Alexander Sterling: The Bussines King's Rebirth

Chapter 5

Several days had passed since Alexander awoke in Kyle's body. And throughout that time, he remained confined to the house, trapped between four squalid walls that now constituted his home. His body was still too frail for much activity. Occasionally, violent tremors seized him without warning, the lingering aftermath of the addiction still clawing at this system. He would shiver, break out in cold sweats, and feel an overwhelming craving for just one more dose. But every time the urge surfaced, he clenched his fists and endured it.

Alexander was a man of immense dignity. He was determined not to become Kyle.

At first, Isabella and Lily remained deeply cautious. But as the days passed, the man before them kept exhibiting behaviors Kyle had never once shown.

Alexander washed the dishes, something Kyle would never have stooped to do. He tidied the house, swept the floors, and even attempted to patch the leaky roof with scrap sheet metal he found out back. He spoke gently to Isabella and Lily, always thanking them for every small kindness.

Slowly, the fear in Isabella's eyes began to fade. Lily even started to dare sitting at the same table as Alexander, though she still kept her distance.

But what shocked Isabella most was when Alexander refused the money she offered him.

"I've saved a little from my sewing," Isabella said that morning, holding out a few crumpled bills. "Buy yourself that beef rib soup you like from the restaurant—"

"Save it. You and Lily need it far more than I do." Alexander cut her off immediately. He remembered how Kyle had always indulged himself while his wife and child went without, and the sickening part was that he'd done it using Isabella's hard-earned money.

Alexander would never stoop to such shamelessness.

Isabella fell silent. For five years, Kyle had always taken her money, leaving her with nothing, not even enough for food. Yet now, Kyle was refusing it outright.

"You... you don't want it?" she asked hesitantly.

"How could I eat well alone when you're the one working so hard? I should be the one earning money so you and Lily can eat properly," Alexander replied.

Isabella could only stare at the man before her, a swirl of unnameable emotions rising in her chest. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at her lips. After days of doubt, she was beginning to believe that Kyle had genuinely, truly changed.

That day, Alexander decided to venture outside. Not to earn money yet, at least, not immediately, but to observe his surroundings and look for opportunities.

For the first time since waking up in this body, he took a clear look at his environment. Their rented shack sat in a narrow, filthy alleyway. Row after row of plywood shanties with rusted tin roofs, clogged drainage ditches reeking of stagnant filth, and barefoot children darting between piles of garbage. A far cry from his luxury penthouse downtown, or the sprawling estate with its private pool.

This was Alexander's life now. From a penthouse to a hovel in a slum.

Alexander walked through the alley, past tiny stalls and street vendors. His gaunt frame and threadbare clothes made him blend right into the scenery, no one gave him a second glance. He was just another poor soul in this city.

Then he reached the city center.

On a corner, a giant television screen mounted on a building wall was broadcasting the midday news. Alexander barely paid it any mind until the anchor's voice caught his attention.

"...the remains of conglomerate Alexander Sterling were finally laid to rest today at the family cemetery. The plane crash that killed Sterling and the entire crew remains under investigation..."

Alexander froze.

He stared at the giant screen. There, his own face, a polished official portrait of Alexander Sterling in a crisp suit, wearing that confident smile, flashed across the display. Beneath it, bold letters read: "CONGLOMERATE ALEXANDER STERLING LAID TO REST TODAY."

Alexander watched the coverage with an eerie, surreal detachment, like watching a movie about someone else, except the person on screen was him. A lavish, gold-trimmed casket. Hundreds of wreaths. Prominent officials and businessmen in attendance, their faces somber behind dark sunglasses. And at the front, a beautiful woman in a black dress sat in a chair, her head bowed.

Victoria.

Alexander felt his chest tighten.

Victoria Hamilton. His fiancée. The woman he was supposed to marry in just a few days. Now dressed in mourning, burying their wedding dreams alongside Alexander's corpse.

Is she crying? he wondered. How much grief is she carrying right now?

Alexander clenched his fists. It all felt real now, the undeniable truth that he was dead. Alexander Sterling, the business tycoon, was no more. All that remained was Kyle, a frail, worthless man who had been nothing but useless garbage.

Moments passed. The giant screen shifted to other news, but Alexander remained rooted to the spot. Until, finally, a procession of cars rolled by.

Black sedans crept along at a funeral pace, wreaths strapped to their roofs and mourning stickers on their windows. A funeral cortege. The very same procession that had carried his own casket to its final resting place.

Alexander stared at the convoy with emotions he couldn't begin to name. This was his own funeral, and he was watching it from the curb as a total stranger, as a man from the slums named Kyle Morrison.

The lead car crawled forward at a somber speed. Then, the window rolled down. Alexander saw a face he knew all too well.

Victoria.

Her face was pale, her eyes slightly swollen, evidence of many tears shed. But her expression remained composed, like the noblewoman she was, trained to conceal her feelings in public. She still wore that long black dress, a sheer veil resting over her hair.

In her hands, she held a stack of cash.

With graceful movements, Victoria began distributing money to the people on the sidewalk, mostly homeless vagrants and beggars sprawled along the curb. One by one, she handed out bills with a faint, melancholic smile.

"Please pray for Alexander," she said to each person she gave money to. "That he may find a good place and rest in peace."

Alexander heard every word. They pierced his chest like daggers. He stared at the woman, a strange ache blooming in his heart, a mixture of sorrow and bitter irony.

And then, the car crept closer to him. Victoria turned her gaze toward him, toward this gaunt, grimy, tattered man who now housed his soul.

Gently, she extended her hand and offered a few bills to Alexander.

"This is for you, sir," she said politely, her voice soft yet laced with grief. "Please pray for Alexander Sterling. That he may find a good place beside the Lord."

Alexander could only stand there, paralyzed.

He stared at the money in his hand, money given to him by his own fiancée. The woman who was supposed to be his wife now regarded him as an anonymous beggar. His hand trembled as he accepted it. Not from withdrawal tremors, but from sheer, overwhelming emotion.

"Thank you," he replied, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Victoria offered a faint smile, then withdrew her hand back into the car. The window rolled up slowly, and the procession moved on.

Alexander stood at the roadside, watching the convoy recede into the distance. In his hand, he clutched the money Victoria had given him, money meant to pay for prayers for his own death.

That money felt like a final verdict, a stark confirmation that he truly had to live as Kyle Morrison now.