Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant

[The Matt]

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July 11th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The muggy humidity of the mid July evening had managed to seep even through the heavy, reinforced oak of Marie’s front door, turning the expansive entryway of her townhouse into a pocket of thick, waiting stillness. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the low, distant hum of the central air conditioning struggling against the summer heat and the occasional, soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Marie had spent the last hour pacing the length of the polished hardwood floor, her mind completely detached from the quiet luxury that surrounded her. She was dressed in a simple, elegant ivory silk camisole and a pair of flowing, high waisted wide leg trousers that brushed the tops of her bare feet, an outfit that felt entirely too delicate for the heavy, lingering dread that had been sitting in her chest since her conversation with her identical twin sister Kim. So many thoughts were running through her mind, many involved Percy, her boyfriend, who could be in serious trouble and Marie Jones isn’t sure what the right thing to do is; she is also dealing with the looming expectations of her SCW career. Despite the unfortunate ending to her one on one match with Alistaire Allocco, The Phoenix has managed to prove herself and impress management to earn a shot at the SCW United States Championship. Dethroning Dexter Grant will be a tall task; he was her last opponent before she took the long hiatus from the ring. It would feel sweet for her to not only avenge her loss to become a champion in the process.

She had just reached the edge of the plush Persian rug near the fireplace when the sharp, sudden chime of the doorbell cut through the silence like a gunshot. Marie froze, her breath catching in her throat as her hands instinctively clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles turning a pale, tense white against her skin. For a handful of agonizing seconds, she didn't move, her sharp green eyes fixed entirely on the shadow stretching across the foyer floor from the front entryway. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm that felt entirely out of place in the elegant tranquility of her home. It could be anyone, a delivery driver, a courier from the Supreme Championship Wrestling offices, or perhaps her sister arriving with another dose of chaotic reality. But deep in her gut, a stark, intuitive certainty told her exactly who was standing on the other side of that threshold. She smoothed down the silk of her trousers with a trembling hand, a final, subconscious effort to pull her armor back into place, before forcing her feet to move forward. Each step across the cool mahogany floorboards felt heavy, deliberate, and entirely too loud in the empty house. When she reached the door, her fingers hovered over the heavy brass lock for a fraction of a second, a wave of caution washing over her, before she finally turned the latch with a sharp, echoing click and pulled the heavy wood inward. Standing under the warm, amber glow of the porch light, framed by the dark, humid Boston night, was Percy.

The sight of him instantly sent a cold jolt through Marie’s chest, the fragile composure she had spent weeks building melting away in an instant. He looked entirely different from the shattered, defensive man who had stood by her fireplace weeks ago, yet the change only served to make the air between them feel twice as dangerous. He was dressed in a crisp, dark charcoal button down shirt, the sleeves rolled tightly to his elbows to reveal the dense, powerful muscles of his forearms, and clean, dark denim jeans that broke perfectly over a pair of heavy leather boots. The jagged scab at the corner of his mouth had faded into a thin, pale pink line, and the swelling around his eye was completely gone, leaving his face looking sharp, focused, and entirely unreadable. Yet, despite his clean appearance, the street thug aura he had tried so hard to bury still clung to him like cheap cologne. He stood with his shoulders slightly hitched, his head tilted downward as his dark eyes locked onto hers through the screen door, his expression a volatile cocktail of intense relief, lingering shame, and something else, something hidden so deep beneath the surface that it made Marie’s skin prickle with immediate suspicion. He wasn't reaching for his ring this time, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but the rigid, defensive set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know. The past had not finished with him, and whatever script he had written for tonight, the real confrontation was about to begin.

“What do you want, Percy?”

“Nothing, honestly.” Percy remarks. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all.” There is an awkward pause and silence in the air as Marie just stares him down. Percy smiles back sheepishly. “Uh, may I come in?”

“That depends.” Jones answers quickly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Drinking, me?” Percy chuckles. “Never.”

“I’m serious, Percy.”

“Sorry.” He sighs. “But I really, I haven’t been drinking. You can even give me a breathalizer if you want.” Marie still doesn’t find his attempt at humor very effective. Still, the good natured Phoenix wants to give her boyfriend a chance. So she sighs and nods her head.

“Fine, come in.”

Marie stepped back, her bare feet pressing firmly against the cool hardwood as she swung the heavy oak door open wide enough to let him pass. As Percy crossed the threshold, a sudden draft of the thick, humid Boston night air rolled into the entryway with him, momentarily overwhelming the crisp, artificial chill of the air conditioning. He walked with a heavy, deliberate stride, his leather boots making a dull, hollow thud against the mahogany floorboards, a sound that seemed to reverberate straight up Marie’s spine. He kept his hands out of his pockets now, but his arms hung rigidly at his sides, his shoulders squared as if he were walking into a hostile territory rather than the home of the woman he claimed to love.

Without waiting for a formal invitation, Percy navigated the familiar path down the short foyer and stepped into the expansive living room. The grand, high ceilinged space, usually so welcoming with its soft ivory tones and plush velvet furnishings, felt instantly smaller the moment his dark silhouette entered the frame. He stopped just at the edge of the plush Persian rug, his boots coming to a halt near the dark marble fireplace, the very same spot he had occupied weeks prior. He didn't sit. Instead, he slowly turned around to face her, his sharp eyes taking in the pristine, immaculate surroundings before finally settling back on Marie. The warm, skeletal shadows cast by the streetlamps outside flickered across his face, highlighting the tense, mechanical set of his jaw and the complete absence of his usual relaxed posture. He stood there like a trespasser caught in the glare of a searchlight, waiting for the inevitable hammer to fall.

“You, uh,” Percy slowly begins, trying to find the appropriate words “you haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Really?” Marie sighs and rolls her eyes. “That makes us even. If I recall you never answered any of mine for weeks, months even. You fell off the radar until Kimmy and I happened to find you beaten half to death in front of that bar. And even when you were keeping in touch, you were staying out long nights without telling me where you were. You were just partying.”

“Yeah, I know.” Percy nods his head.

“You were partying. You were drinking. You were risking your very freedom by violating your parole. And you expected me to just let you get away with it. You expected me to not say anything.”

“You haven’t said anything, have you?” Percy asks, sounding a little concerned. Jones sighs.

“Your secret is safe, Percy.”

“Thank God.” Percy lets out a sigh of relief. “And I truly am sorry for dragging you into this, Marie. You are entirely right and I apologize.”

“Look, I accept your apology, and it is sweet that you came here wanting to make things right.” She shakes her head. “But I’m not sure an apology is enough to repair the damage that YOU did, Percy.”

“What are you saying?” Percy asks, afraid of what the answer is.

“Honestly? I’m just not sure that I can trust you right now.” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I can trust you again. At least not yet.”

Those were the words that Percy was afraid to hear. It definitely indicates that this relationship is nearing its breaking point, if it isn’t permanently damaged and ended right this moment. Still, the ex-con must hear it for himself. He must hear the words.

“Does this mean that…does this we’re breaking up?”

“No, not yet.” Marie sighs and shakes her head. Percy seems to feel a great sense of relief, a weight lifted off of his shoulders. “God knows I have needed plenty of opportunities in my life to make things right. I have made mistakes and I get it, you have made so many mistakes in your criminal past. You want to turn over a new leaf and I believe you…”

“But?”

“But you need to work very hard to earn my trust back.” Marie states pointedly. “You hurt me, Percy. Your disappearing act scared me to death, the fact that you’ve been violating parole scares me to death, and you broke my trust. A healthy relationship is built upon trust.”

“I know.” Percy nods his head. “Trust me, as someone who spent time behind bars I know how important it is to earn trust again. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to earn your trust and save this relationship.”

“That’s great to hear, Percy.” Marie says. “And I am ready to give you that chance.”

“Then let’s start tonight.” Percy answers quickly. “I want to take you out and treat you to a nice meal. Just the two of us.”

“Percy, I…”

“I mean it.” He insists. “Let me do this. For you.”

“Fine…” she sighs “...let me get changed…”

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July 11th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The soft, ambient glow of the crystal chandeliers at a fancy restaurant in Boston, one of Marie’s favorites, cast a warm, amber hue over the dining room, a stark contrast to the oppressive, humid night air outside on the streets of Boston. Tucked away in an exclusive enclave of the city, the restaurant was a masterclass in understated luxury, where the low hum of polite conversation was punctuated only by the delicate clinking of silver against fine bone china and the occasional, soft laugh from a neighboring table. The floors were covered in a dense, emerald green carpet that swallowed the sound of the waiters’ footsteps as they moved with practiced, silent efficiency between tables draped in pristine, starch white linen. In the center of their corner booth, a single candle flickered inside a frosted glass votive, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished silver wine bucket and the half empty crystal flutes of sparkling water.

Marie sat perfectly upright against the plush, leather banquette, the picture of upper class sophistication. For this evening out, she had chosen a tailored, sleeveless cocktail dress in a deep, matte crimson that highlighted the powerful, athletic lines of her shoulders while tapering elegantly at her waist. Her vibrant copper hair was styled into smooth, cascading waves that fell precisely over one shoulder, and a delicate gold chain caught the candlelight at her collarbone. Despite the serene, expensive atmosphere of the dining room, Marie’s green eyes were sharp, analytical, and entirely focused across the table, her manicured fingers lightly tracing the stem of her glass with a rhythmic, cautious deliberation.

Directly opposite her, Percy looked like a man trying desperately to play a part he hadn't fully memorized. He had traded his heavy leather motorcycle jacket for a tailored black blazer and a crisp, white dress shirt, left unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the rigid, tense muscles of his neck. His dark hair was neatly combed back, but the sharp, pale pink line of the faded scab at the corner of his mouth remained a stubborn reminder of the streets he had left behind. He sat with his elbows resting heavily on the white tablecloth, his large, calloused hands loosely clasped together as he stared down at the untouched plate of seared prime beef before him. The refined setting did nothing to soften the intense, quiet vigilance that radiated from his frame, his dark eyes occasionally darting toward the restaurant entrance before snapping back to Marie, waiting for the fragile peace of the dinner to shift.

“I can tell you’re not very comfortable right now.” Marie points out with a smirk on her face.

“Oh c’mon, Marie. You know I love this place.”

“You hate it.” Marie states. “You have never wanted to come here. It’s too high class for you.” She snickers. “Honestly, Percy, you’re trying too hard.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” Marie sighs. “You don’t have to bend over backwards to try and earn my trust back. I told you, we’re not breaking up. Things might be a little stressful right now but we’re not breaking up. If you want to win me back, Percy, the best thing you can do is to be yourself. That’s the guy I fell in love with.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She nods her head.

“Good…” he chuckles “...because seriously, this place really isn’t my style…”

Jones laughs. Percy laughs along with her. Finally, for the first time in months, it appears as if things between the two of them are normal. Just like nothing had ever happened. As if Percy had never left.

“So tell me, babe.. What have you been doing since I disappeared?” Percy asks. The date turns to small talk, which both are very thankful for.

“My return to SCW has been going better than I had hoped.” Marie says. “Taking Hold of the Flame was great even though I lost. I got a loud ovation from the fans and I fooled Kimmy. She never saw it coming. I gave Allocco the fight of his life and I must have impressed the CEO because now I have an opportunity to challenge Dexter Grant for the United States Title.”

“Isn’t he the weirdo who hates social media?” Percy asks. Marie nods her head.

“And the weirdo who beat me right before I took my hiatus from the ring.” Marie smirks. “I am going to get my revenge and win that championship.”

“I know you will.” Percy sips his water. “I have faith in you.”

Marie sips her wine as she watches Percy sip on his water. She frowns.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to bring it up again but…” she sighs “...be honest with me, have you fallen off the wagon? And I don’t just mean the drinking. I mean the drugs, the partying, getting involved in crime, all of it. The stuff you were forbidden from getting involved with as part of your parole. Did you fall off the wagon?”

“I understand why you’re concerned, babe, but trust me, I am fine.” He smiles warmly. “I have not fallen off the wagon. I will not fall off. I know if I fall off that wagon I risk losing you and you are the very best thing to happen to me, Marie Annabelle Jones.”

The fragile illusion of normalcy shattered before the warmth of Percy’s smile could even reach his eyes. From the far side of the dining room, the heavy, rhythmic thud of leather-soled uniform boots suddenly disrupted the quiet, synchronized ballet of the restaurant’s waitstaff. Two uniform officers from the Boston Police Department walked with purpose down the emerald green carpeted aisle, their heavy utility belts clinking sharply with handcuffs and flashlights, a sound that cut through the low murmur of polite conversation like ice. The low hum of the dining room dipped into an immediate, breathless silence as affluent patrons turned their heads, their forks hovering mid-air.

Percy’s entire body went rigid instantly, his elbows lifting off the starched white tablecloth as his hands instinctively curled into tight, defensive fists. The color drained from his face, leaving the pale pink line of his scab standing out like an angry brand. Across the table, Marie felt a cold knot of dread tighten violently in her stomach, the stem of her wine glass freezing between her manicured fingers. She watched the lead officer, a burly sergeant with a weathered face, come to a definitive halt right at the edge of their white-linened booth, his sharp eyes locking onto Percy with absolute, undeniable recognition. The second officer stepped slightly to the side, his hand resting with casual, practiced authority near his holster, cutting off any possible exit into the main dining room.

“Percy Matthews?”

“Y…yeah?” Percy is noticeably concerned and anxious. Marie Jones is equally nervous. She had decided to give him a chance, she had decided to try and let him earn her trust back. Had he failed this quickly?

“Stand up.” One officer remarks coldly. Percy reluctantly obeys. They frisk him. Then, much to Marie’s horror, one officer finds a baggie on his person.

Drugs.

“Look at what I found?” The officer remarks with a smirk.

“Percy!” Marie exclaims, angry and embarrassed. “How could you?!” She hisses. “You said…you promised…”

“I’m sorry.” Percy shakes his head.

“Save it.” The officer states. “You are under arrest.”

The metallic click of the handcuffs clamping down around Percy’s wrists sounded like a final, definitive gavel slam in the stunned silence of the dining room. Every eye in the restaurant remained glued to the corner booth, the surrounding affluent patrons looking on with a mixture of collective horror and morbid fascination as the two officers roughly turned Percy around. For Marie, the world seemed to lose its color, the vibrant crimson of her elegant dress suddenly feeling like a mockery of the cold, crushing reality settling into her chest. The anger that had flared up instantly gave way to a profound, hollow exhaustion. She had defended him to her sister, she had bargained with her own morality to shield his secrets, and she had spent the entire evening desperately trying to convince herself that the man she loved was capable of redemption. Yet, right there on the pristine white linen tablecloth, the small plastic baggie sat like an unyielding monument to his betrayal, a truth she could no longer rationalize or ignore.

Percy kept his head bowed, refusing to meet her gaze as the officers began to guide him out of the booth, his heavy leather boots dragging slightly against the emerald green carpet. The frantic, defensive posture he had maintained all evening had completely evaporated, replaced by the hollow, defeated slump of a man who knew he had finally run out of chances. As he passed her, he opened his mouth as if to offer one last, desperate plea, but the look in Marie’s sharp green eyes silenced him completely. There were no tears on her face, only a rigid, terrifying clarity. The Phoenix had spent her entire life fighting through adversity inside the squared circle, but looking at the empty seat across from her, she realized some matches were lost before the bell even rang. She was a mother, a professional, and a woman who had given everything to afford a life of peace, and in a single, devastating moment, Percy had threatened to pull her back down into the gutter with him.

The heavy thud of the officers’ boots faded down the aisle, followed by the distant, muffled chime of the restaurant’s glass entryway doors opening to the humid Boston night outside. Gradually, the low hum of polite conversation began to drift back into the room, though the glances cast toward Marie’s solitary booth remained heavy with judgment. Marie sat perfectly still, her manicured fingers resting against the cold table, staring at the untouched plate of seared beef across from her. Her upcoming battle against Dexter Grant for the United States Championship suddenly took on a completely different meaning. The ring was no longer just a platform for championship gold or a stage to avenge an old loss; it was the only place left where the rules were absolute, where the threats were entirely in front of her, and where she didn't have to guess who to trust. She took one final, slow breath, letting the lingering vulnerability of the evening harden into pure, competitive armor. Percy Matthews was headed back behind bars, his promises scattered on the restaurant floor, and Marie Jones was left alone to pick up the pieces and prepare for war.