Chapter 182: Meeting Alexander Sterling
Alexander sat at the far end of the long table, wrists cuffed in sleek grav-binders that glowed faintly blue, a mockery of comfort disguised as restraint. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days—hair disheveled, eyes hollow but burning with pride that refused to die. The "VIP" treatment was still obvious, though: no rags, no filth. A pressed suit, a cushioned chair, even a glass of water waiting at his elbow.
When their eyes met, the tension hit like a fist.
"Xavier," Alexander muttered, his voice dry, venom-laced. He leaned forward slightly, chains humming as they tightened against the motion. "This is our first time meeting face to face even though we already have a history. What a world we live in."
Xavier smirked, sliding into the chair across from him like this was nothing more than a dinner date. He stretched out, casual, eyes locked on Alexander’s broken poise. "Indeed. What a world we live in. Strange, huh? Last time I was in this place, I was the one in chains. Now look at us." He gestured lazily toward Alexander’s glowing cuffs. "Tables turned so hard they spun right off the axis. You were invincible. No one could touch you. And you wouldn’t even glance at someone like me. But... here I am. You are looking at me like a dog who seeks its master once it’s been abandoned."
"Heh. I know you are trying to provoke me. But that won’t work, kid. I have met and handled people worse than you when you weren’t even in your father’s balls."
"Oh? So you are like a regular in the prison, huh?" Xavier remarked.
Alexander scoffed, trying to bury the crack in his voice. "This... this farce won’t last. The world knows my name, my power. You think some manufactured video, some staged spectacle, can erase everything I’ve built?"
"Erase?" Xavier tilted his head, grin widening. "No. Not erase. Replace. You’re watching it happen already. Your name’s being dragged through the mud while mine’s being sung like gospel. People don’t want truth, Alexander. They want a show. And me?" He tapped his chest, leaning forward just enough for his voice to cut sharper. "I put on the best show."
Alexander’s jaw clenched. For a flicker of a second, there was fear—real fear—in his eyes. But then he forced a smirk, brittle as glass. "Enjoy it while you can, boy. Because when the tide turns, and it will, I’ll still be standing. And you’ll be nothing but dust in the gutter."
Xavier leaned back, arms crossing, laughter spilling out low and amused. "Dust, huh? Then why do you sound like the one choking on it?"
The silence that followed was thick, every hum of the penitentiary echoing like a drumbeat between them.
Then, without looking away, Xavier called out over his shoulder, "Dominic. He looks comfortable. Should I loosen his cuffs, or is he fine like this?"
The question wasn’t really about the cuffs—it was about showing Alexander exactly who was pulling the strings.
Alexander’s eyes burned, veins pushing at his temple as he leaned forward, chains grinding against the grav-binders with a harsh metallic whine.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he hissed, spittle flecking the table between them. "You think you’ve won because the mob sings your name louder than mine? You’re a child playing with fire, village rat. Do you know how many of those same fools would cheer if I slit your throat right here?"
Xavier didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, that lazy grin never breaking. "Oh, I know. They’d cheer louder, actually. First for the kill. Then for the revenge. Then for the martyrdom. People are fickle like that." He drummed his fingers on the table, casual as a man at a cafe. "But the difference between you and me? I don’t need to cling to their cheers. I make them need me."
Alexander slammed his cuffed fists against the table, the sound cracking through the room like thunder. The grav-binders flared, tightening, locking him further down. His face twisted, teeth bared like an animal in a trap.
"You arrogant little bastard—do you know what I sacrificed? What I built? Do you know how small you are in the shadow of my empire?"
Xavier leaned forward now, just enough for his voice to slide like a blade into Alexander’s rage. "Do you know how pathetic you sound right now? Shouting about shadows... when the lights have already moved on?"
Alexander froze, trembling with a fury he couldn’t pour anywhere. His breath hitched, caught between rage and desperation, his eyes flicking as if searching for a single place where he still had leverage.
That was when the door hissed open.
Dominic stepped in, his presence heavy, voice clipped and commanding. "Enough."
The word cut the air like a blade.
He walked between them, placing a firm hand on Alexander’s shoulder, pressing him subtly back into his chair, the gesture both calming and suffocating. To Xavier, he gave nothing but a measured glance—a silent reminder to play his part, not burn the entire board too early.
"Mr. Sterling," Dominic said smoothly, as though the outburst hadn’t happened, "this isn’t the arena for chest-beating. Focus. There are steps in place. A plan. You will get your chance to breathe again. But right now..." his eyes narrowed just slightly, "you need to stop acting like a cornered animal and remember who you are."
Alexander’s breathing steadied, but the fire in his eyes didn’t die. He sat back slowly, muttering under his breath, though loud enough for both men to hear. "This isn’t over. Not by a long shot."
Xavier just chuckled, leaning back in his chair, eyes glittering like he’d heard exactly what he wanted.
Dominic didn’t waste another second. He straightened his coat, pulled the holo-slate from his inner pocket, and set it on the table between them with a deliberate click. His tone shifted from mediator to officer, crisp and official.
"Alright. Enough theatrics," he said, tapping the slate so it lit up with scrolling case files and time stamps. "We’re here to establish a statement of record. Mr. Xavier—" he cut a sharp look at Xavier, "—you will recount the events as you experienced them. Stick to what you saw, what you heard. No grandstanding. Clear?"
Xavier leaned back, arms folded, smirk curling at the edges. "Crystal clear."