By the time Elizabeth Chihaia stepped into a wrestling ring for the first time, she already knew two things about the world: one, beauty is a weapon; and two, most men don’t know how to handle it without bleeding.
That was 2012, Chicago, under blinking warehouse lights and in front of a half-drunk crowd that would’ve cheered a car crash. She went by Scarlett Bordeaux back then—platinum hair, blood-red lips, and a heel persona soaked in superficial charm and old Hollywood poison. She was like a jazz riff that kicks you in the ribs between bars.
She wasn’t trying to impress the boys. She was trying to scare the hell out of them.
Born of Smoke and Sibiu
Born May 13, 1991, in Edgewater, Chicago, with Romanian roots and the voice of a mezzo-soprano, Chihaia spent her early years under the care of her grandparents in Romania—a place where legends are whispered and vampires are folklore, not fashion.
By four, she was back in the States. Choir, theater, stage makeup—her early life was shaped by drama and performance, but not the cushy kind with curtain calls and reviews in the Tribune. This was the school of hard knocks with a musical theatre major from Columbia College Chicago as her only real safety net.
She could sing Puccini with precision, but what she really wanted was chaos. She wanted the wrestling ring—the last true American circus.
The Indie Circuit: Lace and Barbed Wire
She debuted in April 2012 and started breaking kneecaps in stilettos. A paradox in fishnets, she was part pin-up, part predator, and completely uninterested in playing nice. In AAW and CZW, she tangled with names like Joey Ryan and Shane Hollister, using sexuality not as submission—but as subversion.
At one point, a stipulation in AAW said that if Colt Cabana lost, Scarlett would belong to him for a week. She called it offscreen what it was: theater for dirtbags.
Later, she kayfabe quit AAW in protest—her character “tired of being objectified.” It wasn’t just storyline. It was rebellion wrapped in rhinestones.
She hosted Chikara’s “Throwdown Lowdown” in a role that made her less a wrestler and more a femme fatale cable access star. She wore the skin of a manager, a valet, a narrator, but all of it was camouflage. She was a fighter playing chess while the boys were still learning checkers.
OVW and ROH: Where Hoopla Met Hustle
In OVW, she clashed with Heidi Lovelace (now Ruby Soho) and Josette Bynum. She lost more than she won, but she learned. She was the kind of woman who could take a lariat in one segment and win a Halloween costume battle royal in the next.
Ring of Honor came next, and this was where the madness really bloomed. Paired with Truth Martini and Matt Taven, she became a Hoopla Hottie—essentially a distraction in heels, a role she turned into performance art.
She slapped Jay Lethal. He tore her top off. She stood topless in the ring—exposed but not embarrassed, because she knew the moment belonged to her, not him. She stole the scene without saying a word.
That’s power. That’s Scarlett.
She called it later one of her proudest moments—because it was the absurdity of wrestling at its rawest: sex, violence, chaos, and silence.
Smoke Show, Burned Bright
In 2018, she appeared in Impact Wrestling, calling herself “The Smoke Show.”
That wasn’t just a gimmick. That was a dare.
Scarlett Bordeaux was the antithesis of the Women’s Evolution—the anti-Bayley, the antithesis of empowerment posters and hashtags. She leaned into sensuality like it was a sledgehammer.
She had her own talk show. She played the femme fatale to a sleazy locker room. She looked like the fantasy, but carried herself like the threat.
In one segment, she beat Glenn Gilbertti (yes, Disco Inferno) in the ring. In another, she pinned Rohit Raju at Rebellion.
It wasn’t about five-star classics. It was about control.
Scarlett didn’t outwrestle you. She out-vibed you. She made wrestling sexy again, but in a way that felt dangerous, not submissive.
AAA: Mexico’s Flame Dancer
Lucha Libre AAA welcomed her with the usual pageantry. She teamed with Keyra and La Hiedra, danced through multi-woman madness, and challenged for the Reina de Reinas Championship. She didn’t win, but she didn’t fade, either.
In Mexico, she wasn’t just “the hot girl from the States.” She was something mythic—La Femme Fatale, armed with red lips and a spinning heel kick.
And when she paired with Sammy Guevara at Triplemanía, it was performance-meets-chaos. They didn’t win the tag belts, but they looked like the kind of couple that might rob a casino on the way to the next show.
WWE: The Silent Siren
Scarlett first appeared in WWE as a Rosebud—part of Adam Rose’s band of absurdity. That was 2014. You blinked and missed her.
In 2016, she reappeared in a squash match against Nia Jax. Again, blink and she’s gone.
But in 2020, she came back with a vengeance—and this time, she brought hell with her.
Valeting Karrion Kross, her real-life husband, Scarlett didn’t say a word. She just stood there—like a blade in heels, singing their entrance theme “Dead Silent” while Kross murdered people.
She was mystery incarnate, a whisper in a room full of screams. And for a while, they were the hottest act in NXT—main event energy bottled in black leather and smoke.
Then the pandemic hit. Budget cuts came. Scarlett and Kross were released.
It should’ve been the end. But not for her.
Return to the Fire
In 2022, she returned. Not with fireworks, but with menace. She and Kross attacked Drew McIntyre. The crowd erupted—not because they loved her, but because they remembered.
She started wrestling again—mixed tags, ghost story vignettes, Halloween Havoc hosting duties with Shotzi, and a weird cult stable called The Final Testament.
She fought Nikki Cross in a mixed tag. Managed in a Philly Street Fight at WrestleMania XL. Sang songs. Hosted ghost hunts. Wore black like it was armor and lace like it was chainmail.
And when The Final Testament disbanded in 2025, Scarlett and Kross remained. The fire flickered, but it didn’t die.
Beyond the Ring: Singing, Sorcery, and Smoke
Scarlett isn’t just a wrestler. She’s a mezzo-soprano who sang her own theme song. She’s performed with Shotzi and Harley Cameron in bizarre, sultry pop songs that sound like haunted cabaret.
She hosted Chamber of Horrors, a ghost-hunting show for WWE’s YouTube channel.
She cosplayed lust and terror. She made music videos that looked like the dreams of a bourbon-drunk film student.
She blurred the line between character and creator so well, even the fans stopped asking where Elizabeth ended and Scarlett began.
The Scarlett Effect
She may never win the big belt. She may never main event WrestleMania.
But Scarlett Bordeaux carved a lane in wrestling no one else dared touch.
She brought back the idea that femininity can be dangerous, that sexuality can be art, and that silence—when done right—is louder than any catchphrase.
She’s not your role model.
She’s your fever dream.
Scarlett Bordeaux is wrestling’s cigarette burn on a white wedding dress.
And she’s still smoldering.