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Paul Heyman's message was longer, naturally. "The story is everywhere. Mainstream picked it up fast. This is bigger than wrestling now. Say nothing publicly until you decide your approach. We'll talk."
Then the Undisputed System.
Some confused. Some joking. Some protective. Some already angry on his behalf.
Kofi's message stood out. "Bro, ignore the noise. You and the girls good? That's all that matters. You knew this day would come."
Sandro leaned back against the headboard and rubbed his face with one hand.
He hadn't even opened Twitter yet.
He already knew what it would look like.
Still, he did it.
The app loaded.
And there it was.
Trending topics, stacked one after another.
#SandroZhang #AlexaBliss #AJLee #NikkiBella #Polyamory #LetThemLive #WWEChaos #PrivacyMatters #LockerRoomLeak
Photos were everywhere.
Zoomed. Cropped. Enhanced. Analyzed.
Angles circled in red. Time stamps dissected. Threads arguing authenticity even though everyone knew the truth.
Sandro let out a long sigh and leaned his head back against the wall.
They'd known this was coming.
The sound. That sound last Monday.
The faint click. The shuffle. Someone breathing on the other side of the locker room wall when they thought they were alone.
They'd talked about it afterward. Quietly. Calmly. Logically.
"If someone heard," AJ had said, not panicked, just thoughtful, "this won't stay private forever."
"And if it doesn't?" Nikki had asked.
Alexa had shrugged. "Then we deal with it together."
They'd agreed then.
Prepared statements. Boundaries. What they would say. What they wouldn't.
They just hadn't planned for paparazzi.
For stolen photos. For the story breaking before they had control of it.
Sandro glanced back at the bed.
They were still asleep.
Unaware.
That mattered.
He stood and moved carefully, pulling on a t shirt and shorts, then grabbed his phone and slipped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut with a soft click.
The morning air was cooler than he expected. Tampa was just starting to wake up, the city humming low beneath him.
He scrolled back to WhatsApp and tapped his mother's name.
The call connected almost immediately.
"Sandro," Taylor's voice came through, tight with worry but steady. "You're awake."
"Yeah," he said softly. "I'm here."
His father's voice joined a second later. "Son."
"I know," Sandro said before they could ask. "I saw it."
There was a pause. Not judgmental. Not angry. Just heavy.
"How are the girls?" Jack asked.
Sandro glanced back through the glass. "Still asleep. They don't know yet."
Another pause.
"And you?" Taylor asked gently.
He thought about it for a moment. About the anger simmering under the surface. About the frustration. About the exhaustion.
"I'm okay," he said honestly. "We've been preparing for this for a while."
That earned a small, relieved exhale on the other end.
Taylor spoke again, practical as ever. "This is a breach of privacy. Clear as day. Those photos should never exist."
"I know."
"If you want," she continued, "I can help you pursue charges. Against the paparazzi. Against whoever distributed the images."
Sandro leaned his forearms on the railing and stared out at the skyline.
For a long moment, he didn't answer.
He thought about the control he'd lost. About the narrative being taken from them. About the girls waking up and seeing strangers arguing about their lives.
"Yes," he said finally. "I want that."
Jack hummed softly in approval. "Good."
"But," Sandro added, voice firming, "I also want to make a statement. Today."
Taylor went quiet again. "Public?"
"Fully," Sandro said. "No half steps. No dodging. Just the full truth."
He straightened slightly, the decision settling into place.
"I'll say it's real. I'll say we're together. I'll ask for understanding. And I'll make it clear that while we're not ashamed, and that what happened is still a violation. We were going to announce it ourselves when the time was right. That chance was taken from us."
Jack spoke then, pride unmistakable. "That's the right way."
Taylor's voice softened. "We're with you. All the way."
They spoke a few more minutes, the lawsuit, timing, and then ended the call.
Sandro stayed on the balcony after, phone resting against the railing.
The sun crept higher.
Inside, movement.
The door slid open behind him.
"Hey."
Alexa's voice was quiet, sleepy.
He turned.
She stood there in one of his t shirts, blonde hair messy, eyes already sharp despite just waking up.
"You're awake," he said.
She nodded, holding up her phone. "I saw it."
He crossed the short distance between them immediately, pulling her into a hug. She leaned into it without hesitation.
"AJ and Nikki?" he asked.
"Still asleep."
Alexa exhaled slowly against his chest, while Sandro chuckles. "Figures."
They stood there a moment before AJ's voice floated from inside.
"Okay," AJ said, dry even half asleep, "judging by the energy in the room, I'm guessing that what we expected have caused the internet to explode."
Nikki followed her out, rubbing one eye. "Please tell me it's not worse than I think."
Sandro didn't lie.
"It's everywhere," he said. "Mainstream too."
There it was.
The moment.
No yelling. No panic. No tears.
Just silence.
Then Nikki nodded once. "Alright."
AJ crossed her arms loosely. "So. We're doing this today."
Alexa glanced between them, then smiled faintly. "Guess we don't have to worry about timing anymore."
They gathered around the small dining table, phones buzzing nonstop, comparing notes.
Triple H called again. Sandro texted him back, "Later today."
Stephanie left a voicemail, supportive, and measured.
Paul Heyman sent a follow up. "When you speak, speak clearly. Don't apologize for who you are. Only for the violation."
That line stuck.
By mid morning, Sandro sat with his phone in his hands, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, it's a numerous repeat of these two.
The girls watched, close but giving him space.
Finally, he typed.
And this time, he didn't erase it.
The statement was simple. Direct. Human.
He didn't apologize for loving who he loved. He didn't deny the relationship. He didn't shy away from responsibility. He condemned the invasion of privacy. Made it clear legal action would be taken. Asked for respect. Not approval. Not praise. Just respect.
The tweet went live at exactly 11:17 a.m.
No emojis. No deflection. No corporate polish.
Just the truth.
The reaction was immediate.
Support flooded in faster than the hate.
Fans posting hearts. Fans sharing their own stories. Fans thanking him for being honest.
Others criticized. Mocked. Moralized.
But the balance leaned one way.
And that mattered.
Entertainment outlets updated headlines.
Wrestling sites followed suit.
Legal teams began moving quietly behind the scenes.
Sandro set his phone down and leaned back, eyes closing briefly.
Alexa rested her head on his shoulder. Nikki squeezed his hand. AJ smiled at the ceiling, a little wild, a little defiant.
"Well," AJ said, breaking the tension, "guess we're officially public now."
Nikki laughed. "No more sneaking around locker rooms."
Alexa smirked. "Kinda takes the thrill out of it."
Sandro chuckled quietly. "Trust me. The world will find a way to keep it thrilling."
A full day passed, but the story refused to cool.
If anything, it spread.
By Sunday night, what had begun as wrestling news had fully crossed into mainstream territory.
Entertainment blogs that hadn't uttered the word "WWE" in years were suddenly running think pieces. Morning talk shows debated it. International outlets framed it as a cultural moment rather than a scandal. Headlines varied wildly depending on bias, region, and intent.
Some called it controversy.
Some called it bravery.
Some called it chaos.
But no one ignored it.
By the time Monday arrived, the initial shock had dulled just enough to settle into something heavier, simmering conversation, persistent speculation, and an uncomfortable spotlight that refused to blink.
Sandro knew all of that before his feet even touched the ground in North Carolina.
The Nexum Core jet descended smoothly, private, quiet, insulated from the noise of the world below. Inside, the atmosphere was calm in a way that almost felt defiant.
AJ sat with her legs folded beneath her, earbuds in but not playing anything, simply staring out the window. Nikki flipped idly through her phone, expression unreadable, more composed than most people would expect. Alexa rested her head against Sandro's shoulder, scrolling through messages but no longer reacting to every notification.
They had talked already.
They had argued, laughed, reassured each other, and planned.
There was nothing left unsaid.
The jet touched down in Greensboro, and within minutes they were in the SUV, tinted windows shielding them from the outside world for just a little while longer.
That illusion shattered the moment they turned into the arena lot.
Reporters were everywhere.
Not just wrestling media. Mainstream press. Entertainment journalists. Paparazzi. Cameras on shoulders. Microphones already raised. People shouting names before the car had even stopped.
Sandro watched it all through the glass and smiled faintly.
Not cocky.
Not dismissive.
Just steady.
He turned to the girls. "It's going to be okay," he said calmly. "You don't have to say anything. At all. I'll handle the ones that won't let it go or push the three of you."
AJ nodded immediately. Nikki squeezed his hand once. Alexa met his eyes and smiled, sharp and confident. They understood.
The SUV door opened.
Sandro stepped out first.
Instantly, the noise doubled.
"SANDRO! LOOK OVER HERE!"
"IS IT TRUE?"
"HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?"
"DOES WWE APPROVE OF THIS?"
"ARE YOU AFRAID OF ANY BACKLASH?"
"IS THIS A PUBLICITY STUNT?"
Flashbulbs popped relentlessly. Questions overlapped until they became noise rather than language.
The driver stepped out next, positioning himself slightly behind Sandro but alert, eyes scanning, ready to intervene if needed.
Sandro turned back and opened the rear door himself.
One by one, the girls stepped out.
AJ first, face calm, chin lifted. Nikki followed, sunglasses on, posture relaxed. Alexa last, hand immediately finding Sandro's.
They didn't rush.
They didn't hide.
They stood together.
That alone sent another ripple through the crowd.
Reporters surged closer.
Sandro raised one hand, not aggressive, not dismissive, just enough to signal control.
"I'll answer," he said clearly. "But one at a time."
A reporter pushed forward. "Sandro, are you confirming the relationship?"
"Yes," he replied instantly. "We are together. Just like I have confirmed on Twitter yesterday."
Another voice shouted, "Is this a polyamorous relationship?"
"Yes," Sandro said again. "Like what I have said before in my twitter post, It's consensual and private."
Someone else jumped in. "How does WWE feel about this?"
"That's between me and my employer," he answered calmly. "And not for public speculation."
A paparazzo tried to shove a camera closer. "Do you regret—"
Sandro cut him off, tone still even but firmer now. "No."
Another reporter pressed, "Some fans say this sets a bad example—"
Sandro turned to face her directly. "For who?"
She faltered.
He continued, precise. "We haven't broken any laws. We haven't hurt anyone. What has happened is a clear breach of privacy. Any false reporting, misleading headlines, or fabricated narratives will be addressed legally."
That sentence did what it was supposed to do.
The more aggressive voices quieted.
Those looking for soundbites realized there wasn't one to twist.
WWE security arrived moments later, forming a barrier and opening a clean path to the backstage entrance.
As they moved, questions still flew, but Sandro no longer responded. He didn't need to.
They walked together, hands linked, heads high.
Inside the arena, the air shifted.
It wasn't loud like outside, but it was heavier.
Eyes followed them everywhere.
Crew members paused mid conversation. Producers glanced up from clipboards. Makeup artists leaned subtly out of doorways. Wrestlers who had arrived early stood quietly, watching, curiosity and speculation written plainly on their faces.
No one said anything.
Not yet.
Sandro led them forward, his destination clear.
Vince's office.
Halfway there, Stephanie McMahon appeared, clearly already aware of their arrival. She studied the four of them for a brief moment, her expression carefully neutral, then cleared her throat.
"Come with me," she said. "Dad's ready."
Triple H stood just behind her, arms crossed, gaze unreadable but not hostile. More analytical than anything.
They followed Stephanie down the hallway.
The walk felt longer than it actually was.
When they reached the office, Stephanie knocked once, then opened the door.
Inside, the room was full.
Vince McMahon sat at the head of the table, hands clasped, expression tight. Paul Heyman leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp, already studying Sandro like a chessboard. Michael Hayes lounged nearby, arms folded. John Laurinaitis stood stiffly to one side. Bruce Prichard, Pat Patterson, Arn Anderson, and Kevin Dunn, Vince's core circle, were all there.
This wasn't a casual meeting.
This was damage control.
All eyes turned toward the door.
Vince's jaw tightened slightly when he saw not just Sandro, but all three women with him as well. "Come in," Vince said, voice clipped. "All of you." they did, closing the door behind them, and the room fell silent.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championships History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA X Division Champion, 1x WWE United States Champion, & 1x WWE Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner, 1x Mr. Money In The Bank, Youngest WWE Champion, & PWI Top 500 (No.1)
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0