The Illusion of Control

Logan Drake stepped out of the conference room feeling lighter than air. The meeting had gone better than he could have imagined. Peak Media wasn’t just supporting the tournament—they were already building it into something massive. The kind of thing that could change the industry. His industry.

He had spent years fighting for an opportunity like this, clawing his way through failed deals, broken partnerships, and empty promises. But this—this felt different. This felt real.

As he made his way toward the elevator, his mind raced with possibilities. Sponsorships. Broadcast deals. Merchandise. Everything was happening so fast, but for once, it was happening in his favor.

He had Victor Blackwell’s backing, the infrastructure of a media giant behind him, and soon, the fighters would fall into place. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. Some of the names he had in mind were huge—veterans with legacy status, up-and-comers looking for their breakout moment, even a few crossovers from the overseas wrestling world.

This was going to work.

It had to.

The elevator doors slid open, and Logan stepped inside. Just before they closed, Genevieve Vaughn slipped in after him.

She didn’t speak right away, and Logan didn’t press her, still caught up in his own excitement. But as the floors ticked down, the silence between them began to feel heavier.

Finally, she cleared her throat.

“You did well in there,” she said, her voice measured, careful.

Logan turned to her, grinning. “Thanks. It means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Genevieve nodded, but her expression didn’t match his enthusiasm. Instead, she studied

him, as if weighing her next words carefully.

“I just—” she hesitated, then shook her head. “You know, Peak moves fast. Once something’s in motion, there’s no stopping it.”

Logan frowned slightly. “That’s a good thing, right? I mean, that’s what I want. If this tournament gets the backing it needs, we could turn it into something permanent.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah. Just… be careful.”

The elevator dinged, signaling her floor. As the doors opened, Genevieve hesitated for just a second before stepping out. Then, just before she disappeared down the hall, she threw one last glance over her shoulder.

“And, Logan?”

He looked up.

She held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary.

“Make sure you read the whole contract.”

Then she was gone.

Logan stood there, frozen for just a moment, the weight of her words settling over him like a faint chill.

The elevator doors slid shut.

He shook off the unease creeping into his gut. She was just being cautious. Maybe she didn’t trust Victor the way he did.

But that was fine. She would come around when she saw what they were building.

Outside, the crisp Manhattan air hit him as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. He needed to start locking in the fighters. He had no verbal commitments, but now it was time to make things happen.

The tournament wasn’t just an idea anymore.

It was happening.

And he was going to make damn sure of it.