La Pequena Luz vs. Glory Braddock

[Braddock]

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July 27th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The dark SUV rolled to a stop along the quiet residential street, its tires crunching softly against the curb. Glory Braddock killed the ignition and sat still for a few seconds, looking out the windshield at the three story Victorian house standing before her. This was the place where she had spent her childhood, where the floorboards used to creak in predictable patterns and the smell of her father’s damp canvas gear seemed perpetually trapped in the hallway walls. But even from the outside, the house looked drastically different. The old, chipped wooden door had been replaced by a sleek, dark oak entrance with polished chrome hardware. The original sash windows were gone, swapped for expansive, spotless panes of glass, and the front garden, once a chaotic patch of lawn kept barely contained by Glenn Braddock, was now a manicured display of slate paving and structured, modern greenery.

Glory opened her door and stepped out into the cool London air. She was dressed in her usual, uncompromisingly practical style, wearing a pair of faded, relaxed fit denim jeans that had seen plenty of miles, tucked into a pair of worn leather work boots. Over a plain dark gray crewneck t-shirt, she wore a heavy flannel overshirt with the sleeves pushed casually up to her forearms, revealing the strong, muscular lines of her arms. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a simple, loose ponytail, free of any product or styling. She looked ready to lift a stack of crates or step directly into a training ring, a stark contrast to the refined residential lane around her. She walked up the short stone path and reached out to press the sleek, modern doorbell button. Instead of the familiar, metallic clatter of the old chime, a soft, electronic chime sounded from deep within the house. Within moments, the heavy door swung smoothly open.

Julia Braddock stood in the entryway, framing a picture of effortless, high end sophistication. Glory’s younger sister had inherited their father’s tall frame, but that was where the obvious physical similarities ended. Julia’s dark blonde hair was styled into smooth, flawless waves that rested neatly over her shoulders. She wore a tailored ivory silk blouse that caught the ambient light of the hallway, paired with a fitted, high waisted pencil skirt in deep burgundy that fell just below her knees. On her feet were a pair of pristine leather pointed toe heels that added to her poised, immaculate posture. She looked as though she had just stepped off the set of a high fashion photo shoot or out of a private corporate boardroom, completely at ease in an environment defined by elegance. For a brief second, the two sisters simply looked at one another, the contrast between Glory’s tomboyish, utilitarian appearance and Julia’s refined femininity sharp and obvious in the soft afternoon light.

“Glory!” Julia said happily, a warm smile breaking across her polished features. She stepped forward, her heels clicking crisply on the floor, and wrapped her arms around her sister in a light, affectionate embrace. “I heard you were back in town for a few days!”

“The rumors are true.” Glory smirks knowingly.

“I’m happy they are.” Julia chuckles. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Likewise.” Glory replied with a faint smirk, pulling back to look Julia over. “Though I can't say the same for Dad's house.” Glory looks on at the childhood home judgingly. Julia laughed, a light, melodic sound, and gestured with a manicured hand for Glory to step inside.

“It's my house now, remember? And it was long overdue for an update.” She steps aside, allowing Glory easy access. “Now enough debate about the decor. Come in, come in.”

Glory stepped over the threshold, her heavy leather boots coming down on immaculate, light oak hardwood floors that had replaced the dark, scuffed planks of their childhood. She stood in the entryway, slowly taking in the transformation. Where there used to be a cramped coat rack overloaded with wet coats and leather gym bags, there was now a minimal floating console table crafted from dark marble, topped with a geometric vase filled with fresh white lilies. The air no longer smelled of Glenn’s old pipe tobacco or damp leather; instead, the space carried a subtle, clean fragrance of vanilla and crushed linen.

Glory followed her sister into the massive, open plan living area at the back of the house. Sun poured through floor to ceiling glass doors that overlooked a freshly landscaped patio. The old, sagging leather couches where they used to watch old wrestling tapes were gone. In their place sat a sweeping, modular sectional upholstered in light cream fabric, arranged around a low profile marble coffee table stacked with art books and pristine design journals. The old brick fireplace, once stained with soot and surrounded by piled firewood, had been refitted with a clean, ventless gas insert framed by smooth grey slate. Glory walked over to the edge of the sectional, running her hand along the back of the smooth fabric, hyper aware of the faint layer of road dust on her flannel shirt.

“It looks like a museum, Jules. Or a hotel.”

“It looks like a home built for adults,"

Julia countered gently, walking over to a built in wet bar in the corner. She poured two glasses of sparkling water from a glass carafe, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. She turned back and offered one glass to Glory, her pencil skirt shifting gracefully with her movement.

“Dad loved this place, but he lived like he was running a barracks. I wanted something clean. Something that felt like mine.”

Glory took the glass, taking a slow sip as her eyes swept over the room. High up on the main wall, where their father’s giant, framed regional championship banner used to hang, there was now a large piece of abstract modern art in soft tones of gold and slate. Below it, on a narrow floating shelf, sat three small, carefully selected silver picture frames. Glory stepped closer to look at them. One was a recent photo of Julia at a gala in London, looking stunning in a black evening gown. The second was a photo of their father from his later years, smiling warmly during a family holiday. The third was a small, faded black and white shot of Glory and Julia as young girls, sitting on the front steps of this very house, Glory dressed in oversized hand me down shorts with scraped knees, and Julia wearing a bright yellow dress that was already immaculate.

“It really is beautiful, Julia,” Glory admitted softly, her voice losing its defensive edge. “Different. But beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Julia smiled, leaning her shoulder lightly against her sister's arm, completely unbothered by the rough flannel fabric touching her pristine silk blouse. “Now, sit down on my impossibly clean sofa and tell me what you've been doing to yourself in the ring.”

“Wrestling is fairly straightforward.” Braddock states plainly. “It’s Rise To Greatness. And you know what that means?” The British Bombshell follows her sister towards the sofa. Julia sits down first followed by Glory herself.

“For you it means the same thing it always does; a must win situation.” Julia shakes her head. “You always were like dad in that sense. He viewed every match as a must win.”

“This is serious.” Glory states. “I’m taking on La Pequina Luz. I need to win if I want to keep any hopes of remaining in the world title discussion alive.”

“You could have just entered and won Taking Hold of the Flame.” Julia counters with a smirk.

“No, absolutely not.” She shakes her head. “It’s a shortcut and I am not about shortcuts. I am defined by competition. I want to earn my way into the title picture by defeating the best. Luz is among the best competitors in SCW. So yes, I need this win.”

“You will do fine, Glory.” Julia reassures her. “You always do. You perform at your best when you put yourself under such pressure.” She smirks. “That’s another trait you picked up from dad.”

“Well as fun as it is to see what you’ve done to dad’s house and listen to you tell me about the bad traits I picked up from dad, there is another reason I stopped by for a visit.” Glory sighs. “I definitely could use your advice.”

“Oh?” Julia arches a brow. “Something amiss with the great Glory Braddock?”

“Hush.” Glory states with a grin. “It’s about Cat.”

“Cat?”

Julia Braddock’s face suddenly goes from playful to serious. She knows Catalina De Luca all too well. She knows the De Luca Family just as well as Glory does, having grown up around them. Julia was one of many who had warned her older sister about bringing Catalina into the fold, hiring her to be her chief of staff and help her run the company.

“We’ve run into some problems, Jules.” Glory explains. “You know I went to great lengths to try and broker a peaceful co-existence between myself and the Alan Family loyalists on the Board of Directors. But recently I learned that Cat has been using her own tactics to force them out. Even Matthew Alan’s sister, Aurora Alan, has sold her minority share of the company back to me.”

“Ouch.” Julia winces. “So much for a peaceful co-existence.”

“I spoke to Cat and, honestly, I thought we had everything smoothed over, I explained to her what her role was meant to be, that she was just to enforce my vision and that was that. Nothing more and nothing less. I assumed that we had an understanding.”

“Based on how frustrated you sound, I am guessing that things didn’t work out?” Julia asks. Glory shakes her head.

“Nope. Did you hear about what happened at our dad’s wrestling school?”

“Sophie told me.” Julia nods her head. “Repair crews, painters, and new equipment being brought in. Was that all Cat?”

“Yes, all of it.” Glory says, sounding rather annoyed. “Instead of going to the trainers, the coaches, or even the manager I have installed there, to remodel and redo our dad’s legacy.” She shakes her head. “And it isn’t just the fact that they tried to paint over and redo our dad’s school. It’s more than that. These people are going straight to Cat for everything.”

“From what I heard, people at your company have been bypassing you a lot lately and going to Cat for everything.” Julia points out. “And with dad’s school under your corporate umbrella, it would stand to reason that Cat would try to influence it.”

“But it’s wrong!” Glory exclaims angrily. “Dad’s school! It is ours, Jules! Mine and yours! Our legacy!”

“To be fair, Glory,” Julia points a finger at her older sister “you wanted this. You wanted someone to handle business for you, you wanted someone to manage all of the corporate work not just so you could focus on your one true passion of professional wrestling but so you could avoid being corrupted by corporate politics.”

“But…”

“No…you brought in Cat and she is doing exactly what you asked her to do.”

“I’m a figurehead now.” Glory says quietly. “I’m no leader.”

“Again, that’s what you wanted.” Julia states plainly. “You wanted to just be a figurehead so you could focus on wrestling. If that’s what you want then just leave well enough alone, Cat is handling your dirty work for you. If you don’t like what she’s doing or if you don’t like the arrangement anymore and you want to take charge? Fire her.”

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July 31st, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The late afternoon Florida sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private home office, casting broad, warm golden beams across the dark mahogany desk and the polished hardwood floor. Outside, the lush palm trees of the Miami estate swayed gently in the coastal breeze, a stark and vibrant contrast to the gray skies and cool mist Glory had left behind in London just days earlier. Glory sat back in her heavy leather executive chair, framed by the quiet luxury of the room. Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, filled with a mix of business literature, classic wrestling biography hardcovers, and framed memorabilia from her career. She had traded her travel attire for a simple, comfortable gray tank top and black athletic shorts, her long blonde hair gathered into a loose, low bun at the nape of her neck. On the desk before her sat an open laptop, surrounded by scattered notes, flight itineraries, and corporate financial summaries. Her elbows rested on the smooth wooden surface, her chin propped lightly on her hands as her dark eyes stared intently at the glowing screen, her mind still navigating the tangled web of company politics and upcoming title opportunities.

The heavy timber door to the office pushed open without a sound, breaking the absolute quiet of the room. Kurt Logan stepped inside, his quiet, grounded presence instantly filling the doorway. He was dressed casually in a fitted black short-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, highlighting his broad frame. His short black hair was neatly kept, and his calm, observant eyes immediately locked onto his wife. Taking in the tense line of her shoulders and the weary focus on her face, he let out a soft, understanding breath and crossed the room with easy, deliberate steps, coming to a stop just beside her desk.

“Everything ok, babe?” Kurt asks. “You’ve been stuck in her all morning and most of the afternoon.”

“I know.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.”

“I thought you hired Cat for that?” He points out with a knowing smile.

“Don’t talk about her right now.” Glory sighs out of frustration. “Honestly? I’m not cooped up in her just for that; I have split my time between corporate stuff and wrestling stuff.”

“Studying tape?” Kurt asks. Glory nods her head.

“Yep. I’m doing as much research as I can on Luz ahead of Rise To Greatness. I wanted to dissect every match, find her weaknesses, try to find something I can exploit when we meet one on one in the ring.” Braddock sighs. “But…I’ve been distracted…”

“Oh, I see.” Kurt smiles sheepishly. “Should I apologize for distracting you?”

“No, not at all, love.” Glory shakes her head. “It’s just that…” she casts a look over at her iphone, resting on the desk, and then back up at Kurt “...I received an e-mail just now.”

“From who?”

“A longtime employee.” Glory states. “Someone who had been with the company at its founding under Matthew Alan, when it was much smaller.”

“Is this another Matthew Alan loyalist Cat has decided to purge from your life?”

“That’s the thing, he wasn’t a loyalist of mine or Matt’s.” Glory shakes her head. “He was just an employee trying to make an honest living. He was just loyal to the company regardless of who was in charge.”

“So what happened?”

“He resigned.” Glory states.

“He quit? Why?”

“That’s the thing, I have no bloody clue.” Glory throws her arms up in the air out of frustration. “I got no letter of resignation, I got no call, nothing except the e-mail stating they were gone.” She narrows her brow. “Apparently he thought it was more proper to send his letter of resignation to Cat.”

“Oh…” Kurt’s voice trails off “...yeah, I see why that would sting a little.”

“Something feels off here, Kurt.” Glory insists. “When I ran things people came to me. If people quit, whether they got a better opportunity or whatever the reason, I wanted to speak to them personally, I wanted to thank them personally for their service to the company. When people had ideas for new projects they came to me. When employees disagreed with me they still came to me to air their grievances but now they don’t come to me for anything.” She shakes her head. “They go to Cat for everything.”

“But Glory…” Kurt gently places a hand on her shoulder “...you told them NOT to come to you. You placed Cat in the role she’s in to do exactly this, to serve this purpose, because you didn’t want to handle all of this. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I…” she sighs “...I thought it was. I’m not sure anymore.”

The silence that followed Kurt’s words felt heavy, settling over the sun-drenched office like a thick layer of dust. His hand remained a steady, comforting presence on her shoulder, but the truth of what he had spoken hung in the quiet air between them. Glory lowered her eyes back to the glowing laptop screen, staring at the terse resignation email that had shattered her focus. For weeks, she had convinced herself that stepping away from the corporate day-to-day was an act of preservation; a necessary defense mechanism to keep her mind clear, her spirit untainted by power, and her body ready for the brutal demands of the ring.

Yet, looking at the screen, the stark reality of her choices had finally caught up with her. In her desperate bid to avoid becoming a tyrant like those who came before her, she had inadvertently abdicated her throne entirely. The authority she thought she was merely delegating had been systematically swallowed up. Catalina had not just managed the business; she had quietly reshaped it, replacing Glory's carefully built culture of open dialogue and mutual respect with a cold, shielded bureaucracy where loyalty was bought, forced, or maneuvered. The employees no longer saw Glory as the leader who fought in their corner; they saw her as a distant figurehead, comfortably insulated while her Chief of Staff executed the dirty work in the shadows.

A cold, sharp clarity washed over Glory, cutting through the haze of frustration that had plagued her from London to Miami. The realization hit her with the force of a firm blow to the chest: you cannot hold the crown if you are afraid to touch the sword. By insulating herself from the ugly realities of leadership, she had relinquished the right to complain when those realities were handled by someone else’s ruthless hands. Catalina was doing precisely what she had been hired to do, operating in the gray areas that Glory had been too proud—or too terrified—to walk herself.

Glory reached out, her fingers slowly pressing the button to close her laptop. The screen went dark, reflecting her own resolute expression in the black glass. She leaned back against her chair, taking a deep, grounding breath of the warm Florida air. Her path forward was no longer about choosing between the ring and the boardroom, nor was it about hiding behind the legacy of her father or the calculated armor of Catalina De Luca. If she wanted her company to reflect her values, she would have to stand in the heat and command it herself, regardless of the personal cost.

Kurt gave her shoulder one last gentle squeeze before stepping back, sensing the shift in her energy without needing a single word of confirmation. Glory looked out the broad glass windows toward the swaying palms, her dark eyes narrowing with unbreakable resolve. The battle for her company’s soul would have to wait for another day, but the line was drawn.