Trish Cargil’s Forbidden Temptation Behind the Arena Curtain

A shadowed hallway. A quiet dare. And a woman drawn toward danger wrapped in desire.

The arena buzzed with the energy of a sold-out crowd, yet somewhere beyond the curtain and the echoing chants, Trish Cargil walked in silence.

Her stilettos clicked softly against the cold cement floor as she followed the red-taped path that led not to the stage — but around it.

A folded note had been left in her bag hours earlier. Just five words scribbled in thick black marker:

“Room 4B. After your match.”

She should’ve thrown it away. Should’ve ignored it like all the other games backstage.

But curiosity had claws — and hers were already sinking in.

---

Room 4B wasn’t on any map. It wasn’t a locker, wasn’t a catering room, wasn’t a trainer’s office. Trish knew because she’d asked around carefully — not too much, but enough to know it was off the books.

By the time she reached the corner where production crates sat stacked like barricades, she found the narrow passage leading downward.

Concrete. Metal. No noise.

And at the end, a black curtain. Behind it: Room 4B.

The door wasn’t locked. Of course not. It was waiting for her.

---

Inside, the air was warm. A faint scent of leather and perfume drifted in the shadows.

Dim bulbs lined the ceiling like a vintage dressing room. But the only furniture was a plush red bench and a full-length mirror.

Trish stepped inside. Her reflection stared back — strong, curvy, and flushed from her earlier match. The shimmer of her violet one-piece caught the low light perfectly, hugging her in all the right places.

She turned slightly, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, her eyes locked on her reflection.

Then, from the far corner, a voice.

“You came.”

She didn’t jump.

Trish had been expecting someone. She just didn’t expect him.

A figure emerged from behind the curtain at the back of the room. A man dressed in black slacks, sleeves rolled just enough to show a subtle tattoo on his forearm.

He wasn’t a wrestler. Not anymore.

Luca.

Former creative director. Disappeared six months ago after “resigning.”

“Figured I owed myself a little danger,” she said, arms folding.

He smirked. “Still chasing edges, huh?”

“I don’t chase,” Trish replied. “I choose.”

---

Luca stepped closer, the space between them tightening like invisible thread.

“This room’s not on the map for a reason.”

“Good. I’m tired of arenas that play by the rules.”

She moved past him, letting her shoulder graze his chest. The energy between them sparked, not loud — but heavy.

Trish stopped by the mirror again. Luca stood behind her now.

“This isn’t a trap, is it?” she asked, voice low.

“Only if you stay too long.”

His hand hovered near her waist. Not touching. Just waiting.

---

The mirror flickered. A hidden screen behind it blinked to life.

Trish’s eyes narrowed. Footage played — her. Interviews. Matches. Backstage encounters.

And then… things no one should’ve had on tape.

Private moments.

Conversations with other talent.

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly.

Luca’s voice dropped. “They’ve been watching you since you signed. Not just for the cameras — for control.”

She turned toward him. “You brought me here to expose them?”

He shook his head.

“No. I brought you here… because you’re the only one who won’t run.”

---

Outside, the crowd cheered. But in this room, the heat had nothing to do with wrestling.

Trish stepped forward until they were chest to chest.

“If I walk away now,” she whispered, “does this room disappear?”

“Maybe.”

“If I stay?”

“You don’t leave the same.”

---

She leaned closer.

Her breath against his jaw.

Her hand on his chest.

“Then let’s see who I become.”

---

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t touch. But the room pulsed with something heavier than either.

Secrets.

Desire.

The beginning of something they both knew couldn’t be named.

---

Later, when Trish left Room 4B, the hallway was quiet again. The curtain swayed slightly behind her.

No one saw her leave. But when she returned to her locker, the crowd looked at her differently.

Like they knew.

Like they felt it.

She smiled once. Just enough.

Then she slipped the black note into her gear bag — right next to a second one.

A new location. A new time. A new game.

And this time, she wouldn’t hesitate.

She was already in.