Prologue
August 2014
Life comes at you fast.
As she lay in a crumpled heap on the canvas staring up at the bright arena lights, the phrase ran through Jory Moody's mind over and over again like a mantra. With a weak groan, she placed her hand on the right side of her face, wincing at the pain that was beginning to work its way behind her left eye. The Chicago crowd was quiet, unsure how to react to what they had just seen. Referee Chad Patton leaned down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder that did nothing to comfort her; it surprised her how much the gesture seemed to magnify her embarrassment.
He helped her sit up, the pity shining in his warm brown eyes. "Are you okay, Jordana?"
She ignored his question, her mint green eyes falling on the video screen at the top of the stage. The replay showed the aftermath of the match, of Nikki and Jory celebrating their victory of Brie and Natalya, with Nikki winning the match for the team by hitting her twin sister with the devastating Rack Attack. Both Nikki and Jory were in matching red outfits, The Authority logo emblazoned in different places. Then, Nikki turned and blindsided Jory with a hard forearm that took her down. She watched as Nikki stood over her prone body, her brown eyes narrowed. Pushing a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes, Jory huffed. It was a clear sign if she had ever seen one; she had fallen out of favor with The Authority. Nikki Bella was their new Golden Girl, their princess, the apple of their eye. She was their Chosen One now.
Standing to her feet, trying to ignore the shame that burned her skin and the sting of failure in every nerve, Jory got out of the ring without Chad's assistance. There was no music, only the crowd murmuring. It created a faint buzz in the building.
"Jordana, you suck!"
The voice was loud and clear and unmistakably male. Jory kept her gaze on the stage, not giving the man the satisfaction of acknowledging him. On the scale of awful things said to her by the fans, it was low on the spectrum, so it rolled off her. Jory made a beeline up the ramp, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to get to the bottom of things. If she was being cast out and shoved aside, she wanted to hear it from the lips of Stephanie and Hunter. After everything she had done for The Authority, everything she had sacrificed, at the very least she felt she was owed an explanation.
Nikki was already gone by the time Jory stormed through the black curtain. She moved swiftly, keeping her head down to avoid conversations with talkative producers Michael Hayes and Brian James. Through the black curtain, she walked down the three steps and found herself in the backstage area. Unwrapping the tape from her wrists, she walked briskly towards The Authority's office. Nobody made eye contact with her.
It wasn't an unusual reaction for people to look away or clear the path for Jory; she was used to everyone walking on eggshells around her. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was a price she paid for debuting as the Princess of The Authority. People were terrified to be around her, scared they would say the wrong thing and it would somehow make its way back to Stephanie and Hunter. Tonight, however, their silence and evasiveness spoke volumes. She kept her eyes ahead of her, trying to swallow the conflicting feelings of anger, shame, and disappointment that bubbled in her stomach. Jory hoped to stay calm during their confrontation.
Turning the corner, Jory was stunned to find a barricade of seven security guards blocking the hallway, all of them dressed in black slacks and yellow T-shirts, all of them middle-aged, bulky men. The tallest one stood in the middle, putting his hand out to stop her in her tracks. Startled, Jory fell back a step. Down the hall, over his shoulder, she saw Hunter and Stephanie peeking out of the office like two children eavesdropping after bedtime. When their gazes locked, Stephanie and Hunter's heads disappeared and the door closed. She opened her mouth to call out to them but found herself cut off by the tall guard.
"Ms. Moody, we've been instructed to escort you off the premises."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"By orders of the McMahon family, we've been asked to escort you out of the building."
"You've got to be kidding me." For a moment, Jory thought about making a scene, about calling out to Hunter and Stephanie. She thought about challenging them to come out of their office and face her. She thought about throwing garments and chairs and whatever else she could get her hands on.
Instead, she took a step back and raised her hands. "Do I at least get to clean up and get out of my gear?"
"You can do that at the hotel, Ma'am. We've been instructed to get you out of here immediately."
"Classic." She shook her head in disgust, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek. The contempt spilled from her mouth. "Fine. I'll get my bag and leave. Happy?"
"We'll escort you, Ma'am."
"I don't need seven people to see me out of here - I'm going," she told them, aggravated. Turning on her heels, she threw her hands in the air and stomped towards her private locker room. All seven guards followed behind her. It's like they think I'm Batista or something - what do I need seven guards for? she thought. Inside the locker room, they were silent while she angrily jammed her clothing into her bag. She put on her biggest, most comfortable Blackcraft hoodie and zipped it all the way up to the neck. She put the hood up so she could keep her head down and avoid her colleagues and the fans. Like second to eighth shadows, security followed her all the way to the parking lot. They stopped to watch her get into the car. In the rear-view mirror, as she drove away, she noticed they were still watching her.
Jory arrived back at her hotel with a splitting headache, her patience fractured, and her ego on shaky legs. Pulling her hood down low and keeping her eyes down, she moved across the lobby quickly. She let out a sigh of relief when nobody approached her. The only person in the lobby was the front desk agent, and she was on the phone. The ride to the third floor was silent. She took in every detail of the elevator, from the buttons to the mirror to the floor. Her shoulders sagged when she looked in the mirror, but before she could think, the elevator doors slid open.
It was two attempts with her key-card before the light flashed green, and there was a moment of aggravation at the idea of having to go back down to the desk to get a brand new key. She walked into the room, letting the heavy door shut behind her. She left her suitcase beside the door and unzipped her hoodie, throwing it over the desk chair. Looking up, she froze when she looked at herself in the mirror, at the messy hair and running makeup.
I don't even recognize myself anymore.
It was a jarring revelation, one that knocked out what little mental balance remained. The thought hit her like a freight train, and she held onto the chair with a hand. For the first time in a long time, she took a good, hard look at the woman staring back at her, and she realized almost right away that she hated what she saw.
She hated the golden blonde hair that was fried and fake, but what they had wanted. She was okay with the D-cup implants, but the way they were exposed and pushed out was nothing like the old Jory. She wasn't conservative or prudish, but the way they were pushed up could have rivaled Trish Stratus. She hated the tiny red bra with The Authority logo stitched onto the left breast. She hated the glossy pink lips, the golden tan. None of it was her. For the first time in her career, she stepped back and realized she had sold her soul for the ultimate dream. The red mark on her face was a reminder that for every sacrifice she made, it had all meant nothing in the end. She sighed.
"We've fucked everything up," she told the woman in the mirror warily. "The question is how do we fix it?"
Jory wasn't stupid; moving forward was going to be an uphill battle. Becoming Stephanie and Hunter's Chosen Woman had left her without any friends or allies. Stephanie told her there were no friends in wrestling, no real friends. Being in the WWE meant that she had to be the best, like the women who came before her. The idea of being Hall of Fame tiers like Trish and Lita appealed to her so much. So she agreed to become the woman that was "best for business". In the end, it alienated her from everyone. Outside of Renee Young, she interacted with nobody. There was a fleeting thought that it was all by their design to cut her off from the WWE Universe. Instead of traveling down that train of thought, Jory looked at the woman in the mirror and sighed.
As angry and as disappointed as she was, Jory knew that she should have known better. She had grown up a fan - which she had learned was a dirty word in Hunter and Stephanie's books - and it had been her lifelong dream to join the world of WWE. She knew the treacherous histories of Hunter and Stephanie, of all the lousy things they had done to their colleagues and even to their families, but she had been so starstruck and grateful for their attention and advice that she convinced herself it would never happen to her. If they had chosen to back her, she presumed it meant that they saw her on an equal level. Now, humiliated, attacked and alone, Jory realized that she had made the same mistake as so many before. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Reaching into her purse, she grabbed her cell phone and took a selfie, not caring about her current appearance. She made sure that she got the bruising that was beginning to form on her face. No filter, she thought to herself, uploading the photo to her Instagram account, which was linked to her Twitter. Sometimes your enemies come with smiles, she captioned. With the picture uploaded, she threw her phone down on the bed and retreated to the bathroom to clean herself up. It was her hope that the hot water would wash away the evening. But she knew better. Things were a mess, and it was only going to get uglier from here.