Every Shadow Watches… Who Can You Trust?
Ashley Vaquer had always believed that stepping into the wrestling world meant strength, spotlight, and stories told in cheers. But that night, under the dim backstage lights, she realized the ring wasn’t the only place where battles were fought.
The locker room had gone quiet after the main event. The metallic scent of sweat still lingered in the air mixed with perfume, polish, and something heavier — suspicion. Ashley’s boots clicked softly on the concrete as she entered, her reflection flickering in the cracked mirror.
Her debut had been a success. The crowd had roared her name, the commentators praised her performance, and for a few minutes she had felt unstoppable. But as she reached her locker, a chill swept down her spine. The door was slightly ajar, even though she clearly remembered locking it. Inside, resting on her folded ring jacket, was a red rose — fresh, glistening with water drops — and a note tied around its stem with a thin ribbon.
She frowned and untied it. “Beautiful debut. But not everyone wants you here.”
No signature. No clue.
Ashley’s first instinct was to laugh it off — probably a harmless prank by one of the veterans. The wrestling business thrived on intimidation games and mystery. But deep down, the message crawled beneath her skin. She placed the rose down, took a deep breath, and turned to change. That’s when she noticed a faint red light blinking behind the vents. She froze.
A hidden camera.
Her breath caught. Someone had been watching her — not in the ring, but here, in her private space. She stepped closer, pulled the small device out, and saw that it was still recording. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She quickly shoved the camera into her duffel bag and stormed out of the locker room. The corridor lights flickered, shadows stretching along the walls.
At the end of the hallway stood Marcus Reed, her manager and the one person she thought she could trust. “Ashley,” he said with his calm, measured tone. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah,” she said, hiding the tension in her voice. “Just cleaning up.”
He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes. “Impressive first night. You’ve made a few waves already.”
“I noticed,” she replied sharply. “Someone left me a rose.”
Marcus tilted his head. “A fan, maybe?”
“Or a warning.”
He chuckled softly. “Don’t overthink things. The locker room has eyes everywhere. Welcome to the business.”
When he left, Ashley’s suspicion only grew. She’d seen too much deceit in the industry to trust easy words. She slipped out through the back door and followed the narrow hallway leading toward the maintenance section. Her instincts told her the camera had to be connected to a control hub somewhere nearby.
The sound of dripping water echoed in the dark as she reached a locked metal door marked “Storage.” She tried the handle — sealed tight. Then she noticed a small key taped underneath the exit sign. Without hesitation, she took it and turned the lock. The door creaked open, revealing a room filled with boxes, cables, and an old monitor glowing faintly in the dark.
The screen showed live footage — not of the arena, but of the locker rooms. Hers included.
A wave of unease surged through her. On one of the feeds, she saw herself from just minutes ago, reading the note beside the rose. Her pulse raced. Someone had set this up long before she arrived. She reached for the power cord to shut it off — and froze again. A reflection in the glass behind her.
Marcus.
He was standing in the doorway, one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, watching her calmly. “You weren’t supposed to find this,” he said.
Ashley turned slowly, every muscle on alert. “You set this up? You were filming me?”
“Not just you,” he said, stepping closer. “Everyone. Management wants leverage. Insurance. But your footage — let’s just say some people are very interested in you already.”
Her stomach tightened in anger. “You’re disgusting.”
Marcus’s smile faded. “You don’t understand how this business works. You can be the hero out there in the ring, but back here, power decides who shines.”
Ashley took a step back toward the power cables. “Then maybe it’s time someone pulled the plug.”
In one swift motion she yanked the cords out. The monitors went black. Marcus lunged forward, but Ashley caught him off guard with a sharp elbow to the ribs, sending him stumbling into a pile of boxes. “You’ll regret that,” he snarled.
“I already regret trusting you.”
She grabbed her bag, darted out of the room, and sprinted through the back exit into the cold night air. Rain was pouring now, washing away the smell of sweat and fear from her skin. Her mind raced with everything she’d just uncovered. The footage, the note, the rose — it wasn’t a coincidence. Someone higher up had planned this.
When she reached the parking lot, a black car’s headlights flicked on. For a moment she thought it was Marcus again, but the figure inside just rolled the window down halfway and slid an envelope onto the pavement. Then the car drove off into the rain.
Ashley hesitated, then picked it up. Inside was a USB drive and a small card with one phrase: “You’re not alone. But trust no one.”
She looked around — the parking lot was empty except for the echo of rain. She slipped the drive into her bag and exhaled slowly. Whatever this was, it was far bigger than one man’s scheme.
As thunder rolled above, Ashley Vaquer walked toward her car, water streaming down her jacket, her expression fierce and unshaken. She wasn’t just a rookie anymore. She was part of something hidden — something dangerous — and she was ready to fight it.
The locker room lights behind her flickered once more, as if the building itself was watching her leave. And somewhere in the shadows, a new camera light blinked red again.
The game had only just begun.
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