Ethan folded to his knees a breath later, forehead in his hands, the kind of defeat that eats the edges of men who thought money could keep them safe.

Xavier let the silence sit a beat longer than anyone else. He crouched, one hand hovering near where Maximillian's throat had been, not to touch but to mark the end. He didn't savor the moment in a way that would make him soft later. He held it like a receipt: the cost paid, the balance zero.

Ethan was still frozen in place, staring at where Maximillian's body was like it hadn't really died. Like it could still get up and fix everything. The illusion cracked when Xavier walked past him without care, and took out a case from his jacket.

He turned to Viola and handed it to her without a word. She understood, taking it gently and slipping it behind her back. Ethan's eyes followed the motion, and when the pieces clicked, something snapped in him.

"You…" His voice shredded halfway through the word. "You were with him?"

Viola didn't bother replying. Her face stayed cold, unbothered.

Ethan's expression twisted — rage, betrayal, all the spoiled pride of a man who'd just realized he wasn't the smartest in the room. He lunged at her, face red, teeth clenched. But before his hand could even reach her, Xavier stepped in, and his fist met Ethan's jaw with a solid, echoing thud.

Ethan stumbled back into the wall, cracking the plaster. "You—son of a bitch!" he spat, clutching his face. He kicked off the wall and charged again.

The two collided in the middle of the room. No form, no grace — just raw violence. Ethan swung wide and wild, fueled by anger, while Xavier moved sharper, heavier, landing each punch like a statement. They crashed into construction tools, broke glass, shoved each other through the materials. Ethan slammed Xavier against the wall and tried to choke him, but Xavier headbutted him hard enough to make his vision flash white.

Viola stood to the side, silent, her expression unreadable — watching two devils fight over a throne that didn't exist anymore.

Ethan stumbled back, blood leaking from his nose, eyes blazing. "You think this changes anything? You think—"

Xavier cut him off with a brutal right hook that dropped him to his knees. He grabbed Ethan by the collar, forcing him up just to knock him down again. The hits weren't clean — they were personal, messy, and ugly. A lifetime's worth of rage poured out through every blow.

And then Xavier started laughing. It wasn't mockery — it was a raw, cracked laugh that came from somewhere deep, like a man finally tasting the end of his own nightmare.

Ethan spat blood and glared up at him. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

"You," Xavier said, breath steady now. "You're so damn angry. Why?" He kicked Ethan in the chest, sending him rolling onto his back. "Because I played you. Every single step."

Ethan roared, lunging again, but Xavier sidestepped and slammed his knee into Ethan's ribs. He fell, gasping, cursing, crawling for air that wouldn't come.

Xavier pulled something from his coat — a card, sleek and metallic, engraved with a symbol Ethan knew too well. He flicked it toward him, and it clattered on the floor beside his hand.

Ethan blinked, then froze. "No… that—"

"Yeah," Xavier said, smirking faintly. "Recognize it?"

Ethan's eyes widened, panic creeping in. "That's… that's—"

"The ownership card for the stake in Red Family," Xavier finished. "I am the true owner of the Lumen Industries. My company. You sold Sterling Corporation to Lumen—and I am Lumen." He crouched down, meeting Ethan's wild stare with calm, brutal satisfaction. "You didn't just lose your company, Ethan. You handed it to me, gift-wrapped."

Ethan's breathing turned shaky, his pride bleeding out faster than the cut on his lip.

"Oh, and the hundred billion you wired to Viola?" Xavier tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Came right back to me. So technically, I got Sterling for free. And the mercenary you hired to kill me?" He nodded toward Viola. "Also mine. That was me playing you."

Ethan stared at him, speechless, his face twisted in disbelief and hatred, his mind trying to claw out from the wreckage of his own downfall.

Xavier straightened up and looked down at him like he was looking at a bug he'd finally pinned to a board. "Guess I should thank you, though," he said quietly. "You made it all too easy."

Ethan's shoulders sagged the way a man folds when the rug's been yanked out from under him. He spat out words like claws, scrambling for purchase. "What do you want?" he barked, voice thin. "You going too far, Xavier. This—this is crazy. We— we only bullied you. You didn't have to kill my father, or Max, or Leonardo. We could've fixed it. Talked. Paid. Negotiated. You're no better than us. You're—"

Every barb landed like applause. Xavier listened like a man collecting dues. Ethan's insults were the currency he'd been waiting for, cheap trophies handed up by someone who thought being loud would save him.

"Stop," Ethan croaked, when words ran out and fear took over the shape of his voice. "Just stop. You can't go further than this. This has to end."

Xavier smiled—small, tired, and mean. "Oh, I've just started." He let the sentence hang like a promise. "There's a list. I'll finish it."

Ethan swallowed, eyes darting, hunting for anything he could trade for air. "What do you want to let me go?" he begged, voice scraping. "Money. Power. Name it—"

"Nothing," Xavier said, simple. "You'll get nothing. You already gave me more than you know."

He paced a slow half-step and pretended to mull it over, fingers closing around wounds he'd carried quietly. The act was tidy, theatrical. Then he stopped, looked down at Ethan like a man reading the last line of a bad book, and said, "I'll think about letting you walk if you tell me where Lucas is."

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