The Exile's Wrath

CHAPTER 3: The Wedding Gift

Julian Sterling gripped the podium so hard the wood creaked. Fear, cold and foreign, trickled down his spine. 

Master Hao was invincible. He had seen Hao kill men in underground rings. And this stranger had just swatted him like a fly.

"Who are you?" Julian demanded, his voice cracking slightly.

Beside him, Elena gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. She was staring at John’s face, specifically, at the scar through his eyebrow.

"John?" she whispered.

The microphone picked it up.

Julian whipped his head around to look at her. "You know this trash?"

Elena was trembling. Tears welled in her eyes. "It’s... it’s John Vance. The boy from the orphanage. Everyone said he died."

"Vance?" Julian’s eyes widened. He looked back at the man in the black suit. The memory clicked. The scrawny kid who tried to bite him fifteen years ago. The one he ordered his men to beat half to death.

"You," Julian laughed. It was a nervous, manic laugh. " The gutter rat! You survived? What, did you come back to beg for money? Did you rob a bank to buy that suit?"

Julian regained his confidence. This was just a slum kid. Maybe he learned some fighting tricks, but he was still nobody.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Julian announced, spreading his arms. "Look at this! A ghost from the past. A charity case my family tried to help years ago. I guess he’s upset we stopped the handouts."

The crowd chuckled nervously, taking their cue from the host.

John didn't react to the insults. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote for the projector screen behind the stage. He must have swiped it from the technician’s booth on his way in.

"I brought a presentation," John said.

He clicked the button.

The massive screen behind Julian, which was displaying a photo of the happy couple, flickered.

An image appeared.

It was a document. A land deed. The deed to Sanctuary House.

"Fifteen years ago," John said, his voice cutting through the laughter. "You claimed the orphanage was condemned. You said you had a court order to demolish it. But this..."

He clicked the button again. The image zoomed in on the signature at the bottom.

It was forged.

"This is the original deed," John said. "It proves Martha owned the land. You didn't buy it, Julian. You stole it. And when she wouldn't leave, you killed her."

The crowd murmured. This was a scandal. The Sterlings were ruthless, everyone knew that, but murder?

"Turn it off!" Julian shrieked. "Cut the power!"

"I'm not done," John said.

He clicked the button again.

A video started playing. It was grainy, security footage from a nearby street camera, dated fifteen years ago. It showed a rainy night. It showed Julian Sterling, young and drunk, pointing at an old woman. It showed his men beating her with batons while Julian laughed and urinated on the gate.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Elena turned to Julian, horror on her face. "You told me... you told me it was an accident. You said the wall collapsed on her."

Julian was pale. "It's fake! Deepfake! AI! Someone get this man out of here!"

"It’s real," John said. "I spent five years decrypting the police archives you paid to bury."

John walked toward the stage. He moved slowly, counting the steps.

"You took my home," John said. Step.

"You took my mother." Step.

"You took my sister." Step.

He stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the stage.

"And now," John looked at Elena. "You’re taking her?"

Julian pulled a silver handgun from his waistband. It was a show piece, engraved, but it was loaded. He pointed it at John’s chest.

"Take one more step and I’ll finish what I started fifteen years ago!" Julian screamed.

The crowd screamed and dove under tables.

John looked at the gun barrel. He smiled. It was a cold, terrifying smile.

"Do it," John whispered. "Pull the trigger. Give me a reason."

Julian’s finger shook on the trigger. He wanted to shoot. He needed to shoot. But the aura coming off John was suffocating. It felt like gravity had increased tenfold.

"Put the gun down, Julian."

The voice came from the VIP balcony. It was deep, calm, and commanded absolute authority.

Everyone looked up.

Standing on the balcony was an older man with silver hair and a suit that cost more than the building. He held a cane topped with a ruby. Beside him stood a mountain of a man, bald, tattooed, with arms the size of tree trunks.

It was Victor Sterling, the Patriarch. And his personal executioner, Silas "The Butcher" Graves.

"Father!" Julian lowered the gun slightly. "This lunatic, he’s ruining everything!"

Victor descended the grand staircase slowly. The Butcher followed, his heavy boots thudding ominously.

"Put the toy away, boy," Victor said. "You’re embarrassing the family."

Julian holstered the gun, face burning with shame.

Victor walked until he stood face to face with John. The old man wasn't physically imposing, but his eyes were sharp as daggers.

"John Vance," Victor mused. "The rat that got away. I should have known. Rats always come back to the nest."

"Victor," John acknowledged. "You look old. The guilt must be aging you."

Victor chuckled dryly. "Guilt is for the poor. I did what was necessary for progress. That slum was a sore. I turned it into a paradise."

He gestured to Silas.

"Mr. Vance seems to think he’s a fighter because he beat up some security guards and a washed-up martial artist," Victor said. "Silas, would you be so kind as to show him what real violence looks like?"

Silas grinned. His teeth were filed into points. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots.

"With pleasure, Mr. Sterling."

Silas stepped forward. He ripped off his tuxedo jacket, revealing arms covered in scars. He was a monster. A former special forces operative who had been court-martialed for excessive cruelty.

"I’m going to peel you like an orange," Silas growled.

John didn't take a fighting stance. He just stood there, hands in his pockets.

"Drax," John said into the air.

CRASH.

The skylight above the ballroom shattered.

A figure dropped from the ceiling, rappelling down a rope with lightning speed. It was Drax. He landed between John and Silas, the marble floor cracking under his impact.

Drax stood up, dusting glass off his shoulders. He was almost as big as Silas, but where Silas was wild muscle, Drax was refined steel.

"You don't get to touch the Commander," Drax said, his voice low.

Silas laughed. "A sidekick? Cute."

Silas charged. He threw a punch that would have decapitated a normal man. Drax caught it.

BOOM.

The impact created a shockwave that knocked over nearby chairs.

Silas’s eyes widened. "What?"

Drax twisted his hips and delivered a kick to Silas’s ribs. It was so fast it was barely visible. Silas grunted and skidded backward ten feet.

"Commander," Drax said, not looking back. "Please, retrieve Miss Rostova. I will handle the trash."

John nodded. He walked past the fight, past Victor Sterling, and up the stairs to the stage.

Julian backed away, terrified. "Stay back! Elena, call the police!"

Elena didn't move. She was staring at John with tears streaming down her face.

"You came back," she whispered.

"I promised," John said. He held out his hand. "Come with me."

Elena looked at John’s hand. Then she looked at Julian, the man her father forced her to marry to save their family business. The man who killed Martha.

She made her choice. She reached out.

"NO!" Julian screamed. He lunged, grabbing Elena’s wrist and twisting it violently. "You belong to me. I bought you!"

John stopped.

He looked at Julian’s hand on Elena’s wrist.

"Wrong choice," John said.