She’s set her sights on Roxie.

Lady Grace does a mock curtsy on entering the ring, bending her knees slightly as she pretends to lift the corners of a dress she’s not wearing anymore, and regards her surroundings with a sardonic smirk.

“So,” Grace says in a smooth, clipped English accent, “the almighty Champion has found herself a boy-toy.” She looks you up and down and sniffs in disdain. “Honestly, you’d toss me aside for this?”

An “ooooooh” goes through the audience as you narrow your eyes at her. The Champion curtly replies, “You know my reasons for breaking it off had nothing to do with sex.”

“That much is obvious,” replies Grace acidly, still sneering at you.

You’ve had enough of her taunts. “Alright, listen the fuck up—”

But before you can say anything else, she grabs you by the shoulders and sends her knee rocketing up into your balls. You topple to the ground, clutching your groin, as Roxie gasps in alarm.

“You’ll speak to your betters when spoken to,” she says, stepping on your face and forcing her high-heel into your mouth.

The Champion storms up to her, glaring. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Lady Grace replies. “Really, it could be any number of things.”

As she talks, you notice the “butler” climb into the ring behind the Champion, holding a pair of handcuffs. Your eyes go wide, but Roxie isn’t looking at you, and you can’t say anything with your mouth blocked by Grace’s shoe.

“But the real answer,” Lady Grace finishes as her assistant cuffs Roxie’s hands behind her back, “is that I’m getting ****.”