The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 152

The referee's whistle blew sharply.

Wyatt immediately seized the opportunity, shifting his footing and swinging a fist that whistled through the air straight for Kingsley's cheek.

The punch was fast and heavy, but Kingsley didn't dodge at all. He took the hit head-on.

Below the stage, Ethan frowned, bewildered. "What is Kingsley doing? Offering himself up as a punching bag for Wyatt?"

Thurston, standing by the ring, spoke slowly. "What's the rush? It just started. Keep watching."

On the ring, Kingsley took the punch and only hissed softly. The corner of his mouth even held a nonchalant curve, as if he wasn't the one getting hit.

Seeing this, Wyatt immediately pressed his advantage, smashing another fist forward—this time using his full strength.

Kingsley was forced back repeatedly, his back slamming heavily into the ropes with a muffled thud.

Shane, watching from below, clenched his fists in anxiety.

He knew, better than anyone, that Kingsley was holding back with Wyatt. But this? This flat-out refusal to engage just didn't make sense.

As the whistle signaled the end of the first round, Kingsley had barely retaliated.

Wyatt, simple-minded as he was, truly believed his opponent was weak. He unscrewed a bottle of water, took two gulps, and swaggered over to Kingsley.

"Scumbag, it's not too late to admit defeat," he said, lifting his chin arrogantly. "I'm in a good mood, so I could stop here. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to be carried out on a stretcher."

Kingsley's cheek was flushed with red marks, and a strand of sweat-dampened hair fell over his forehead, obscuring the look in his eyes. He tugged at the corner of his injured mouth, his voice raspy but firm. "The words 'admit defeat' aren't in my dictionary."

Ethan finally figured out Kingsley's game. Seeing Wyatt's oblivious arrogance, he couldn't help but shout a warning. "Drink your water! Cut the chatter, or you won't even know how you hit the floor later!"

But Wyatt refused to accept it. He saw red and charged, trying to sneak a hit in.

Kingsley didn't miss a beat. A quick grapple and throw later—thud—Wyatt was laid out on the canvas.

"Once you've trained enough, come find me anytime for revenge," Kingsley said, looking down at him. He dropped the sentence, took off his gloves, and vaulted off the ring.

Ethan looked at Wyatt lying on the mat and shouted helplessly, "Revenge is a dish best served cold. You're young; you have plenty of opportunities."

Wyatt lay there, his eyes full of unwillingness. He ripped off his gloves and punched the hard canvas, his knuckles instantly turning red.

Ethan jumped onto the ring, hauled him up, and patted his back consolingly. "Losing to him isn't shameful. He's been training for over a decade. How long have you been at it?"

Wyatt gritted his teeth, wiped the blood from his mouth, and said hardily, "I'll settle this score sooner or later!"