J Sterling The Perfect Game Novels & Stories

Someone who smiled at the thought of the chaos that was about to unfold. Sir Reginald Sterling. Calm, confident, untouchable… and quietly, terribly aware of every move. The game was beginning. And the pieces… were moving exactly where he wanted. And somewhere in the shadows, the next betrayal was waiting to strike.

In the center of the formation stood Sterling Northwood. At sixty-five, Sterling carried himself with the lean, predatory grace of a man who had never lost a war. His silver hair was swept back, his charcoal suit tailored to a razor's edge. He leaned slightly on a cane topped with a silver wolf’s head, his pale blue eyes fixed on the horizon where a single, sleek black jet was descending. "She’s early," Sterling murmured, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that sent a shiver through the junior aides standing behind him. "Punctuality is the first sign of a desperate woman."

He asked. I was taken aback. Sterly looked genuinely interested. For someone who looked indifferent to everything, his interest in my affairs warmed my heart. I pushed my phone to him. "It's this game. Stephen sent it to me last month but I had no idea it was so expensive." I explained. Sterly picked up the phone, and a frown settled on his face. He seemed cutely confused. "Do you like the game?" "I don't." I lied. Anyway, I had never liked things that were too expensive.

It arche‌d​ thro​ugh th‍e​ air. Sterling’s eyes lo‍ck​ed on‍t⁠o the di⁠amond. He reac​he‍d ou​t to c⁠atch it. Hi‍s greed made him focu⁠s o⁠n the shiny object, ign⁠oring every‌thing else. CR‌ACK. A gu‌nsho‌t echoed across the Navy Y​ard‌. But it⁠ di⁠dn't come from‍ Ste​r⁠ling's men.

He finally stated, his voice was void of any emotion. It took me a couple of seconds to fully register his words. "What?." Silver exclaimed looking terribly puzzled. "I am a Sterling." Johnny added awaiting my response. My tongue was suddenly tied. He was a Sterling... How? I smell trouble... I was about to say something in disbelief when a memory flashed before my eyes. A video in black and white played in front of my eyes, there were two men at the front of the camera, people were moving in the background carrying sacks, briefcases and even pure gold bars.

Victoria sits across from me with that broken, fierce look that has always made me want to fix the world for her. I should move. I should snap and bleed and tear the room apart. Instead, I breathe. Control is an art I learned young — it keeps people alive. Tonight it keeps her alive because I have to play their game. I have to buy time. I have to look like a man who folds so I can find a place to cut. Harry strolls in like a man who’s already cashed a check. He looks at me with that stupid, satisfied smile. “Where’s your phone, Sterling?”

It wasn’t hard to tell that apologies wasn't one of Justin's strong suits. “It’s alright man, I understand. My brother was a dickhead. But damn! You pack a mean punch.” Aiden said as he flexed his jaw. “Are you an MMA fighter or something?” He chuckled, before stretching an arm out to Justin. “Aiden Jameson,” he said, introducing himself. “Justin Mount,” Justin replied, taking Aiden’s hand in a quick handshake.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

I didn't ask for much—I just wanted Mom, Dad, and Simon to love me a bit more. But even in death, I got nothing. Now, the three of them were gathered around Laila's bed, anxiously waiting for her to wake. When her eyes finally fluttered open, Mom burst into tears of joy. "Sweetheart, you're finally awake. I was so worried…" "That's my daughter—brave and kind," Dad said, smiling proudly. "I'm so proud of you." Simon pulled out the lavish moonstone necklace and gently fastened it around Laila's neck. "Your favorite moonstone's been protecting you this whole time. I hope it keeps bringing you good luck."

“But I thought we had more time. Thursday’s scrimmage was meant to decide if they’d go ahead with it or not. That’s what Coach said.” Caleb shrugged. “It seems your dad got impatient and changed his mind. I’m sorry, man.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Who is it, Caleb?" I asked, looking directly at my best friend. Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "That's the thing, Jax... it's my uncle, Marcus Sterling." The air seemed to vanish from the quad. Marcus Sterling was a legendary tactical hardliner known for using high-tech eye-tracking telemetry to evaluate players.