The Rivals

PART 1

​The warehouse was a tomb of rusted steel and forgotten industry, located far enough from the city center that screams were merely lost echoes in the wind.

Inside, the air was stagnant, thick with the suffocating scent of damp concrete and the metallic tang of fresh copper.

On the floor, the man was a pathetic silhouette a mess of shallow breaths and involuntary tremors. His fingernails, broken and caked with filth, clawed uselessly at the grit of the floor as if trying to burrow into the earth itself.

​"Ah... please... don't hit me again... Pl... please..."

The plea was a ragged whisper, a sound born of pure, unadulterated terror. But in this room, mercy was a currency that had no value.

"ZANE VICTOR BENNETT " watched with a detached coldness . He didn't see a human being on the floor; he saw a leak that needed to be plugged.

​The iron rod came crashing down once more. A dull, sickening thud echoed through the high rafters, followed by the sharp crack of a rib giving way.

​"Enough."

​Zane's voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a vibrating authority that cut through the victim's whimpering like a razor through silk.

At the word, Martin stepped back instantly. There was no hesitation; Zane's word was law. Martin gripped the rod firmly, his knuckles white, standing ready like a gargoyle in the shadows.

​Zane began to walk toward the broken figure. Each step was deliberate, the rhythmic click of his polished shoes on the concrete sounding like a ticking clock counting down the seconds of the man's life. Zane didn't look angry; he looked bored.

​"I know you're not the brains behind this,"

Zane said, his voice as smooth as aged bourbon.

"A man like you doesn't have the spine for a heist of this scale. I want the one really pulling the strings."

He reached the man and knelt. Despite the filth, Zane's expensive trousers never touched the grime. He brought his face inches from the man, forcing him to stare into the abyss of his obsidian eyes.

​"Just one name," Zane whispered.

"Say it now, and I'll end this quickly. A single bullet. No more rod, no more Martin. But if you stay silent... I promise you, every second from now on will feel like a thousand years in hell."

​"I..I didn't know..." the man wheezed, a bubble of blood forming at the corner of his mouth.

"They said they'd pay me... I had no choice..."

​"Say that fucking name already."

​The sharp, metallic click-clack of Zane reloading his custom sidearm shattered the silence.

​"Zane, haven't you finished yet? "

​The voice drifted in from the shadows near the entrance. Zane didn't flinch. He stood to his full, imposing height, his shadow swallowing the man on the floor. He didn't even need to look back to know it was Adam.

​"So, you don't intend to talk?" Zane asked the victim.

"Alright. Martin..."

Zane signaled his assistant

​"No! I'll talk! I'll say everything!" the man shrieked. The realization that Zane was walking away, leaving him to Martin's rod, shattered his final resolve.

"The one behind all of this is....."

​The man gasped a name.

​💥 BANG.

​The flash of the muzzle lit up the warehouse for a fraction of a second. Zane had pulled the trigger the moment the name left the man's lips. He didn't wait for a reaction or a plea.

​"You done? Can we leave now?"

ADAM DAVID SAMUEL (His friend) asked, leaning against a rusted pillar. He hadn't flinched at the sound of the execution. As Zane's closest confidant, he had seen this movie a hundred times.

​Zane wiped a stray drop of blood from his cheek with a silk handkerchief, then signaled to Martin. "Dispose of the body. Make sure he's never found."

​Turning to Adam, Zane's gaze sharpened. "Why are you even here? Don't you have college today?"

​"Oh, please. You think I came just to witness your personal horror movie?" Adam rolled his eyes, pushing off the pillar. "It's your father Mr. Victor Bennett who sent me. He was quite insistent."

​Zane paused, his brow furrowing. "Dad? What for?"

​"How would I know? I was in the middle of a teaching when your father drops an order on me like I'm his personal courier. 'Bring Zane to the Venus Hotel. Sharp. 12:30.' That's all I got."

​"Venus? Why there?"

​"Ask him yourself," Adam shrugged. "But since it came straight from the MD himself , I didn't even bother asking for leave from the Principal. I came straight here."

​Zane looked at the cooling corpse on the floor, then back at Adam. Usually, meetings with His father Victor were held in the fortified offices of the Bennett estate. A public hotel felt... different. "Maybe it's a business meeting."

​"Alright, Sherlock. Don't let your brain overheat," Adam teased, though his eyes mirrored Zane's suspicion.

"You'll know when we get there. Let's go."

​Adam sighed, and led Zane the way to the black SUV waiting outside.

📌

​"NONSENSE!"

​The roar cut through the executive floor of the Elizabeth Groups like a whip. A heavy leather file flew across the room, hitting the mahogany wall with a loud thud before fluttering to the carpet. The administrative staff outside the glass doors jumped, staring at their feet.

​"Is this how you submit a report? Seriously?"

​RYAN BENJAMIN PHILIP stood behind his desk, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. His suit was impeccable, his hair perfectly coiffed, but his eyes were storms of fury.

​"I haven't even finished reading the first page, and it's already filled with amateur mistakes,"

Ryan continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low hiss. "Do you even understand the value of this project? Or are you just an idiot?"

​"U-Um... sir... EMMA (His PA) was on leave, so we had to..."

​"So what?" Ryan snapped, leaning over the desk.

"Are you telling me this entire company shuts down because one person takes a day off? If that's the case, why am I paying the rest of you? Might as well hire just her and fire the lot of you!"

​"I'm... I'm sorry, sir."

​"Just. Get. Out."

​Ryan watched the staffer scramble to pick up the file and flee. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache brewing.

He prided himself on perfection; in the world of high-end real estate and corporate empires, a single decimal point could cost millions. He missed his top assistant; she was the only one who could keep up with his relentless pace.

His private phone buzzed on the desk. He didn't even need to look at the ID to know who it was.

​"Hello? Pappa?" Ryan answered, his voice instantly shifting from a roar to a respectful, albeit guarded, tone.

"Yes? Is everything okay?"

Ryan listened, his expression shifting from frustration to confusion.

"Venus Hotel? A client meeting?"

He paused, listening to the stern voice of Benjamin Edwards Philip(His father)on the other end.

"I understand. I'll let Livvy know I'm stepping out for the afternoon. I'll be there."

​Ryan ended the call, his mind still half-stuck on the ruined report. His father rarely called him away from the office during peak hours for a "client meeting" without providing a brief.

He grabbed his coat, checking his reflection in the glass window. The Philip name was built on elegance and strategy. As he headed toward the elevator, a strange feeling settled in his gut the same feeling a soldier gets right before an ambush.

Two empires. One hotel. And a meeting that neither heir was prepared for.

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To be continued 🤍