The unstoppable vengeance of Micheal Krux.

26; after the slap

Chapter 26; After the Slap

Gabriel Luxter POV

The silence did not end when the announcement was made; instead, it stretched and settled into the room like something heavy that refused to lift.

I stood there, feeling every pair of eyes shift between Michael and me, between certainty and disbelief, between what they had known and what had just been revealed. The weight of it pressed against my chest, not because I did not understand what had happened, but because I understood it too well.

This was not a coincidence.

This was a calculated strike.

“Impossible,” I said finally, my voice steady even as my mind worked rapidly to dismantle what I had just heard. “Michael Krux is dead, and no document changes that.”

The media representative still held the paper, his hands slightly tense as if unsure whether to keep reading or step away entirely. Around us, the murmurs had grown louder, no longer whispers but open conversations that carried disbelief, curiosity, and something more dangerous interest.

Michael did not raise his voice, yet when he spoke, the room quieted again as though pulled into his control.

“You’ve been working with assumptions,” he said, his tone calm but precise. “I’ve been working with facts.”

The difference in those words landed harder than anything else.

I stepped forward, closing the space between us, refusing to let him dictate the pace of this moment.

“If this is some kind of staged claim, it will collapse the moment it is verified,” I said, holding his gaze firmly. “You don’t walk into a room like this and rewrite reality without consequences.”

For the first time, a faint shift touched his expression, not uncertainty, not hesitation, but something closer to acknowledgment, as if he had expected that response and already accounted for it.

“Verification is already in motion,” he replied.

That single sentence carried more confidence than any explanation could.

I felt it then, the subtle but undeniable shift in the room as people began checking their phones, their expressions changing in real time as information spread faster than any of us could contain it.

One of the investors stepped back slightly, his attention fixed on his screen.

“It’s trending,” he said under his breath. “The records are updating… this is..”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

I turned slightly, scanning the room, watching the reactions unfold one by one as the truth—or at least the version of it Michael had presented—began to solidify in the minds of everyone present.

And just like that, the narrative was no longer mine to control.

---

“Gabriel,” Layla said quietly beside me.

I turned to her, searching her expression for something steady, something that could anchor this moment, but what I saw instead was something I had not expected.

Not shock.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

“You knew,” I said, my voice lower now, sharper.

She hesitated, and that hesitation was all the answer I needed.

“How long?” I pressed.

“Not long,” she replied, her voice controlled but carrying a tension she could not fully hide. “I only just found out.”

“That he’s alive?” I asked.

“That he’s behind all of this,” she said.

The distinction mattered.

But it did not help.

My jaw tightened as I turned back toward Michael, who still stood there as though nothing in the room could touch him, as though every reaction unfolding around him was simply part of a plan he had already completed.

“You orchestrated this,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

No denial.

No deflection.

Just truth, delivered in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

“Why?” I asked.

The question came out sharper than I intended, not because I lacked control, but because I needed to understand the scale of what I was dealing with.

Michael’s gaze shifted briefly, not away, but past me, taking in the room, the people, the reactions, before returning to me with the same steady intensity.

“Because everything you built stands on something that was taken,” he said.

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.

“That’s a bold claim to make in public,” I replied. “Especially without proof.”

He held my gaze.

“You’ve had five years to hide it,” he said. “I’ve had five years to find it.”

The words settled into the room with a weight that no one could dismiss.

---

Around us, the atmosphere had changed completely.

The investors who had once stood firmly in alignment now kept their distance, their conversations quieter, more cautious, as if they were recalculating their positions in real time. The media, sensing the shift, moved closer, their attention no longer on the event itself but on the conflict unfolding at its center.

This was no longer a corporate gathering.

It was a turning point.

And everyone knew it.

---

“You should leave,” I said, my voice controlled again as I faced him directly. “If you think this moment gives you power, you’re mistaken.”

Michael did not move.

“Power doesn’t come from moments like this,” he replied. “It comes from what follows them.”

The confidence in his tone was not arrogance.

It was certainty.

And that made it dangerous.

He stepped slightly closer, not enough to invade space, but enough to make the shift intentional, enough to ensure that his next words would not be missed.

“This is where it starts to cost you,” he said quietly.

The statement was not loud, but it carried through me in a way that no public declaration could.

Because I understood exactly what he meant.

This was not the end of his move.

It was the beginning.

---

Layla Luxter POV

I could feel the room slipping further out of control, not in chaos, but in alignment with something new, something that had not existed before tonight.

Michael had not just revealed himself.

He had repositioned everything.

The investors were watching him now, not openly, not obviously, but with a level of attention that had shifted away from Gabriel. The media had already begun reframing the narrative, their questions forming even before the moment had fully settled.

And I stood between them, caught in the space where both sides expected something from me.

“Say something,” Gabriel said under his breath, his tone tight.

I turned to him slowly.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

“That this is false,” he replied immediately.

The answer came too quickly.

Too easily.

I held his gaze, searching for certainty, for something solid I could stand on, but all I found was pressure.

Not truth.

Just pressure.

I turned back to Michael.

He was watching me again, not with expectation, not with urgency, but with patience, as though he already knew what I would do before I did it.

And that—

That unsettled me more than anything else.

Because for the first time since this started—

I wasn’t sure which side I was standing on.

---

The cameras flashed again.

The murmurs rose.

The room shifted further.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, one thing became painfully clear.

This was not just a confrontation.

It was a takeover.

Not of a company.

But of control itself.

And Michael Krux had just made sure everyone knew it.