Interview

The night air was sharp, biting at the skin like a warning, as if the world itself had abandoned the forgotten streets. Dim streetlights flickered weakly, their glow casting jagged shadows that twisted unnaturally across the cracked asphalt. The sound of footsteps echoed in the stillness—deliberate, rhythmic—punctuated by the faint shuffle of leather boots.

Alexander Kane stood at the heart of it all, his silhouette sharp against the muted glow. His long black coat flared in the wind, the collar turned up to shroud his face, save for the glint of his icy blue eyes. Those eyes, cold and piercing, scanned the desolate street like a predator in his domain.

Behind him, his men moved as one—silent, disciplined, their presence a silent threat that would send a shiver down the spine of even the bravest. No words were exchanged. The scrape of weapons adjusting and the faint creak of leather were the only sounds that broke the quiet. Alexander's hand rested on the grip of his gun, his touch light, almost reverent. It was not just a weapon; it was an extension of his will.

They had waited for this night. Weeks of shadowing, planning, and precision had led to this moment. The man they hunted had made a fatal mistake. Tonight, he would pay.

A car's headlights sliced through the darkness like a knife, its headlights piercing the gloom. It moved slowly, its engine humming low and unhurried, completely oblivious to the figures that waited in the shadows. Alexander's fingers gripped his gun tightly; his pulse was steady, his tension coiled and ready to strike.

The car rolled to a stop at the intersection, its engine idling. A door creaked open. A man stepped out—middle-aged, his face pale and drawn, the weight of too many poor choices etched into his features. He hesitated, his eyes darting around as if sensing the unseen danger.

"You're late," Alexander said, his voice low and edged with steel, cutting through the cold air.

The man froze, his head snapping toward the shadows. His eyes opened wide, adjusting to the dim light as he caught sight of the figures looming at the end of the street. Panic spread across his face like a storm cloud. He knew.

"I—I didn't—", he stuttered, his voice cracking as he stumbled backward. His steps were clumsy, erratic. The circle of men closed in, shadows stretching and shifting like phantoms.

Alexander pushed forward, his pace measured, each step purposeful. He stopped just short of the man, his gun glowing faintly as he raised it, the motion deliberate and unyielding.

"You crossed me," Alexander said, his voice unflinching. "And there's no coming back from that."

The man's breathing caught, his chest thrusting up and falling erratically. His eyes jerked wildly, hunting for an escape route that wasn't there. The tone of desperation clung to his voice. "Please… I didn't mean to… I was just doing my job."

Alexander leaned forward, a faint, humorless smile curling his lips. "Your job? You think that matters to me?" His voice dropped, cold and cutting. "You betrayed me. Betrayed everything I've built. And for that… you're done."

The man fell to his knees, his face smeared with tears, his words disintegrating into incoherence. Alexander did not blink. He raised the gun higher, steady, and aimed it squarely at the man's chest.

A single shot broke the silence.

The man crashed to the ground with an unimpressive thud. Blood trickled and spread into the creases of the asphalt as liquid ink spreads on paper. The echo of the gunfire faded into the darkness. Only a heavy, almost complete silence remained.

Alexander stood there, frozen in place, the gun still clutched in his hand. He gazed at the lifeless form for a moment before he turned away, his features as unreadable as always. His men followed, their steps in unison, faces devoid of any trace of pity or hesitation.

The wind hollered down the street, colder now, carrying the weight of finality with it. Tonight, at least, the city's undercurrent of rebellion was silenced.

Alexander Kane would make certain that it remained so.

________________________

Ryan, the debonair host, sat behind his desk, his polished smile hinting at the charm he wielded so effortlessly. Seated across from him was Evelyn Stone: poised, elegant, with a wavy auburn hair that cascaded down her shoulders. There was an effortless calm about her, though her eyes sparkled with quiet intelligence. Evelyn Stone—the bestselling author of Shadows of the Heart—had captivated millions, and now, she was here to discuss her newest release.

Ryan turned to the camera, smile broadening. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are thrilled to have the brilliant Evelyn Stone with us today. Her latest novel, Crimson Lies, has already taken the literary world by storm, and we can't wait to hear more about it. Evelyn, welcome to the show!"

"Thank you for having me, Ryan." Evelyn's voice was soft yet confident, and her warm smile was as inviting as ever.

Ryan leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Now, Evelyn, Crimson Lies introduces us to Alexander Kane—a dark, enigmatic mafia boss who feels so. real. I have to ask, is he inspired by someone in particular?

Evelyn paused, her fingers touching the silver chain at her throat—a nervous habit. Her lips curved into a playful smile, though something flickered in her gaze. "As much as I'd love to say Alexander is all fiction, I suppose there are truths that inspire every story. A man like him—powerful, untouchable—he's got everything, yet he's just as vulnerable as anyone else. His thing with control is. pretty hard to ignore.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his curiosity sharpening. "That's an interesting point of view. You've talked before about the idea of control-how even the most powerful can be desperate. But here's a fun question: if Alexander Kane were real, what would you say to him?

Evelyn's smile faltered for the briefest moment, but she leaned forward, her voice unwavering. "I'd remind him that power isn't everything. It's the uncontrollable—love, loyalty, vulnerability—that often defines us the most. But I'd also tell him that men like him. they crave connection. They just hide it better than most."

Ryan watched her closely, sensing there was something more in the undertone of what she was saying. "Well said. The novel also has the tension between Alexander and a woman who challenges him: forbidden love, battle between attraction and control. Do you think readers find something to draw them into this dynamic?

Evelyn's cheeks flushed faintly, but she stayed calm. "It is the complexity. We're attracted to complications in relationships. Alexander embodies chaos and shadows, but the woman he is involved with is his light-a person unafraid of him. That struggle between light and dark, that tug-of-war of forces that wouldn't normally coexist but somehow do.I believe all of us are intrigued by that.

Ryan's smile honed. "And do you think someone like Alexander Kane exists in real life? A man of that kind of power, of that kind of darkness?"

Evelyn hesitated for a beat, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup, her gaze flickering away. She laughed softly, but it didn't hide the tension in her voice.

____________________________

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its flickering flames casting restless shadows across the grand study. Alexander Kane stood by the massive window, staring into the endless darkness outside. His whiskey glass sat empty on the table beside him, yet the thoughts in his mind were anything but drained. The room's silence was heavy, thick with an unspoken tension, as his mind wrestled with memories of the recent killing he'd carried out.

It should have been like each other time-cold, calculating, necessary. But the feeling left something in him, some weight that pounded against his chest. Not that he could explain for this irritation.

"Why am I like this?" he whispered bitterly to himself. "Why do I feel such?" Alexander Kane was meant to be ruthless, devoid of compassion. Tonight however, he could not escape his thoughts.

He walked to the door and pushed it open slowly, breaking his thoughts. Damien entered the room quietly, moving with his typical precision. He was Alexander's most trusted man; he was loyal and efficient. The look on his face told Alexander that he came with news—something important.

Without a word, Damien set a file down on the desk, moving quietly and deliberately. Alexander turned, his cold blue eyes pinching as they narrowed upon his man. His frustration in his chest began to simmer, masked by the sharpness of focus now.

"Sir, there's a writer," Damien started, his voice measured but weighted. "Evelyn Stone. She's been making waves lately."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. Just enough interest was stirred that he wanted to continue. Damien opened the file to a printed article inside.

"She's written a book," Damien said. "It's a fictionalized story, but it is. uncannily detailed. The main character bears an uncanny resemblance to you, down to specific details that very few people could know."

Alexander's eyes narrowed, his irritation momentarily overcome by interest. "A book about me?" His voice was low, cold, the edge of danger unmistakable.

"Yes," Damien said calmly. "And it's gained a lot of popularity. She's even been doing interviews, saying it's all just fiction. But readers are already drawing their own conclusions. They think it's based on fact-your life."

Alexander's lips curved into a dark smile, but fire in his chest flared brighter. "Fictional, is it?" he whispered in scornful tones. "She can think she can mock me to a story of amusement, walk away free of guilt?"

Damien did not blink. "Seems so, sir. She walks a treacherous path. Privately, she claims to speak from fiction, but the stories. they reveal her tongue."

Alexander turned fully to the fire, his hands going into the pockets of his coat. His mind ran over every angle, every possible response. But underneath, that odd feeling of restlessness still chewed at him, would not recede.

"Does she know what she's done?" he said to himself in a low voice filled with menace. "She's stepped into my world, without knowing it. And now. she will find out."

Damien stopped reading the tension in the postures of Alexander as he hesitated. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

Alexander's eyes remained upon the fire as a little smirk spread across his lips. "Prepare everything. If she wants to write a story about me, then I'll make sure that she lives it. Fiction? He chuckled darkly. "I'll teach her the truth."

___________________________________

"Well, I'm sure that's to be expected when writing about powerful, influential figures. But the truth is, the character in my book is just a fictional creation—someone designed to reflect certain themes, not a specific person. And as for any resemblance to someone…" She shrugged delicately. "That's entirely coincidental."

The interviewer laughed, but before he could respond to the question, the air in the room shifted. The temperature seemed to have dropped. The heavy studio doors swung open, and the sound echoed through the space.

Gasps rippled through the audience like a shockwave.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that exuded power, was none other than Alexander Kane himself. His icy blue eyes scanned the room with a cold, predatory precision. The sharp cut of his jawline, the unyielding darkness in his expression—he was unmistakable. A man who commanded absolute attention without uttering a single word.

The studio seemed to freeze in collective silence. The interviewer's smile faltered, his eyes darting nervously between Evelyn and Alexander.

Evelyn sat motionless, her poised expression still intact, but there was the faintest flicker of something in her eyes—something she quickly buried.

Alexander didn't wait for an invitation. Every step he took seemed to resonate louder, the sound echoing in the hushed room. As he stepped toward the set, tension mounted and became unbearable with all eyes fixed on him.

He stopped right in front of Evelyn, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.

"Fiction, you say?" His voice was low, smooth, and laced with quiet menace. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Let's see how long that holds."

The air crackled with unspoken challenges as Alexander stood there, a dark shadow of intent in the glaring studio lights.