My Darling Ex-Wife Is Unaware I’m Rich

Chapter 20: The Fight Within

Maxwell woke to the sharp, relentless buzz of his alarm. His phone blinked on the nightstand, vibrating insistently. Groaning, he grabbed it, blinking away the haze of sleep until the words on the screen came into focus:

“6:00 a.m. Gym session with Alfred."

He exhaled heavily and swung his legs over the bed, every muscle in his body protesting. Yesterday’s sparring had been brutal; each punch and block now etched into his aching limbs. As he stood, a sharp pain shot from his calves to his shoulders, making him mutter, “Should’ve skipped the second round.”

The thought of Alfred—always brimming with inexhaustible energy—waiting for another grueling session filled Maxwell with reluctant determination. Their sparring had become a ritual, a weekly test of endurance, but today, he wasn’t sure if his body would cooperate.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror: disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a faint bruise on his jaw—a souvenir from yesterday’s training.

Turning on the tap, he let cold water gush into the tub, the sound echoing in the quiet morning. He leaned against the sink, staring at the rising water. A cold plunge—the only thing that could shock his muscles and mind into readiness.

Stripping off his clothes, Maxwell climbed in. The icy water gripped him instantly, stealing his breath and sending adrenaline coursing through his veins. He sank lower, letting the cold envelope him. As he submerged fully, his mind drifted to a place he hadn’t visited in a long time.

In the stillness beneath the water, a face materialized in his thoughts—Emma. Her radiant smile, the way her hazel eyes shimmered with joy, came rushing back.

He could see them in their early days of marriage, blissfully happy. Afternoons spent in the small garden behind their modest first home replayed in his mind like a movie. She’d sit on the worn wooden bench, cradling a steaming cup of tea, her voice warm and inviting.

“Come here,” she’d call, and he would, drawn by her presence.

He remembered her kisses—soft, lingering, full of unspoken promises. The world had faded in those moments, leaving only their shared dreams.

But that world didn’t last.

Emma’s mother, Fiona, had always disapproved of their union. At first, it was subtle—pointed remarks about their choices and plans. But her interference grew, sowing seeds of doubt and discord.

The arguments that began as whispers turned into storms. Emma, once so warm, had become distant, her love buried beneath layers of resentment and misunderstanding. Maxwell had tried to hold on, but she slipped further away, Fiona’s shadow ever-present between them.

Maxwell surfaced abruptly, gasping for air. The cold water clung to him as he sat up, drops trailing down his face. His body screamed for warmth, but his mind felt steadier, his thoughts clearer.

Grabbing a towel, he dried off and dressed in his gym clothes. His phone buzzed again. Only five minutes had passed, though it had felt like an eternity beneath the icy water.

---

At the gym, the sound of clinking weights and rhythmic punches against a bag greeted him. Maxwell dropped his bag near the ring, expecting to find Alfred warming up. But Alfred wasn’t in the boxing ring. Instead, he stood in the weightlifting area, surrounded by an arsenal of barbells, kettlebells, and dumbbells.

"Morning, Max! Don’t you look cheerful," Alfred said with a grin. "No sparring today."

Maxwell raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Strength training. We’re pushing limits today,” Alfred replied, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with challenge.

Maxwell groaned inwardly. “How tough are we talking?”

“You’ll find out,” Alfred said, tossing him a kettlebell.

The session was relentless. Maxwell swung kettlebells, hoisted barbells, and powered through circuits that seemed designed to break him. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, as Alfred barked encouragement and instructions.

By the time the circuits ended, Maxwell collapsed onto the mat, his chest heaving. His arms burned, and his legs felt like jelly.

“I’m done,” he panted, staring at the ceiling.

But Alfred wasn’t done with him.

"Get up, Your Highness. We’re not finished," Alfred said, crossing his arms.

Maxwell groaned. “No way. I need water first.”

Alfred smirked. “You want water? Step into the ring.”

Maxwell stared at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. In this gym, you fight for your privileges,” Alfred said with a chuckle.

Despite his exhaustion, Maxwell couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re insane.”

Summoning the last of his strength, Maxwell hauled himself to his feet and climbed into the ring. Alfred followed, already bouncing lightly on his toes.

“First to land three clean hits wins,” Alfred said, tapping his gloves together.

The bell rang, and the fight began.

Alfred moved like a blur, his punches sharp and precise. Maxwell dodged and countered, his body relying on instinct and muscle memory. Each exchange tested him, pushing him to the edge of his endurance.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat dripped into his eyes, but he refused to give up. With a final burst of energy, he landed his third clean hit—a solid cross to Alfred’s ribs.

Alfred grinned, stepping back and raising his gloves in mock surrender. “You’ve earned it, champ. Go get your water.”

Stumbling out of the ring, Maxwell grabbed a water bottle and downed it in one go. The cool liquid was bliss against his parched throat.

Leaning against the ropes, he caught his breath and couldn’t help but smile. Today had tested him in every way, but he’d come out stronger.

Alfred nodded at him, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. For the first time, Maxwell saw that respect reflected in himself.

Tomorrow would be another fight. But for today, Maxwell had won. As he leaned against the ropes, catching his breath, he couldn’t help but smile. Today had tested him in every way, but he’d made it through.