CHAPTER 184: BURN ME???

Aaron walked out of the Sterling Enterprises tower, the tall glass facade gleaming under the afternoon sun. His assistant trailed beside him, holding the signed folder tightly. The air outside felt lighter—like the moment after winning a gamble you didn’t think you could pull off.

Aaron paused for a second at the curb, turning back to look at the massive building that loomed behind him. His lips curved into a satisfied smile. "We just secured the strongest partner in the country," he murmured.

His assistant chuckled. "You sound proud, sir."

Aaron straightened his suit jacket, his eyes glinting. "I am. It’s not every day a man like Miles Sterling shakes your hand."

Then the two entered their car and drove off, their new future already forming on the horizon.

—

Back upstairs, Miles watched from his office window, arms loosely folded across his chest, a faint smirk playing on his face.

"He was a nice guy," Miles said quietly, watching the black sedan disappear into the flow of traffic below.

June, who had been standing near his desk with her tablet, nodded. "He knew your value, boss. He made the right decision. People like Aaron understand what they’re signing up for—they’re not just getting funding, they’re getting protection."

Miles turned back, walking to his chair. "Twenty percent is a good investment. The business has potential. City Swift has room to grow—and with the right backing, it can dominate the transport market."

June smiled, flipping through a few tabs on her screen. "Of course it does. It’s unfortunate for those foreign cab brands that were planning to enter the country. They’ll have to rethink their strategy now."

Miles gave a quiet hum of agreement. "Really. Well, they’ll find out soon enough that this country already has its own foundation." He sat down and leaned back slightly, his eyes distant in thought. "By the way, look for someone named Troy—he was the driver who dropped me here this morning. Works for City Swift."

June tilted her head, curious. "Troy? Why him?"

Miles smiled faintly, remembering the young man’s voice—the mix of exhaustion and determination in it. "He’s hardworking, clever, and still young. He’s carrying the weight of his family but hasn’t let that stop him. There’s fire in him, June. The kind that can turn into something great if it’s guided the right way. Arrange a scholarship for him."

June blinked, then her expression softened. "Boss... you think he’s that capable?"

Miles looked up at her, calm but certain. "It’s my instinct that says so. And my instinct rarely lies. He’s got a dream—and I’d like to contribute to it."

June smiled warmly. "Of course. I’ll arrange it today."

Miles nodded approvingly. He was about to open the report on his screen when his phone began to buzz on the table. The number flashing on it was from Sterling Security—it was secured.He answered, his tone casual but sharp beneath. "I hope you have good news."

A voice on the other end—low, controlled, and slightly distorted—spoke quickly. "Boss, we didn’t disappoint you this time. We’ve got him. He’s here."

Miles’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Keep him in illusion. I’ll visit him tonight."

The line went silent for a second before the agent’s voice returned. "Understood, boss."

The call ended.

Miles leaned back in his chair again, staring out toward the dusk that was beginning to paint the city skyline.

The calm in his eyes lingered—but beneath it, there was a shadow of something far colder.

June glanced up from her tablet, sensing the change in atmosphere. "Everything okay, boss?"

Miles’s smirk returned, faint and unreadable. "Perfectly."

He turned his chair slightly, eyes fixed on the fading horizon. "Tonight... we get answers."

....

Miles’s phone buzzed again, the sharp vibration cutting through the quiet hum of the office. He glanced at the screen, and his brow furrowed slightly.

"Secret Service?" he muttered under his breath.

June, who was still near his desk organizing a few files, tilted her head curiously. "The Secret Service? Why are they calling you, boss?"

Miles gave a small shrug, his expression thoughtful. Did they find out about the Clown being alive? For a brief moment, that thought crossed his mind, tightening his chest just slightly.

He picked up the call, his tone composed. "Hello."

A calm, official voice came through the other end. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling. This is Special Agent Howard from the President’s Office. First of all, the President extends his apologies for not being able to attend the scheduled visit last Tuesday."

Miles leaned back in his chair, tone polite but relaxed. "It’s okay, Agent Howard. I completely understand—the President must have a busy schedule. Something important must’ve come up."

"We appreciate your understanding, Mr. Sterling," the agent replied. "I’m calling to inform you that the President has rescheduled his visit for the upcoming Monday."

Miles’s expression softened, a faint smile appearing on his face. "Well, that’s news worth hearing. Thank you for letting me know."

"I’ll send you the updated itinerary and security details by this evening," the agent continued. "If your team needs any special arrangements or has security concerns, please notify us immediately."

"Understood," Miles said evenly. "We’ll be ready."

"Have a great day, Mr. Sterling," the agent concluded before hanging up.

The call ended, and Miles exhaled slowly, resting the phone on his desk. His shoulders eased a little as the tension faded from his expression.

June looked up from her tablet, curious as ever. "What happened, boss?"

Miles smiled faintly, "The canceled visit has been rescheduled. The President’s coming on Monday."

June blinked. "Oh? That soon?"

Miles nodded. "Seems like it."

June straightened up, switching gears instantly. "Alright, I’ll start checking the arrangements again—security, press coordination, everything. You’ll have the full report by the evening."

Miles picked up his phone again and forwarded the received message to her. "I just sent you the schedule."

June’s phone buzzed in confirmation. "Got it, boss."

She gave a small nod and walked out briskly, already on her way to handle preparations.

Left alone in the cabin, Miles leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the skyline again. Monday would bring power, cameras, and a hundred eyes —but for now, there was calm before the storm.

Evening

A single bulb flickered to life, breaking the darkness of the room. The harsh yellow glow spread across cracked concrete walls, illuminating the figure slumped in a metal chair.

The black cloth was yanked off his face, and the sudden light made him squint, his old eyes fluttering as if the brightness itself was an attack. The man’s face—lined, unshaven, worn by years of deception—was unmistakable. The Clown.

His throat was dry, voice raspy from hours of silence. "Where... am I?"

The operative standing beside him didn’t answer right away. He poured black coffee into a metal cup, the faint aroma filling the tense air. "Stay here, Clown," the man said finally, his tone detached. "Commander Ray will be here soon."

The Clown exhaled slowly, hands still cuffed to the table. "Where are we?"

The operative glanced at him with mild irritation. "At the Graveyard base. Can’t you tell?"

But something in the air was wrong. The Clown had been inside many bases in his lifetime—mercenary outposts, hidden war rooms, black sites. They all had a rhythm: footsteps, coded radios, distant gunfire, metallic echoes. But here, it was silent. Too silent.

He frowned. "Graveyard base, huh..." he muttered under his breath. "Funny. Doesn’t sound like one."

The operative ignored him and pushed the coffee forward. "You must be hungry. Drink it. Commander will have questions."

The Clown gave a hollow chuckle. "A little courtesy before the execution. Touching."

The operative turned without another word and exited the room, sealing the door behind him with a click.

Silence. Only the hum of the single bulb remained.

After several minutes, the heavy door unlocked again. The operative outside straightened immediately. "He’s in, boss."

Miles Sterling stepped inside.

He paused at the one-way glass for a moment, staring at the man seated beyond it. His expression didn’t shift, but behind that calm exterior, memories flickered—the warehouse, the deal, the boy who once sat beside Hades pretending to be "Mike Clark."

The Clown had been sharper then—eyes gleaming, words slick with poison and charm. But now? Just an aging broker whose sins had outlived his strength.

"Open the door," Miles said quietly.

The lock clicked, and he stepped into the room.

The Clown looked up immediately, narrowing his eyes. "You. Who the hell are you? Where’s Ray?"

Miles’s tone was calm, almost too calm. "Relax. Ray isn’t coming."

The Clown’s lips twitched. His instincts—the ones that had saved his life a hundred times—screamed the truth. This wasn’t a Graveyard base. Something was off.

"Where am I?" he demanded, his voice trembling with anger this time.

Miles’s gaze was steady. "It doesn’t matter where you are, Clown. You’ve been running for a long time, haven’t you? I’ll give you one last chance to retire—peacefully. But first, you answer my questions."

The Clown laughed, a rough, broken sound that turned into coughing. "Questions? You want answers from me?"

Miles tilted his head slightly. "You find that funny?"

"You idiots," the Clown spat. "You think you’re Graveyard? You think you can use their name to pull this off?" He leaned forward, eyes wide and desperate. "You’re all doomed. When the real Graveyard finds out you used their identity to capture me—believe me—they won’t stop at you. They’ll burn this place to ashes. They’ll burn you alive."

For a long moment, silence settled between them like dust.

Then Miles... started laughing.

At first softly. Then louder, his laughter echoing off the walls, cutting through the stale air. He turned toward the one-way glass, still chuckling. "Did you hear that? He says they’ll burn me."

The operative on the other side froze.

The Clown’s smile faltered. Something cold slid down his spine as Miles’s laughter died abruptly.

Miles turned back to him, stepping closer until only the thin table separated them. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Burn me?"

The Clown’s pupils dilated. His breath hitched. That look... these eyes... It was too familiar.

He stared at Miles—really stared—and his wrinkled face twisted with recognition. His lips trembled as the truth clawed its way up his throat.

"You..." he rasped. "I know you... you’re—"

Miles’s shadow fell across his face, and the bulb above flickered once more.

To be continued.