==========
December 25th, 2025
Birmingham, England
Off Camera
==========

Clyde Sutter may appear to be a stoic, cold hearted, emotionless asshole on the outside; but to say that he doesn’t have feelings or that he doesn’t care about anyone is most definitely wrong. The Harbinger of Fate most definitely cares; he cares a great deal for his beloved Melinda Braddock. He would quite literally do anything she asked of him. He is almost as loyal to Melinda’s adopted sister Fiona Logan, but not quite. Only Melinda and Melinda alone holds the soul of The Assassin in the palm of her hand. Sutter is fiercely loyal to the sisters, to the duo known as The Vision. Therefore Sutter feels bad that they failed in their quest to become SCW World Tag Team Champions at Shattered Reality. Despite what many may think, The Harbinger of Fate is disappointed in himself; he is disappointed that he did not fulfill his promise to end Shaun Cruze’s return before it even got under way. Sutter may be a disciple of Fate, he may believe strongly in Fate, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the spotlight, winning gold, and earning money.

Still, Fate has told him to be patient and wait, that his time will come; and that time might very well be coming sooner than expected. Fatal Fortunes is next on the list and that event is the one event on the SCW calendar that Sutter likes more than anything else. Fatal Fortunes relies heavily on Fate. No one truly controls their destiny, Fate controls their destiny, and on these two nights no one can deny otherwise. The Assassin, being an ally of Fate and disciple of Fate, believes that this event will favor him over the others. Fate may very well use Fatal Fortunes to reward not only Clyde Sutter but The Vision as well for their fierce loyalty to the cause and for their belief.

He certainly hopes so, because things have not been well in The Vision camp lately. Sutter can feel the tension and it isn’t just from the losses at Shattered Reality. Fiona Logan is being stalked by her abusive former foster father. Sutter and beloved Melinda hated leaving Fiona behind in Miami with Todd Osbourne on the loose but they know she is safe in the care of Glory Braddock and Kurt Logan. Besides, Clyde has issues of his own to deal with; namely his sister, Lilith Sutter, issues that require his presence in England.

The house sat quietly along a narrow Birmingham street, one of many modest homes pressed shoulder to shoulder in a neat row, its brick exterior darkened slightly by years of rain and city air. There was nothing about it that demanded attention, and that was part of its charm. A small front window glowed softly from within, curtains drawn just enough to let the light spill onto the pavement outside. The evening was cool, carrying the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional echo of footsteps, reminders that the city was still awake even as this particular home retreated inward. Inside, the warmth was immediate. The living room was compact but comfortable, shaped by practicality rather than excess. The furniture did not match in any deliberate way, but everything felt chosen with care and kept with intention. A well worn sofa faced a simple television stand, and a low coffee table bore the quiet evidence of daily life. A few framed photographs lined the walls, moments captured from different chapters of their lives, blending past and present into a single shared space. The lighting was gentle and unassuming, coming from a single lamp that cast soft shadows across the room.

Melinda Braddock moved easily through the space, as though the house responded to her presence. She was dressed in a feminine outfit that felt almost poetic in its contrast to the humble setting. A soft, flowing skirt fell to just below her knees, the fabric light and elegant, swaying subtly with each step she took. The color was refined without being loud, a shade that complemented her almost platinum blonde hair and fair complexion. Her top was fitted and graceful, tucked neatly into the waistband of the skirt, its fabric smooth and delicate. The neckline was modest but flattering, emphasizing her posture and the natural elegance she carried even in quiet moments. Her shoes were simple yet refined, low heeled and practical enough for the home, but still undeniably feminine. They made only the faintest sound against the floor as she moved. A delicate necklace rested at her collarbone, catching the lamplight in brief flashes, and small earrings framed her face without drawing attention away from it. Her hair was styled softly, not rigid or overdone, falling neatly around her shoulders in a way that felt natural rather than staged. The overall effect was one of effortless grace, as though she had dressed not to impress an audience but simply to be herself.

Clyde Sutter, by contrast, looked as though he had shed every layer of performance the moment he crossed the threshold. He was dressed down to the bare essentials, his clothing chosen entirely for comfort. A loose, worn t shirt clung lightly to his frame, the fabric softened by countless washes. The sleeves hung casually against his arms, and the collar sat slightly stretched, a testament to familiarity rather than neglect. He wore a pair of relaxed sweatpants, dark and unassuming, sitting low on his hips, and his feet were bare against the floor. His long black hair was pulled back loosely, not with any particular care, strands escaping to frame his face. There was no trace of the imposing presence he carried in arenas, no calculated posture or intensity. Here, his shoulders were relaxed, his movements unguarded. He looked at ease in a way that only came from being completely at home, both in the space and with the person beside him.

The house itself reflected their shared life in subtle ways. A folded blanket rested over the arm of the sofa, suggesting evenings spent together in quiet comfort. A mug sat forgotten on the coffee table, its contents long gone cold. The air carried a faint mix of familiar scents, clean laundry, brewed tea, and something warm that lingered from earlier cooking. Outside, the city pressed close, but inside, the walls held firm, creating a small pocket of calm.

“You know, while we are here in England, we could train at my grandfather’s wrestling school.” Melinda says cheerfully.

“You do recall that the the trainers are not all that fond of me, do you not?”

“Of course but you are about to be family.” Melinda winks playfully. “My future husband. You get the family perks. Besides, we DO have Fatal Fortunes coming up, and my grandfather always knew the craziest, wildest, most inventive of ways to prepare for any and every scenario. The staff at the Braddock Wrestling School has kept up that tradition.”

“As well they should.” Clyde remarks. “Fatal Fortunes will bring about chaos to the roster, chaos because they are all taught to anticipate, to prepare, to believe that they are in control. When Fate takes away their control they descend into anarchy. But you and I, we already KNOW that Fate is in control. We are loyal to Fate and that chaos will have no affect on us.”

“You sound confident.”

“I am confident because I trust in Fate.” Sutter states boldly. “Regardless of what may have happened in the past, at Shattered Reality, our opportunity to take the next big step in SCW is right here and right now with Fatal Fortunes. This should be OUR event, my love. No one should be able to stop us at Fatal Fortunes.”

“You make it sound too easy.” Melinda runs her hand across his strong, chiseled chest. “We will not know what Fate has in store for us, either.”

“Correct, but I still trust in Fate, and that is what Fatal Fortunes is built upon…Fate. Fatal Fortunes was created in order to remind the arrogant stars of SCW that FATE is in control of their destinies.”

“I just hope Fate will reward us.” Melinda states. “I think you and I both deserve some gold. You know what I mean?”

“You deserve all of the gold in the world, my love.” Clyde says sweetly. “I hope you do get the title match you want. However, if you do not, and if I am lucky enough to get a title match, I promise you that I will win it FOR YOU and I will gift it TO YOU.” Sutter’s eyes are intense. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, babe, but you shouldn’t just ignore yourself.” Melinda smirks. “I wouldn’t mind marrying a SCW Champion.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Clyde smiles warmly. “And I am certain that Fate will fall in OUR direction these two nights of Fatal Fortunes.”

“I hope so, but my point stands, trying to prepare for anything and everything we can possibly prepare for wouldn’t hurt.” Melinda remarks. “And my grandfather’s school isn’t that far away.”

“Fair enough.” Clyde nods his head. “Just remember, my beloved, we are not here because of Fatal Fortunes. We are not even here to tour my old stomping grounds or your old home. We are here for other, graver, more serious business.”

“Lilith.”

The name comes across Melinda’s lips as if it were a plague. Lately she has been a plague. She is Clyde’s sister and harassed him for months trying to get him to join her criminal empire. Clyde and Melinda thought she was gone but she still stalked him, secretly and covertly. Now Lilith has made a full blown return and wants to speak with Clyde. He is suspicious, of course, despite her offer of peace and goodwill. She claims that she is not in the criminal business anymore, that her operations are completely legitimate. Melinda does not think seeing Lilith is a good idea but Clyde fears that she will not go away unless he listens to what she has to say.

“I know you feel strongly about her…”

“She called me a whore.” Melinda snaps back. “Not to mention she is a criminal.”

“Is…was…we are not sure. She claims she is legitimate.” Sutter sighs as he digs through his pockets. “Although that did remind me…” he produces a small box. He passes it over to Melinda. She opens it up and it contains a huge diamond.

“Oh my God…” Melinda’s voice trails off “...Clyde, how did you…”

“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “That was a gift from Lilith. She insisted that you take it. She wanted you to consider it a peace offering for the nasty things she has said about you.”

“So she’s trying to buy me off?” Melinda frowns.

“I honestly have no idea, my love.”

“For God’s sake, Clyde, she is YOUR sister!” Melinda exclaims. “How could you NOT know your own sister?”

“That’s the only reason I am even considering her offer…” his voice trails off. Melinda’s eyes grow wide with shock.

“You cannot be seriously considering working with her?”

“No, not working with her.” He shakes his head. “But LISTENING to what she has to say? Yes, I am considering it.”

“Why?!” Melinda asks. “She’s dangerous!”

“She is family.” Sutter says stoically. “She is my only connection to a past that I know very little about.”

The Assassin’s rough exterior begins to show cracks, signs of real emotion which are rare from this intimidating figure. Even Melinda is surprised. She watches him as he slowly walks past her and sits down on the sofa. Braddock approaches slowly and joins him on the sofa, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“It’s ok…you can talk to me…” she says gently with compassion in her voice.

“All I know for a fact about my father is that his name was Ethan. Ethan Sutter. Everything else I have heard is all hearsay. It is all talk and rumor. I heard that he was a common criminal. I heard he was a drug user. I heard he was a cult leader. Then again I also heard he was just part of some strange Christian sect.”

“You know your mother.” Melinda remarks. “Autumn Van Stanton.”

“Yes, my mother.” Clyde chuckles. “That is the only other thing I know about my father. Whether he was acting on a cultish religious belief or if he was just an unfaithful bastard, he had no faith towards any one female. Lilith and I have different mothers due to our father sleeping around.” He turns towards Melinda, runs a strong hand through her long blonde hair. “I do not want to be like my father…but I do want to know ABOUT him. I want to know where I came from. Lilith may have the answers. She is the only way I can find any answers. Besides, she is my sister and I cannot change that.”

“You cannot pick your family, that is for sure.” Melinda sighs. “You’re going to see her whether I like it or not.”

“I would walk to hell and back for you, my love, but on this one occasion I must do something you will not like. I must visit my sister. I must hear what she has to say in hopes of learning about my past.”

“Very well…” Melinda nods her head “...you have my blessing.”

“Thank you.”

“Just be careful.”

Melinda Braddock hugs Clyde Sutter tightly. She is afraid for him, afraid of what he is getting himself into. Clyde himself is anxious, though he would never show it. He knows how dangerous his sister is; he knows what she is capable of. Still, he wants to know where he came from. He wants to know about his past, specifically about a father he never got to know. Lilith is the only possible connection he has, not to mention the fact that Lilith may never go away or leave them alone unless he at least listens to what she has to say. It may be dangerous but it is a risk The Assassin is willing to take.

PREVIOUSLY…OFF CAMERA

Shaun: So, what do you want from me?

(She hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she stares directly at him.)

Angyalka: Right now, space. Because I can’t even stand to look at you.

Shaun: Angy?

Angyalka: Out

Shaun: Angyalka?

Angyalka: OUT!!!!

(Shaun lets a deep breath escape, before getting to his feet.)

Shaun: I’m sorry

Angyalka: Sorry you got caught.

(As the door shut behind him, he realizes that he hadn’t even said goodbye to Dorothea who wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. For a moment he thought about walking back inside but knew that would be the worst thing he could possibly do. Instead, he gets in his car and just sits there, for a moment glancing at Angyalka looking through the window, probably to ensure he was going to leave, Dorothea in her arms, possibly a parting shot at him, purposely designed to hurt him. He starts the engine, and then with a sigh, takes the car down the driveway, pulling out onto the road and making his way away from the house. It isn’t long until he finds himself in probably the most predictable of places, a downtown bar where he knew he could drown his troubles. And after a few Jack Daniels, the process is at least part working, the pain certainly numbed. Perhaps it also draws some Dutch courage, because he finds himself pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, and dialing the one number he knows he shouldn’t. He waits a few moments, then hangs up, common sense getting the better of him. He then holds up a single finger, the barman nodding his acknowledgement, and his need for another drink.)

TWO HOURS LATER

(Having helped the bars profits for the evening, a round for the whole place a particular highlight, Shaun finds himself in his hotel room for the night. The mini bar was well stocked, and once again Shaun helps himself, knowing that the reality is that he wasn’t. Again, he calls the same number from earlier, this time allowing it to ring that little bit longer. This time he gets an answer, a woman’s voice.)

Woman: Hey… wasn’t expecting your call.

Shaun: Hi, wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.

Woman: Yeah, just reading, the husband is away on business.

Shaun: No difference there then

(The bitterness in his voice obvious, he makes no attempt to hide it. Why should he?

Woman: Are you ok, you sound weird?

Shaun: Thanks

Woman: No, you just don’t sound the same that’s all.

Shaun: Guess that’s my good friend Jack.

Woman: …

(The silence tells its own story, but Shaun was passed caring right now, the drink having yes numbed the pain, but also taken away an of his inhibitions.)

Woman: So, your drunk then?

Shaun: Seems so

Woman: Well, you know I prefer you sober, so how about you call me in the morning.

Shaun: No, I mean… I had to call you; there’s something I need to tell you.

(She scoffs)

Woman: I swear Shaun, if you say you love me, I’m hanging up. You know this was only ever a bit of fun.

Shaun: I know…

Woman: OK, so what’s this all about?

Shaun: He knows.

Woman: What do you mean?

Shaun: He knows about you and me Sarah. Angyalka knows as well.

(The woman we now know is named Sarah goes silent again, this time not out of concern as to what is going to be said, but more of a shock. When her and Shaun had met, it wasn’t ever going to be anything special, and in fact, she had been the one who had done all the chasing until Shaun eventually succumbed. A few late-night texts, many pictures of her in various states of undress, and eventually Shaun had agreed to meet, and since they had met many times. She understood men, and how they couldn’t help themselves, and with her husband almost ignoring her for the sake of his business, she craved attention and with Shaun she had gotten it. What she hadn’t planned for, was being found out.)

Sarah: How did he find out? We were discreet.

Shaun: Obviously not discrete enough… he hired a private investigator to follow you. Unfortunately, he hired one of the very best.

Sarah: Hold on though… have you spoken to my husband? How do you know that he knows about us?

Shaun: Because the private investigator is Chris Clay… who is a friend of mine. He gave me a heads up so I could come clean to Angyalka before she found out second hand. He’s not going to spill what he knows until I tell him I’ve told Angyalka. So, I’m giving you the same opportunity.

Sarah: Where are you now?

Shaun: I’m in a hotel room downtown… Angy asked me to leave.

Sarah: Oh… I’m sorry Shaun. Guess that explains why you are drunk

Shaun: Answer to everything… well for me anyways. Can you come round?

(Even saying the words, he knew he was wrong. He knew that meeting with Sarah tonight wouldn’t do him any favors tomorrow… but that was tomorrow. That was the thing with alcohol, many people thought it made you do things you didn’t realize you were doing, when the truth was it was more you didn’t care. And in his current state, with his wife no doubt questioning him, and their marriage more than ever before, he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel… something else.)

Sarah: No, I can’t come round Shaun

Shaun: You said he was on business.

Sarah: He is. But like I said, you and I was only ever supposed to be about fun. What happens next isn’t going to be anything like.

Shaun: So what are you saying?

Sarah: I’m saying it’s over Shaun. Sort things out with your wife, do everything that you can to make things better. But you and I can’t see each other again.

Shaun: But…

Sarah: No, we are done. Do not contact me again.

(The line goes dead abruptly; Shaun left in obvious shock. There was a more than a sense of having your cake and eating it, and he knew it. He also knew that the best thing to do now was go to sleep, and deal with everything in the morning. Instead, he does what every idiot on the brink of losing everything does, and puts himself further into the abyss, reaching once again for the mini bar, and chugging the liquid straight from the bottle, not even hesitating to see what it was he was drinking. That was the pattern of the evening, an evening that only came to an end when Shaun eventually and inevitably passed out.)

TWO DAYS LATER

(Shaun had tried, and failed to speak to Angyalka, the day after the big reveal Shaun going around to the house and found Angyalka and Dorothea gone, and a note left to say she had gone to stay with her parents. Truth was, her parents had never really taken to Shaun so would be reveling in this latest news, whilst at the same time showing concern for their daughter. Every call he tried to make when to voicemail, every text read but never replied to. The husband now knew of Sarah’s infidelity, but already she had wormed her way back in with him, he a lot more pathetic that Angyalka apparently. So getting out of Los Angeles and finding his way to Miami and Owen seemed to be his best option. Unfortunately for him, the welcome when he knocked on the door of his nephew wasn’t as warm as he’d expected.)

Owen: You’ve got some nerve showing up here you really do.

Shaun: Well, I guess I know who’s side you’re on. Been speaking with Angy I take it?

Owen: Not a case of sides, is it? It’s the case of someone who had everything, and may have just thrown it all away.

Shaun: I know…

Owen: Do you, because from where I’m looking, if you knew, you wouldn’t have skulked over here, and you’d be in LA trying to save your marriage.

Shaun: She’s not there… she’s gone back to Hungary.

(There is none of the usual command in Shaun’s voice. In fact, his tone comes across as nothing but pitiful. Owen closes his eyes and sighs.)

Owen: What have you done Shaun?

(Puffing out his cheeks, Owen makes his way to the fridge, pulling out a couple of orange juices. He knew right now, Shaun would be looking for something stronger, but he also knew that self-destruction wasn’t something he could allow Shaun to do. Handing Shaun the drink, the two of them go out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean, the boat that Orlando had left Owen, now restored, tied to the dock. They both take a seat, and for a moment sit in silence. It is Owen that breaks it first.)

Owen: Can I be honest with you Shaun?

Shaun: Sure…

Owen: I never once believed that you could just ‘be’ without wrestling, or Impact Media. I know, you wanted what I had, and I appreciated it when you told me that I had it all, but neither you, or my Dad could ever be someone who just ‘exists’. Your ego wouldn’t have ever allowed it.

Shaun: So why didn’t you say so at the time?

Owen: Wasn’t my place to was it? And for a while I thought you were going to prove me wrong, but then you had to have that last match with Konrad Raab. It was then when I really started to question it. I knew that in time, you were always going to get bored… it’s in your nature. And so you’ve proven.

Shaun: Not pulling your punches huh?

Owen: It’s something you need to hear. My family… my wife and kid, even my dick of a dog, they will always be the most important thing to me, I made sure that was always going to be the case. But for you, and Orlando… family could never be enough.

(Shaun lowers his head, knowing that his nephew was right.)

Shaun: I really wanted it to be

Owen: I know you did Shaun, but the moment you didn’t have something else, you started looking for something else didn’t you? That’s where this ‘woman’ came in. She was something for you to get excited about again. Something to relieve the ‘tedium’ you felt just being at home with the family. You shouldn’t have ever needed it, because you had something that millions will never possess, and now in chasing that excitement, you could have lost it all.

(Shaun can only listen and nod, agreeing with the sentiment. Truth was, he wished it was Angyalka giving him this lecture because she was the one he needed to really talk to. These were home truths, and hearing his character decimated by his nephew could have come across as patronizing, but Owen had been on the other end plenty of times.)

Owen: And, my guess is, you didn’t even love this woman, did you?

(It was a perfectly logical opinion, but it was still surprising to hear, as if it would have made any difference if he had.)

Shaun: No

Owen: A bit of fun yeah? Bet you both told each other a lot of times?

Shaun: Yeah.

Owen: I’m sorry Shaun, but it’s pathetic… and could have been so easily avoided if you’d not tried to chase your impossible dream. You could have gone part-time with SCW. You could have kept Impact Media on instead of selling it for a steal to Blake. Heck, you weren’t even that shit an actor… you could have done some more films, I’m sure you’d have got some work. It’s not nice having to say this Shaun because I love you. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for you, and I’ll always have to thank you for giving me this life. But you’ve fucked up, and you’ve fucked up bad, and right now, I’m not sure even you can wrangle your way out of this one. Angy is furious, and I can’t blame her.

Shaun: So, what do I do?

(It was a question that Owen knew he would be asked. A full circle moment, with Owen now the one taking the moral high ground and providing what advice he had to give. In Owen’s opinion, right now there was nothing Shaun could do but wait. Wait for an opportunity for Angyalka to give him a chance. But having spoken with her only twenty-four hours ago, Owen wasn’t sure she would even give him that chance. In her mind, the trust was broken, and potentially forever.)

Owen: I honestly believe your only option is to remain patient, because Angyalka rightfully holds all the cards. There is going to be a time when she has calmed down enough to talk to you, and that will be the moment where you decide if Angyalka is what you truly want or is this something that you are just going to do again, and again. More than anything though Shaun, you have GOT to make sure that Dorothea doesn’t suffer. Because if she does, and you don’t get things right with her, then it won’t just be Angyalka you’ll be dealing with.

(It was a thinly veiled threat, which showed just how much of a man Owen had become over the years. Owen cared for Dorothea deeply… Angyalka was an adult that could look after herself and then some… Dorothea was just a little girl. If she suffered, in any way, Owen wouldn’t hold his tongue, and he left Shaun with no doubts regarding that.)

Owen: One thing you don’t do Shaun, is revert to type and turn to the drink to solve all your problems, because that isn’t going to serve you well. Though recent events show otherwise, you aren’t stupid, and you are going to need a clear head for whatever comes next. I never thought I’d be the one to say this to you, but you need to sort out your life… one way or another.

(Again, every word rings true, with the burn of the sharpest knife. The fact he was hearing it from his nephew, and it wasn’t the other way around made the hurt still more. There was no debate, he HAD fucked up, and what happened from here on in, may not ever be on his terms. Nor was there any certainty of the perfect ending.)

LATER THAT DAY

(Though there had been some harsh words, Shaun and Owen still spent some time together at the Miami section of Owen and Adam Lucas’s wrestling franchise. No more was said about the elephant in the room, and Shaun had almost enjoyed himself passing on some wisdom to the students who didn’t have the first clue what he was going through, or the mistakes he had made. As they are packing up however, Shaun sat in his car ready to make his way back to the airport and head back to LA to wait for Angyalka’s return, his phone rings loudly, connected to the car itself. Shaun doesn’t recognize the number, but connects the call regardless, wondering if it might be Angy from a different phone.)

Shaun: Hello…

Man: So, you’re the asshole who’s been fucking my wife

(Shaun immediately goes on the defensive, and half thinks about hanging up.)

Shaun: Who is this?

Man: My name is David… I believe you have become quite close to my wife… Sarah.

(There isn’t anger in his voice, but a tone that comes across as quite threatening.)

Shaun: How did you get my number?

David: That doesn’t matter. What does matter is thanks to your friend Chris, I know who you are, and more importantly, what you are.

Shaun: What do you mean by that?

David: Former Professional Wrestler, Actor, Producer… only recently sold Impact Media for no doubt an extortionate amount of money. More importantly though, I’m guessing that you are the type of guy who would want to protect his public image… especially when you have a wife and daughter who could be affected by your little ‘indiscretions’ getting out.

Shaun: So that’s what this is about… money?

David: You tried to take my wife from me, so now I intend to take something from you.

Shaun: And the wife isn’t enough?

(David laughs)

David: Come now Shaun, that’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, is it not? Was your wife enough for you?

Shaun: Well, maybe if you’d not always been away on business…

David: Oh, the irony… I was away, because the business was in trouble. Sarah didn’t know the sacrifices I was making for her, but she does now. Thanks to you.

Shaun: So, what do you want?

David: That’s simple Shaun. I need five million dollars to get my company out of trouble, and you are going to give it to me.

Shaun: So, blackmail?

David: Let’s call it more bankrolling some debts. My guess is that to someone like you, your ‘name’ is everything, not to mention the hurt this coming out would bring on the family. Five million, and that all goes away. No five million, then I guess I reveal my story to the world and any ‘honor’ you had, is lost forever… with probably your family too.

(Shaun doesn’t miss the ‘honor’ dig. David had obviously done his homework. Nor was he naïve to the fact that this information would destroy all the credibility he had built over the years. And David knew it, the smugness in his voice obvious.)

David: I’ll give you a couple of days to make your decision, but I reckon you’ve already decided. Speak to you real soon Shaun… how’s that for an impact?

(The line goes dead, Shaun throwing the phone on the bed, shaking his head, something else for him to consider when he was at his lowest.)

Shaun: Can this get any worse?

(He’s only talking to himself… but what he didn’t know at this point was that it WAS going to get worse. MUCH worse.

Scene fades)

RP 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xKXW...sp=sharing

Season 7 / Episode 21 / Black Holiday (Part 1 - Coal)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1S6ku...it?tab=t.0

(001)

GOD BLESS THE HOLIDAYS

Attached Files

  the cure for happiness (xxii-xxiii).pdf (Size: 158.09 KB / Downloads: 7)
  the cure for happiness (xxiv).pdf (Size: 178.43 KB / Downloads: 4)

==========
December 13th, 2025
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

The TD Garden had begun its slow exhale, hours earlier the building had been alive with color and sound, with light rigs burning hot and music rattling through concrete and steel. Now it felt cavernous and tired, the echoes of the crowd lingering like a memory that refused to fade. The upper sections were nearly empty, rows of chairs standing at attention beneath dimmed lights. Crew members moved with quiet efficiency, breaking down equipment, rolling cables, dismantling barricades. The air still carried the sharp scent of sweat and smoke, mixed with the faint sweetness of spilled beer soaked into the floor. Somewhere beyond the curtain, in the liminal space between spectacle and reality, Clyde Sutter, Melinda Braddock, and Fiona Logan existed in the aftermath of SCW Shattered Reality. The adrenaline that had driven them through their matches had begun to drain away, replaced by a heavier, more oppressive weight. All three had stepped into the ring with purpose; Melinda and Fiona to become SCW World Tag Team Champions and Clyde Sutter to end Shaun Cruze’s return before it could even begin. All three had left without victory. Loss hung around them not as a single moment, but as a collective presence, something that followed them down the hallway and settled into their shoulders.

Clyde Sutter moved with a measured calm that bordered on numbness. His long black hair, usually tied back with care, now hung loose around his shoulders, damp and clinging to the collar of his jacket. He was well built, the result of years of disciplined training, but tonight that strength felt muted, as if his body had done everything it could and now demanded stillness in return. Raised in Birmingham, England, Clyde carried himself with a reserved intensity that had always been mistaken for confidence. Tonight it read as restraint. His face was composed, jaw set, eyes forward. There was no outward sign of frustration, no visible crack in the armor, only the quiet presence of a man who had already replayed every mistake in his head and found no comfort in doing so. Beside him walked Melinda Braddock, her almost platinum blonde hair pulled back but already beginning to escape its hold, wisps catching the harsh overhead lighting. In her early twenties, she possessed a natural elegance that remained even in exhaustion. London had shaped her in subtle ways, in posture and in the way she held her silence. Her expression mirrored Clyde’s, stoic and controlled, as if emotion were something to be addressed later in private, not here under fluorescent lights and watchful eyes. The loss weighed on her just as heavily, but she wore it like a tailored coat, fitted and precise, refusing to let it show more than she allowed. There was a sense of distance about her, not from Clyde, but from the moment itself, as though she had already begun to compartmentalize the night and file it away for future reckoning.

Fiona Logan was incapable of such restraint. Where Clyde and Melinda moved through the space with controlled detachment, Fiona radiated tension. Her black hair was pulled back hastily, strands sticking to her neck, her hands clenched and unclenched as she walked. She was visibly angry, the kind of anger that burned hot and fast, fueled by frustration rather than shock. Raised in Boston, Massachusetts, this arena was not just another stop on the circuit for her. It was home territory, and the loss felt personal in a way that cut deeper than usual. Her shoulders were tight, her steps sharp, each movement betraying the effort it took not to lash out at the nearest inanimate object. The echoes of the crowd felt louder to her, the memory of cheers and boos alike ringing in her ears long after the last bell had sounded. Tonight was supposed to be Fiona’s glorious hometown return, her big moment of celebration. She was supposed to win the SCW World Tag Team Titles alongside her sister Melinda right in Boston. Yet fate had other plans.

Fate. It is a word that Melinda and Clyde often discuss. They hang their hat on the philosophy of fate. They believe fate is in control of everything and, even in defeat, they are convinced that fate is in control. Perhaps that is their way of coping but it doesn’t help The Boston Badass. Fiona doesn’t like being told to be patient and wait on fate. She wants what she wants and she wants it now. She definitely doesn’t want to be told that fate had decided that The Vision would have to wait a little longer to become tag champions, that fate had decided that they would not be victorious here in Boston at Shattered Reality. What’s worse is that now, the first show of the new year, is Fatal Fortunes. Fiona’s sister and tag team partner Melinda Braddock will eat that one up. The idea of fate controlling their very fortunes will satisfy The Third Generation Goddess to no end. For Fiona it just means more talk of fate, more nonsense, and less control she has over her own destiny.

The hallway they occupied was narrow and utilitarian, lined with concrete walls scuffed by years of foot traffic and equipment cases. Posters from past events clung to bulletin boards, curling at the edges, their bold promises now relics of nights long gone. The lighting was unforgiving, flattening everything it touched, stripping away the glamour that existed just beyond the curtain. In this space, they were not larger than life figures framed by pyrotechnics and entrance music. They were three wrestlers dealing with the immediate reality of defeat. The contrast between them was striking. Clyde and Melinda moved as a unit, their proximity suggesting solidarity without the need for reassurance. They did not look at one another, yet there was an unspoken understanding in the space they shared, a quiet agreement to endure the moment without spectacle. Fiona, walking just a step apart, felt the separation acutely. Her frustration seemed to push outward, filling the corridor, challenging the stillness that Clyde and Melinda maintained. Every loss she had ever carried threatened to resurface, layered atop the fresh sting of tonight. Beyond the walls, Boston continued on, unaware or unconcerned with the emotional wreckage left in the wake of the event. The city lights glowed through distant exits, cold and indifferent. Inside the TD Garden, the night pressed on, stripping the event down to its aftermath. For Clyde Sutter, Melinda Braddock, and Fiona Logan, this was the quiet before whatever came next. The losses were done. The questions had begun. The story waited, heavy and unresolved, in the space between what had just ended and what would inevitably follow.

“Fiona, you seem troubled…” Melinda speaks first, finally breaking a tense silence. Fiona just rolls her eyes.

“No shit, ya think?” Sarcasm drips from her voice. “I mean, we had our best…OUR VERY BEST CHANCE…to become SCW World Tag Team Champions, and we blew it. Nah! Why would I be troubled?”

“Fiona, my dear, it was Fate.” Clyde answers stoically, calmly without any emotion. “We must accept it. Your sister has.”

“I don’t want to hear shit about fate right now!” Fiona exclaims angrily. “Seriously? I get that fate makes you two lovebirds feel all sweet and mushy inside but me? How do you think it makes ME feel when I go out there and LOSE my first crack at the SCW tag straps and I’m told fate decided I would lose?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh, if I wanna be pissed at someone I’d rather be pissed at myself for fucking it up, not at some myself being called fate.”

“Fate isn’t…” Clyde begins to speak but Melinda, seeing the anger boiling up inside her sister, holds up a hand to silence him. Sutter instantly obeys with a quiet nod of his head. Melinda steps forward and gently embraces Fiona in a hug. They break the embrace and Melinda keeps one hand rested on her shoulder.

“It’s the fact that we lost in Boston, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Fiona admits, nodding her head. “I grew up here. I have no real family to speak of but I do have good friends still here and I invited them, I paid for their tickets so they could come watch me, see what I have made for myself. I wanted them to see me win gold.” She shakes her head. “And we lost.”

“All is not lost, dear sister.” Melinda says with a half grin. Fiona looks up into Melinda’s eyes and recognizes that look. She shakes her head instantly.

“No way! If I hear you say ‘fate’ one more time…”

“I hate to say it, Fiona, but there is no way around it. The next two events for SCW are Fatal Fortunes.”

“God damn it!” Fiona exclaims. “Nothing but fate for the next few weeks! I’m sure you and the big guy will be thrilled…”

“Clyde and I will try to tone it down, we promise.” Melinda winks. “However, you should not focus on the negative of Fatal Fortunes. Focus on the positives. We did not leave Shattered Reality with gold. But these next two Fatal Fortunes events, with EVERY championship being on the line against random opposition, we are in a unique scenario where one…or two…or all three of us could win a championship.”

“I see where you’re going…” Fiona smirks knowingly “...Cid, Luz, Deanna, The Glimmers, Enigma…they have everything to lose.”

“While The Vision has EVERYTHING to gain and NOTHING to lose.” After a momentary pause to think on the words, Fiona finally grins from ear to ear.

“Alright, you convinced me, Mels!” Fiona nods her head. “Maybe this Fatal Fortunes deal won’t be so bad after all?”

“Of course it won’t.” Melinda shakes her head. “The last time we had Fatal Fortunes in SCW, Clyde made his grand return and dismantled my mother. It was for the Adrenaline Title. He didn’t leave the championship but he had the opportunity. That is what Fate can gift us at Fatal Fortunes; opportunity.”

“Fine, opportunities, I like the sound of that, and maybe we can get lucky?” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, outside of tonight I have felt rather lucky myself. Things have been going my way. Even the mail from that creepy stalker dude has stopped.”

“Oh really?” Melinda asks, arching her brow out of curiosity. Fiona nods her head quickly, excitedly.

“Yup. Maybe the creep dropped off the earth?”

“Maybe he finally gave up?” Melinda suggests. “Many of these stalkers do quit when they realize their attempts are futile.”

“Well let’s not speak it back into existence, eh?” Fiona snickers uneasily. “He or she quit and let that be that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Clyde chimes in, stepping in between the two sisters. “But I swear to you, Fiona, if this stalker does happen to resurface…” he makes a fist and pounds it into the palm of his other hand “...I will take care of it personally.” Fiona laughs and pats the intimidating Assassin on the back.

“That’s why I love you big guy!

The transition from the interior of the TD Garden to the outside world was abrupt. The concrete corridors gave way to loading bay doors and service exits, and then suddenly they were stepping into the open air. The night in Boston was cool and restless, the kind of chill that crept through sweat soaked clothing and settled into tired muscles. The parking lot stretched out beneath harsh overhead lights, pools of brightness separated by long shadows that seemed to swallow sound. Trucks and cars were scattered across the asphalt, some belonging to crew members still packing up, others to wrestlers already gone, their engines long since cold. The city loomed just beyond the edges of the lot, its skyline visible in fragments between buildings. Distant traffic hummed like a constant undercurrent, and somewhere a siren wailed briefly before fading away. The crowd from SCW Shattered Reality had dispersed, leaving behind an emptiness that felt heavier than the noise ever had. This was the quiet aftermath, where thoughts grew louder and emotions no longer had the roar of an arena to hide behind.

Clyde walked with the same steady composure, his posture unchanged, his gaze scanning the lot out of habit rather than concern. Melinda remained close, her expression unreadable, her attention turned inward as if she were already replaying the night in her mind. The loss still clung to them, but they carried it with control, each step deliberate, each breath measured. Fiona lagged half a step behind as they moved deeper into the lot. At first her anger still dominated her body language, sharp and coiled, but then something shifted. Her pace slowed, her shoulders stiffening as her eyes caught movement ahead. A lone figure emerged from between two rows of parked vehicles, walking with purpose but without haste. The overhead lights revealed only fragments at first, the outline of a frame, the way the person carried themselves. To Fiona, it was enough.

Recognition struck her instantly, not as a clear image but as a visceral reaction. Her breath caught, shallow and quick, and the heat of her frustration was replaced by a sudden cold that spread through her chest. The tension in her body changed quality, transforming from anger into something far more unsettling. Her hands trembled slightly before she forced them still, fingers curling into her palms as if bracing for impact. The figure drew closer, features still indistinct, but familiarity radiated from every movement. Fiona’s eyes widened despite her effort to keep control, and she instinctively shifted her weight back, as though distance alone might offer protection. The parking lot felt exposed now, too open, the lights too bright, the shadows too deep. Every sound seemed amplified, the crunch of footsteps on asphalt, the faint buzz of the lights overhead, the distant murmur of the city.

“Fiona…”

Melinda’s voice snaps The Boston Badass back to attention. She turns to her sister who looks on with concern. She has rarely seen Fiona, someone so brave, look like this. Fiona quickly shushes her.

“Don’t say my name out loud!”

“Huh?” Melinda is now thoroughly confused but quiets down anyway. “What is wrong?”

“We just need to leave.” Fiona insists. “Now.”

“That was the plan but…” before Melinda can finish her sentence, Fiona ducks behind Melinda and Clyde, shielding herself from the view of the mysterious figure “...Fiona, what on earth…”

“Him!” She exclaims quietly, pointing to the figure in the darkness. “He found me!”

“That guy?” Melinda asks quietly. “Who is he?”

“That’s Todd Osbourne.” She says in a hushed whisper, almost fearful of saying his name. “He’s my foster father.”

“And he happens to be here in Boston for SCW Shattered Reality.” Clyde says stoically. “How convenient. It is obvious he was the stalker all along.”

“You think so?” Melinda asks. She looks down at Fiona who nods her head.

“It all makes perfect sense. The stalker knew so much about me and my past. Todd would have known.”

“It’s still not necessarily a guarantee it was him.” Melinda states. “Still, if you are worried you can just get a restraining order against him.”

“Alternatively I could go over there and end this myself.” Sutter remarks coldly, implying a physical altercation between himself and Fiona’s foster father. Fiona shakes her head vehemently.

“No! I just…I just want to get out of here! I want to leave! Now!”

==========
Vlog 68
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Hello my social media lovelies! Melinda Braddock here with my sister, my partner, my co-hostess with the mostess, she is The Boston Badass Fiona Logan. Together we are the MWCW Tag Team Champions and MWA World Tag Team Champions. Say hi to the people, Fiona.”

Fuck you, dweebs.

As you can tell, my sister is still upset over what happened at Shattered Reality. The Glimmers managed to find a way to delay their fate yet again. But Gia, Gina, mark my words, your fate IS sealed. You will lose those SCW World Tag Team Championship and if we have anything to say about it, you will lose those championships to The Vision. Fiona and I are not finished with you or with the tag team division, not by a longshot. Our Fate has been written in the stars. Fate is smiling down upon us. It is just a matter of time before we are ruling this division.

Yeah but in the meantime let’s get a few things straight…Mels is right, I am not exactly in the most pleasant of moods right now. I should be holding my first SCW title right now but I’m not and that pisses me off. Ordinarily I would not want to sit here and listen to my girl Mels rant and preach about fate but y’know what? I think right here and now is one time I am willing to make an exception because Fatal Fortunes is next up on the list. Every single dipshit on the roster is up for the draw, you never who you will get booked against.

Hell, Mels and I might get lucky enough to get another crack at those tag straps.

We might get individual tag title shots. I know I am a damn fine brawler. I might enjoy stepping into the Underground and claim that strap. Mels would love to win…well…anything golden that’s NOT the Underground.

You know me so well!

Quite frankly, I don’t care who or what I am up against. I am in a bad mood and I want to beat someone’s ass. So Fate can give me anything it wants at Fatal Fortunes. And I pity the poor bastard who draws ME as an opponent.

Oh, perfect time for hashtags!

#PoorBastard
#FatalFortunes

And yes, anyone who ends up facing myself or Fiona is indeed a poor bastard, because this is Fatal Fortunes. You hear that, darlings? FATE! Fate is what drives us. Fate is what motivates us. We fight on behalf of Fate and Fate rewards our loyalty. Fatal Fortunes was built for The Vision. And seeing as we were unsuccessful in capturing gold at Shattered Reality, that leaves us in what is actually a very good position.

Champions such as Cid Turner…

…La Pequina Luz…

…Deanna Frost…

…Glimmers…

…Enigma…

…Just Some Loser…

You should hashtag that one, Mels.

Good idea!

#JustSomeLoser

In any event, these champions have everything to lose. Nothing to gain. But myself and Fiona? Nothing to lose. EVERYTHING TO GAIN!

#EverythingToGain

And at Fatal Fortunes, we will seize whatever opportunity fate deems fit to reward us with.

==========
December 16th, 2025
New York City
Off Camera
==========

Shattered Reality was a bittersweet event for The Woman Scorned. Sure, she had hoped to defeat Syren. Primarily she wanted to keep her as far away from the SCW World Championship as humanly possible. Earning a world title match of her own would be nice, too, because The Woman Scorned is well aware that she is one world title victory away from Supreme Championship status, something she would not mind earning before her tenure with SCW is over. Still, even in defeat the erratic and eccentric Kimberly Williams can find a bright spot in it all. Now that she is finished humoring CHBK and other SCW management with these other “side quests”, Kimberly can focus on what she really wants; a return to the Underground Division and hopefully reclaiming her SCW Underground Championship. Kim currently sits tied for most Underground Title victories and wants desperately to hold that record all to herself. She has had to sit by on the sidelines watching from afar as Enigma, Colleen, and Xander have all challenged for the gold that she believes should be hers. Now Colleen is out of the discussion and so is Xander. Kimberly is no longer distracted by silly things such as world championships. The Queen of the Death Match can now return to where she rightfully belongs; in the Underground.

Kimberly can see her path back to the Underground getting even clearer now with the return of Fatal Fortunes. The first event of 2026 will be Fatal Fortunes, an event based entirely on chaos and The Woman Scorned thrives on chaos. This event where chaos reigns supreme is designed for someone like her. If there was ever a more opportune time to reach up and snag opportunity by the throat, it was now. Fatal Fortunes is providing the Queen of the Death Match with just the opportunity she needs to advance her goals. But before she can make preparations for Fatal Fortunes, for a night of chaos and mayhem, Kimberly must take care of some much unwanted business, business that even has someone as defiant and fearless as Williams a little nervous and uncomfortable.

The office sat high above the street, insulated from the noise of New York by height and money. The building itself was an old one, its stone exterior scrubbed clean and modernized just enough to remain respectable without losing its sense of authority. Inside, the attorney’s suite carried that same careful balance. Everything was deliberate. The walls were paneled in dark wood polished to a quiet sheen. Framed certificates hung in perfect alignment, their glass reflecting the muted light of the city beyond the windows. Even the air smelled expensive, a restrained blend of leather, paper, and something faintly citrus that suggested money well spent rather than comfort sought. Kimberly Williams sat in one of the waiting chairs, her posture stiff despite her best efforts to appear relaxed. The chair was upholstered in a fabric that did not invite slouching, its firm structure pressing her spine into compliance. She noticed that immediately, because she noticed everything today. Every detail felt sharper, more intrusive, as if the room itself were aware of her discomfort and intent on amplifying it. Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened glass of a display cabinet across the room, and she hated what she saw. Her red hair was brushed smooth and styled with care, falling into place instead of fighting gravity and common sense the way it usually did. Her clothes were immaculate, tailored and clean, chosen with purpose rather than instinct. Nothing was ripped. Nothing was stained. Nothing was loud or defiant or careless. The look sat on her like a costume she had agreed to wear under protest, one that fit too well to be shrugged off but never quite felt like her own skin. She shifted slightly, the faint rustle of fabric sounding too refined for her liking. Kimberly was used to movement that made noise, to boots scuffing floors and jackets creasing where they were not supposed to. She was used to looking like someone who did not care, because most of the time she truly did not. Today, though, every line of her appearance suggested restraint and control, and the contradiction gnawed at her. It felt wrong to be this polished in a place that demanded seriousness. Wrong to look like someone who belonged.

If that were not enough, Lucian Floreschu sat beside her. He occupied his chair with an ease that irritated her on principle alone. Black hair neatly combed, posture relaxed but alert, he looked entirely comfortable in the space. There was something about him that seemed to absorb the room rather than be shaped by it. He did not fidget. He did not glance around with curiosity or impatience. His presence felt settled, as if he had already been here many times before, even if that were not true. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who had learned long ago how to wait without wasting time. His Romanian features were sharp and expressive in a way that made Kimberly uneasy, as though every neutral expression concealed calculation beneath it. Even when he was still, she sensed movement behind his eyes, thoughts lining up and reorganizing themselves with quiet efficiency. She did not trust him. She did not particularly like him. The fact that she was here with him at all made her jaw tighten. But she had no choice but to be here with him on this day; Lucian knew most of Kimberly’s deep dark secrets, secrets that she had kept hidden…or at least she thought she had kept hidden.

The disappearances of Emma and Sorina Floreschu, Lucian’s sisters. Both were murders committed by Kim herself. Lucian knew of them and had evidence against her. The disappearance of Damian, the abusive ex-boyfriend of Kim’s identical twin Marie Jones. He, too, was murdered and Lucian could prove it. All of this was being used to blackmail The Woman Scorned into doing what he wanted and today he wanted Kim by his side to meet this fancy New York City attorney for reasons that are still unknown to her. Lucian simply told her to be there and that all would be explained. Kimberly has no choice but to obey…for now.

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the soft hum of the building’s climate control and the distant, filtered sound of traffic far below. Kimberly focused on the view outside the window, where the city pressed on in miniature. Cars crawled along the streets like toys, pedestrians reduced to motion and color without detail. It felt strange to be so removed from it all, perched above the chaos in a room designed to make decisions that would ripple outward into lives she could not see. Her knee bounced once before she caught herself and forced it still. She folded her hands together, then immediately separated them again, irritated by how unnatural the gesture felt. The tension had nowhere to go. She could not pace. She could not swear. She could not even glare properly without feeling like she was drawing attention to herself in a place that thrived on discretion. Lucian, meanwhile, remained composed, his presence a steady reminder that this situation was not accidental. He belonged to the kind of world that produced offices like this, rooms where power was quiet and consequences were written in careful language. Kimberly existed on the fringes of that world at best, crashing into it only when circumstances forced her hand.

“I feel ridiculous…” Kim remarks, finally breaking the silence.

“You look lovely.”

“Maybe, but I do not do LOVELY.” Kim snaps back. “I do chaos. I do eccentric. I do insanity. I do not do lovely.”

“Well you are my niece now, you are part of the family, and any member of my family will most certainly look the part.”

“I am NOT your niece and I am NOT part of your damn family. I am a Jones.”

“Yes and your sisters, your mother, they all seem to be ok dressing the part, do they not?” Lucian smiles arrogantly. “What seems to be your problem with dressing like you come from money?”

“What can I say? I enjoy being the black sheep of the family.”

“I know that you do. Nevertheless, you will play the role of my niece and you will play it to perfection if you wish to stay out of trouble.” He sneers. “Do I need to remind you, dear sweet Kimberly, that my sister Emma…you know, the one you murdered…she trained you well, she groomed you to take over her operations one day. She would never have molded you into a piece of garbage and filth. Therefore I know that YOU KNOW how to play the role and I expect you to do so.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” Kim folds her arms over her chest and pouts. She stares across at the empty desk, it stood empty, its surface meticulously arranged. A leather blotter, a pen placed parallel to its edge, a closed folder waiting to be opened. Everything was prepared, waiting for the person who would soon occupy the space and give the room its purpose. The absence felt heavy, like a held breath.

Time stretched. Each passing second sharpened Kimberly’s awareness of why she was here, of what this meeting represented, of the fact that once it began there would be no pretending it was just another strange day. She inhaled slowly, then exhaled, steadying herself without quite calming down. Somewhere beyond the door, footsteps approached, measured and confident, and the quiet of the waiting room shifted in response, signaling that the moment she had been dreading was finally about to arrive.

The sound of footsteps stopped just outside the office door, followed by the soft click of a latch turning. The door opened with practiced smoothness, revealing a man who looked as though he had been shaped by rooms like this rather than merely working in them. The attorney was tall and trim, silver threading neatly through dark hair that had not yet surrendered to age. His suit was charcoal, impeccably pressed, the cut conservative but expensive in a way that did not need to announce itself. He carried a slim leather portfolio tucked under one arm, worn just enough to suggest frequent use rather than carelessness. His expression was composed, neutral without being cold, the face of someone accustomed to walking into tension without absorbing it.

“Ms. Williams,” he said, his voice calm and measured, carrying just enough warmth to be polite. His gaze flicked briefly to Lucian, lingering there for a fraction of a second longer. “Mr. Floreschu. Thank you for your patience.”

Kimberly straightened despite herself, irritation flaring at how instinctive the reaction was. She rose from her chair a beat too quickly, the legs of it whispering against the floor. The movement drew her attention again to her clothes, to how smooth and cooperative everything felt, and she hated that too. Lucian stood more slowly, unhurried, offering the attorney a small, controlled smile that never reached his eyes. The attorney nodded once, acknowledging them both, then closed the door behind him with a soft finality. The room seemed to settle after that, the outside world neatly sealed away. He crossed to the desk, setting his portfolio down with care and aligning it precisely with the edge. Every movement was economical, rehearsed through years of repetition. Kimberly watched him as he moved, cataloging details without meaning to. The way he loosened his cuff slightly. The way he glanced at the folder waiting on the desk, already aware of its contents without opening it. This was a man who preferred preparation to surprise, who disliked mess in any form.

“I am Daniel Hargreeve,” he said as he reached the chair behind the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Kimberly sat again, hands resting tensely in her lap, while Lucian mirrored the motion beside her with unsettling ease. Hargreeve adjusted the chair once, precisely, then lowered himself into it, posture straight and composed, folding seamlessly into the role the room had been built for.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hargreeve. You served my sister, did you not?”

“Indeed I did.” He nods his head. “After her passing I served your other sister, Sorina. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Floreschu.”

“Please, no need for formalities. Call me Lucian.” He motions to Kim. “And Kimberly here is my niece.”

Kimberly can take no more of this charade. “Not by blood!” She blurts out, a smirk forming on her face. “Draw some blood and run DNA tests if ya like! Not related! Nope!”

“Ah, well, you don’t have to be blood related to be family.” Lucian answers back, shooting Kim a glare that is more of a warning than anything else. “My sister Emma raised Kimberly from birth as if she were her own.”

“I see.” The attorney answers. “She obviously got your sister’s fashion sense. You look lovely, Kimberly.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kimberly states, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“Well, shall we get down to business?” Hargreeve smiles politely. “I believe we all know why we are here…Miss Kimberly’s real estate business will be signed over to the Floreschu family.”

This statement right there was enough to set off The Woman Scorned. She didn’t know why she was there; now she does and she doesn’t like it.

“What?!” Her voice is loud, loud enough to likely bother other people in the adjacent waiting room. Lucian again shoots Kimberly a nasty glare before turning his attention back to the attorney, who himself seems a little confused by all of this.

“Perhaps we do not know why we are here?”

“My niece is just a little nervous.” Lucian says calmly. “Would you give us time to talk things over?”

“Sure, of course.”

The attorney rises up out of his seat. He quickly walks away from his desk and exits the office, leaving Lucian alone with Kimberly Williams. The moment they are alone, Lucian instantly turns up the heat.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Uh, yeah!” Kim snickers. “Didn’t Emma tell you? I’m nuts. I’m bonkers. I’m a loony tune. I’m…”

“You are a murderer and I can PROVE it!” Lucian snaps back angrily. “Remember that and remember that you MUST play your role otherwise I will expose you!”

“Heh, you said ‘expose’...”

“You know what I mean!”

At this moment, The Queen of the Death Match kicks off her heels and then folds her legs up under herself in the seat. Kim finally feels a little more comfortable. Despite the situation she is a little more relaxed. She leans back with her hands over her head.

“So tell me, Loony Lucian, what ARE we doing here? Really?” Kim asks. “I mean, seriously, you never did tell me a darn thing until we got here and even then I only found out through the damn lawyer. So is there anything else you wanna tell me?”

“You already heard it from Hargreeve.” Lucian states coldly. “Your real estate business will be placed under the Floreschu family control. The attorney will prepare the documents and you will sign it over.”

“Like hell I will!” Kim exclaims, her own temper boiling over. “That real estate business is mine! I started it as a side gig to help people get affordable housing, not so you could make money! I built it! I…”

“Hush now!” Lucian holds up his hand to silence her. “It still will be yours as long as you remain part of the family.” His cold demeanor shifts slightly. He smiles smugly and arrogantly. “Besides, you do not have much of a choice, now do you? Remember you murdered three people and I have the evidence to prove it. I can ruin not just your life but your entire family’s. If you want to save their reputation and save yourself from life behind bars or maybe even the death penalty then you should really think about cooperating.”

Kimberly nervously looks from side to side, assessing her options in her head. Quickly she realizes that she has no real options other than to submit. Finally she sighs and nods her head.

“Ok, you get what you want…” she snarls “...happy now?”

“That’s all I needed.” Lucian smiles triumphantly. “Your cooperation. You will find that things run smoothly when you simply cooperate.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in while you can.”

“Excellent. Now put your shoes back on, you look foolish. I will call the attorney back in so we can finalize everything…” he leans in closer “...despite what you may think, Kimberly, I am not trying to destroy you. I am merely trying to finish the work my sister started.”

“In that case you have no idea of the ticking time bomb you are screwing around with.” Kim snaps back defiantly. “Emma wanted to mold me into one of her little puppets but all she managed to do was turn me into a monster. I have kept that monster bottled up for a very long time, Lucian, but if you keep pushing me…”

“If I keep pushing you, you will still do nothing.” He answers coldly yet confidently. “I have evidence against you, remember? Besides, my sister let greed and jealousy cloud her judgment. I will succeed where she failed and trust me, you will thank me for it when it is all over.”