging at his lips. Glenn Sterling was in, and with him, the tournament was beginning to feel like more than just a dream. It was starting to feel real.