You Got a Name?

The 1980s were wrestling’s golden era—bigger, louder, and soaked in excess. The air inside the packed arena was thick with sweat, cigarette smoke, and the feverish roar of fans hungry for blood and bravado. This wasn’t just a show. It was a spectacle.

Glenn Sterling—The Golden One—strolled backstage, the heat of the crowd’s hatred still clinging to him like sweat. He thrived on it, fed off it. The more they booed, the bigger the payday. The roar of the crowd still echoed from the ring, chanting his name—not in admiration, but in venomous hatred. They despised him, but they couldn't look away. That was the magic of Glenn. He was the villain they paid to see, the man who made the hero's struggle worth watching.

Still dressed in his wrestling gear, championship belt slung over his shoulder, Glenn wiped the sweat from his brow and strutted down the narrow hall toward his private dressing room. He thrived in the chaos, the backstage politics, the under-the-table deals, and the way people—whether they loved him or loathed him—always gave him space.

Then he saw her. And for the first time that night, Glenn Sterling stopped.

She stood near one of the catering tables, laughing lightly at something another wrestler had said. Glenn barely registered who the guy was—some mid-carder trying to work his way up, a forgettable face in a sea of nobodies. But the woman? She was impossible to ignore.

She wasn't one of the usual girls who flocked to the wrestlers, hoping to latch onto their fame for a night. She had a presence, a cool confidence that set her apart from the others. Her dark, sleek hair framed her face perfectly, and the dress she wore—elegant but not flashy—spoke of someone who knew her worth and didn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Glenn smirked. He'd spent years surrounded by women who threw themselves at him because of who he was. He was used to being the one in control, the one who dictated how things would go.

This time, he had to work for it. And that intrigued him.

Without hesitation, Glenn closed the distance, stepping between her and the man she was speaking to, as if the conversation had never mattered to begin with.

“That guy yours?" Glenn asked, barely sparing the other wrestler a glance. The question wasn’t really a question. More of a statement—a challenge.

The man, visibly annoyed, started to speak, but Glenn barely gave him a second glance. He didn’t need to acknowledge him.

The woman, however, turned her gaze to Glenn, unbothered by his intrusion. There was no starstruck awe in her eyes, no nervous fidgeting. Just amusement.

"Bold." Her lips barely curved. "Or just arrogant?”

Glenn smirked, his confidence unshaken. "I don’t ask questions I don’t already know the answer to."

The wrestler next to her shifted, clearly fed up. "Hey, man, we were having a conversa—"

Glenn cut him off without so much as a glance. "Run along, kid."

The man bristled, clenching his jaw, but he knew better. This was Glenn Sterling. The Golden One. He controlled the locker room as much as he controlled the audience. Challenging him, even backstage, was career suicide. So, with a sharp exhale, the man turned and walked away, leaving the woman alone with Glenn.

If she was impressed or annoyed, she didn’t show it. Instead, she crossed her arms, looking him over. "You do that often? Scare off the competition?"

Glenn chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Only when I see something worth taking."

There it was. The game. The push and pull. Glenn had played it a thousand times before, but this was different. She wasn’t melting under his charm or shrinking under his presence.

She was studying him.

And for the first time in a long time, Glenn wasn’t sure if he was the one in control.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I don’t think I’ve seen you around before."

"You haven’t," she replied simply.

He waited, expecting her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

Glenn liked that.

You got a name?" Glenn asked, his smirk lingering—but just barely. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure who was in control.

She met his gaze, letting the silence linger between them before answering.

"Vivian."