2025-06-16 15:12:44The fire crackled soft, low, like it was tired of pretending it still mattered. Alaric Winchester sat in the high-backed leather chair that had probably outlived three CEOs, a glass of something old and brown resting in his hand. The flames threw gold across his skin, made the lines around his eyes look deeper than they were. Or maybe they were always that deep, and people just didn’t stare long enough to notice.
Excel stood at the door.
Didn’t knock.
Didn’t move.
Just stood there like he was balancing everything in him on the edge of that silence.
Alaric didn’t look up. Just swirled the drink, slow, lazy.
"If you’re gonna speak," he said, "at least close the damn door first."
Excel stepped in. Shut the door. The click echoed too loud. His hand stayed on the knob a second too long.
He walked forward. Not fast. Not slow. Like he was walking into something that could bite.
"I saved your life," he said.
Alaric blinked.
"That so?"
"You know it is."
Alaric finally looked up.
Excel wasn’t smiling.
His jaw was tight. His eyes held something cold. Not like ice. Ice melts. This was deeper. Something that stayed. Something that refused to die when the rest of him did.
"You said I earned my seat," Excel said. "Now I want more."
Alaric took a sip. Didn’t blink.
"I want Titan Logistics."
The room went still. Even the fire forgot to crackle. Even the shadows on the wall paused like they were waiting to hear the old man's response.
Alaric leaned back, just a little.
"You want the graveyard."
"I want the truth buried in it."
Alaric laughed. Not big. Just once. Like a cough. Like something dry that came from a place too old for joy.
"Victor Hayworth won’t go down with a signature."
Excel stepped closer. His hand curled into a fist at his side.
"I’m not trying to bring him down with paper. I’m gonna burn his legacy from the bottom up. Contracts. Accounts. Loyalty. Everything he’s built on the back of men like me."
He said it like a vow. Like a storm that hadn't started but promised rain. His voice cracked once. Not from fear. From pressure.
Alaric studied him.
"You want to do it with the Winchester name behind you."
Excel nodded once.
"I need legitimacy. Access. A reason to walk into that place without getting shot."
Alaric looked away.
"And what happens if you fail?"
Excel swallowed. His throat was dry. His lips twitched.
"Then I fail under your name."
Alaric stood slowly. His knees cracked. He walked to the bar. Poured another glass. Didn’t offer Excel one.
"You know," he said, back still turned, "the world used to be simple. You bled for your name, or you died trying."
"Then let me bleed for it."
Alaric turned. He handed Excel the glass after all. The whiskey smelled expensive. Thick. Like history.
Excel didn’t drink it.
He held it like a deal being signed. Like the glass itself had weight.
Alaric sat again.
"You go to Titan, you don’t go as my heir. You don’t go as a Winchester. You go as a partner. A shadow deal. You get one shot. One."
Excel nodded. His lips were tight.
"That’s enough."
Alaric raised his glass.
"You’re not my son," he said.
Excel didn’t flinch.
"And I’m not your regret."
Alaric smirked. For the first time in a long while, it almost looked real.
Down the hall, Steve and Lucas stood in the smoking lounge. Neither of them smoked. They just didn’t want to be around their wives. The ashtray between them was empty. So were their eyes.
Alaric entered without knocking. The door slammed harder than necessary. It made both men jolt like boys in trouble.
Both men straightened.
"He asked for Titan," Alaric said.
Steve blinked. "What?"
"He wants to walk back into the place that killed him."
Lucas frowned. "And you said yes?"
Alaric poured a drink.
"I said if he fails, he does it without dragging our name through the mud."
Steve scoffed. "He will fail. That place eats men like him."
Alaric turned.
"And if he doesn’t?"
Silence.
"If he wins Titan," Alaric said, voice low, almost a whisper, "not one of you will have a seat left to fight over."
He left the glass untouched. Walked out like he hadn’t said anything at all.
The next morning, Excel stood in front of the mirror. The suit was charcoal. The tie was blood red. His hands shook a little when he buttoned the cuffs. But his eyes didn’t blink.
He stood straight. Adjusted the lapels. Looked at himself longer than he ever had before.
The boy who died was gone.
This man? This man was here to reclaim the place they thought they buried him in.
He walked out the front doors of the Winchester mansion with no escort. The wind slapped his face. He didn’t flinch.
A black car waited. Sleek. Silent.
Inside, a badge. Temporary clearance.
The logo: Titan Logistics.
The place where everything ended. The place where it would begin again.
When he stepped out of the car, the guards didn’t know what to do. One blinked. The other stepped forward, then hesitated. They looked at him like they half-remembered something.
Excel handed them the badge. Didn’t say a word.
The doors opened.
He walked through them like they were old wounds. Like he remembered exactly where the blood dried. His pace didn’t change. But his heartbeat tried to climb out of his chest.
The receptionist didn’t recognize him. That was good. She looked bored. Safe. Like she didn’t know this was a battlefield.
The elevator dinged.
He stepped inside. Alone.
The ride to the top felt slower than he remembered. Like time itself was holding its breath.
Victor's floor.
He fixed his tie in the reflection.
His lips didn’t move.
But inside?
Inside, he was smiling.
Because ghosts don’t knock. They come home.
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Latest Chapter
The Price Of A Life
The fire crackled soft, low, like it was tired of pretending it still mattered. Alaric Winchester sat in the high-backed leather chair that had probably outlived three CEOs, a glass of something old and brown resting in his hand. The flames threw gold across his skin, made the lines around his eyes look deeper than they were. Or maybe they were always that deep, and people just didn’t stare long enough to notice.Excel stood at the door.Didn’t knock.Didn’t move.Just stood there like he was balancing everything in him on the edge of that silence.Alaric didn’t look up. Just swirled the drink, slow, lazy."If you’re gonna speak," he said, "at least close the damn door first."Excel stepped in. Shut the door. The click echoed too loud. His hand stayed on the knob a second too long.He walked forward. Not fast. Not slow. Like he was walking into something that could bite."I saved your life," he said.Alaric blinked."That so?""You know it is."Alaric finally looked up.Excel wasn’t s
No Room At The Table
Sebastian couldn’t sleep. His pillow was soaked. Not with tears. With sweat. Cold, sick sweat that made his shirt cling to his back and his chest feel like it was folding in on itself. He stared at the ceiling like it owed him something. Like it might explain how everything had flipped so fast.He wasn’t just losing. He was drowning.That night after Excel exposed him, the whole house had shifted. Doors didn’t open as fast. Conversations stopped when he walked in. Even Steve didn’t speak to him in the hallway, just nodded once like he was some mailman. One of the guards at the back gate didn’t even salute. That had never happened. Not to him.He sat on the edge of his bed and cracked his knuckles, one by one, slow like bone was all he had left to control.Excel.That bastard. That ghost of a boy who couldn’t even talk right last year. The one who used to flinch when someone raised their voice. Now walking around like he owned the name. Like he was something more than a favor from Alar
Blood In Their Wine
He didn’t plan to destroy Sebastian that day. Not really. At least not in that exact hour. He only wanted to trace another thread, something tied to Victor. Something cold and undeniable. But that’s the thing about hunting shadows—sometimes you find the ones standing closest.Excel sat hunched over in the old music room, the one no one used since Anne died. It smelled like old perfume and dust and something else. Regret maybe. There were cracked picture frames stacked behind the piano. A broken wineglass in the corner. No one cleaned in here. Maybe they thought the dead were still watching.The papers were everywhere. Spread out in layers like a madman's map. He'd taken them from the archive wing, the locked cabinet Steve never checked. He thought about the elevator. The buzzes. The clue about the left hand. It had been days and it still gnawed at him. He tapped the corner of the folder against his thigh. His knee bounced. He didn’t even notice until his legs cramped.Victor Hayworth.
What Clues Had To Offer
Excel didn’t sleep that night. Not because he was afraid, not really. It was something else. Something like rage but quieter, thicker. Like oil in his blood. It moved through him in slow waves, kept him up even after the noise of the gala had died in his head. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, hands clenched like they were trying to squeeze something invisible.Victor Hayworth’s voice kept echoing in his skull. That smile, those words. "Died like a dog in a ditch."Excel’s jaw locked again. He had clenched it so long it ached now. His teeth felt like they’d fused. His fingers twitched. He could still feel the ghost of Victor's handshake. Still warm. Still smug. Still clean. So clean. Like nothing had ever bled beneath those nails. Like nothing ever touched him but silk and power and sin hidden behind legal papers.He stood up too fast and nearly tripped. His knees didn’t want to work right. The world tilted sideways and then settled. He paced. Back and forth. The carpet
Smoke, Suits And Ghosts
The suit didn’t feel like it fit. Not just the cloth, though it was tailored like armor and crisp like money. No, it was the weight of it. The smell. The clean cold feel of something that wasn’t earned by the hands wearing it. Excel adjusted the collar for the third time.“You keep doing that,” Alaric said beside him in the limo, “and you’ll look like a nervous intern.”Excel froze, then dropped his hands to his lap.“You invited me,” he said, not looking at the old man.“And I expect you not to embarrass me,” Alaric replied, sipping whiskey from a flask like it was water. “This isn’t family dinner. This is the war table.”The city outside rushed past. Glass towers like knives against the sky. Excel stared at his reflection in the tinted window. He still didn’t recognize the face looking back. But the fire inside it? That was starting to look familiar.“You’ll see everyone tonight,” Alaric continued. “CEOs, politicians, parasites in tuxedos. Eyes on you. So talk less. Watch more.”Exc
The New Target
The hall smelled like money and arrogance. The table was shorter this time, but the people around it weren’t any smaller. It was glass-topped, gold-rimmed, and surrounded by men and women who hadn’t had to ask for anything in years. Everyone wore suits like armor. The air felt expensive. Stiff. Hostile.Excel sat near the end. Not too close to Alaric, but close enough to make the others uncomfortable.Nobody said it out loud, but he felt it.They didn’t want him here.Steve Winchester tapped a pen against his folder like he owned the rhythm of the room. Sebastian slouched back, pretending to scroll his tablet, eyes darting toward Excel every few seconds. Elias whispered something to his assistant and chuckled.And Excel?He sat quietly.He didn’t speak. Not yet. He just watched. Listened. Waited.The numbers flew around — percentages, unit projections, capital shifts. They spoke fast. Over each other. Trying to out-smile, out-talk, out-shine. It wasn’t a meeting. It was a war without
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