Chapter 3
723 Words
Michael broke the man’s jaw with one punch, but it did nothing to quiet the storm boiling inside his chest.
The crowd around the dimly lit ring exploded into cheers and howls, money exchanging hands faster than blood spilling on the canvas. Sweat glistened on Michael’s shoulders, veins bulging as he paced like a caged animal, fists still clenched.
Another body down. Another win for "The Ghost." That’s what they called him in the underground. Quick. Brutal. Disappeared after each fight like he was never there.
But tonight, the win tasted like ash.
Juliet was dead.
Dead.
He kept replaying Olivia’s voice from hours ago, tight, afraid, full of reluctant fire. “She left a video. She knew she was being watched. She trusted me.”
She had trusted him once too. Not just with her life. With her heart.
A large man in a stained suit climbed through the ropes, slapping Michael’s back and lifting his arm high. “Champion of the night! Twenty grand to the Ghost!”
Michael didn’t react. His eyes scanned the crowd.
They were all there. Kingsley’s men. Alumni with dirty hands. Professors who bet on blood. Students who bought silence with s*x, power, or privilege. And in the shadows, a tall, lean figure leaning against a wall, his father.
Simeon.
Michael stepped out of the ring, not bothering with a towel or shirt. The crowd parted. Respect? Fear? He didn’t care anymore. He marched straight toward the man who had made him a weapon.
“You lied to me,” Michael said, chest heaving.
Simeon lit a cigar, face unreadable. “You’ll have to be more specific, son. I lie a lot.”
Michael stopped two feet away. “Juliet is dead.”
Simeon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t flinch. “And you think this concerns me?”
“She was exposing the university’s corruption. The same system you’ve been laundering money through for years. Kingsley. The council. The rigged elections. You know about all of it.”
“I also know she was reckless,” Simeon said coolly. “She made enemies.”
“She was my everything.”
Simeon flicked ash onto the concrete. “No, Michael. She was a phase. A distraction. One that nearly derailed your legacy.”
Michael lunged forward, grabbing his father by the collar. “Say her name again and I swear-”
In a blink, Simeon’s bodyguards stepped out from the shadows, guns half-raised. But Simeon raised a hand, calm.
“Don’t ever confuse love for weakness, boy. Juliet thought her truth could change the world. It got her killed. Don’t let her mistake become yours.”
Michael released him, chest rising and falling like a thunderstorm.
“I’m not you,” he spat.
Simeon smirked. “You’re more me than you’ll admit.”
*
Later that night, Michael stood alone in the locker room, the scent of sweat, rust, and bleach making him dizzy. He stared into the cracked mirror. Blood on his knuckles. Juliet’s laugh echoing in his memory.
She used to sit in the front row of every fight, red lips parted, screaming his name like a rebel queen.
“You fight like someone trying to break a cage,” she’d once whispered against his ear. “One day, you’ll stop fighting for survival and start fighting for something real.”
He never told her he already was.
Now she was gone. And all he had left was rage.
*
He walked out of the gym into the chilled night air. His phone buzzed, an encrypted message from an unknown contact. He opened it.
Image: Juliet at the university café two days before her death. Sitting across from Kingsley Obiora. Her expression tense.
Caption: “She wasn’t alone when she died.”
Michael’s fists tightened again.
There were more layers to this. More players. He wasn’t just dealing with student politics. This was a power web. A goddamn empire.
He messaged Olivia.
We need to talk. Tomorrow. Somewhere private.
She replied in seconds.
My chapel office. Noon. Come alone.
Michael stared into the night sky. Juliet had always said the stars reminded her of freedom. Of fate.
Tonight, they looked like eyes. Watching. Waiting.
He whispered into the darkness, as if Juliet could still hear him: “I’ll burn it all down for you.”
- Writer
