Yesterday, 08:13 AM
1 of 2
======
==========
December 2nd, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The restaurant occupied the top floor of a converted Georgian townhouse in Mayfair, its tall sash windows looking out over a rain-slicked Berkeley Square where the plane trees dripped steadily onto the roofs of black cabs. Inside, the room felt like a hushed conspiracy of velvet and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers hung low enough that their prisms scattered tiny rainbows across the white linen tablecloths whenever someone passed beneath them. The walls were paneled in dark walnut, the kind of wood that had absorbed decades of cigar smoke and whispered deals, and between the panels hung vast gold-framed oils of long-dead aristocrats who seemed to watch the diners with the weary tolerance of people who had seen every human folly at least twice. Clyde Sutter sat with his back to the room, facing the windows so that the cold silver light from outside carved sharp shadows across his face. He was tall enough that even seated he seemed to take up more than his share of space, shoulders broad beneath the charcoal wool of his suit jacket, the collar of his black shirt open just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair, black and straight and a little too long, was pushed back from his forehead as though he’d run his hands through it too many times already tonight. He held a glass of red wine but hadn’t drunk from it in ten minutes; instead he turned the stem slowly between his fingers, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the bowl like blood that refused to fall.
Across from him, Melinda Braddock looked as though she had been cut from winter sunlight. Her hair, the pale gold of ripe wheat, was swept up in a loose twist that let a few fine strands escape to brush the nape of her neck. She wore a sleeveless dress the color of midnight water, simple but expensive, the kind of dress that relied entirely on the wearer’s bone structure to keep it from looking ordinary. A single string of pearls rested against her collarbones, rising and falling with each careful breath. Her hands were folded in her lap now, but every so often her right thumb worried at the emerald on her left ring finger, an unconscious habit she probably didn’t realize she had. The table between them had been set for three. The third chair waited like an accusation, its brocade cushion still perfectly smooth, the napkin folded into an elaborate bishop’s miter that no one had dared disturb. A small arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus sat in the center, the flowers so fresh that droplets still clung to their petals, catching the candlelight in trembling prisms. Silverware glinted. Water glasses sparkled. Everything was flawless, and everything felt wrong. From somewhere deeper in the restaurant came the low murmurs of conversation, the delicate clink of cutlery against porcelain, the occasional ripple of polite laughter that never quite reached the eyes. Waiters in black waistcoats moved between the tables with the silent efficiency of people who understood that their job was to be invisible until required.
Clyde’s gaze flicked toward the entrance for the third time in as many minutes. The maître d’ stood there beneath a crystal sconce, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of serene authority, but even he seemed to sense the tension at table nine. Melinda noticed the glance and her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. She reached for her own wine and took a sip that was more fortification than pleasure.
“Clyde…” Melinda whispered “...you’re making me nervous.”
“There is good reason to be nervous, my love.” He remarks cooly. “This is my sister we are dealing with.”
“Yes, I know.” Melinda sighs. “I’m not exactly pleased with this idea, myself, but it was YOUR idea. Besides, don’t you trust in Fate?”
Even The Assassin cannot help but laugh and even admire how his lovely fiance threw his belief in Fate right back in his face. He nods his head in agreement.
“Too true, my love. Still, even with the confirmation that Fate is in control, it does not make this particular evening any less troublesome. Do you think Mr. Cruze will look forward to what Fate has in store for him at Shattered Reality?”
“Shaun Cruze is a fool and he doesn’t believe in Fate.” Melinda remarks.
“If he did he would be terrified, and rightfully so, because Fate has written in the stars that I shall end his miraculous comeback before it can even begin.”
“But he’s not afraid because Shaun Cruze is ignorant to Fate.” Melinda says. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss. So babe, instead of worrying yourself to death and, in turn making me a nervous wreck, why don’t you try being a little ignorant just this one time, huh?”
“You mean pretend as if my sister isn’t some dangerous criminal who could easily have lured us into a trap this evening?”
“Yes. Exactly. Let’s pretend that!” Melinda nods her head.
“Very well.” Clyde takes a sip of his wine. “Ignorance is bliss.”
Outside the windows, London continued its evening performance: headlights sliding along wet asphalt, umbrellas blooming and folding like black flowers, red double-decker buses shouldering through the rain with imperial indifference. Big Ben tolled the half hour somewhere in the distance, the sound muffled by the glass and the rain and the thick walls of money that surrounded them. Inside, the minute hand on the ormolu clock above the fireplace crept forward with excruciating patience. They had arrived twenty minutes early. Now the early arrival felt like a mistake. Every second stretched, elastic and unbearable. The air between them carried the faint scent of Melinda’s perfume and the sharper note of Clyde’s cologne, cedar and black pepper, undercut now by something metallic that might have been nerves.
Melinda set her glass down with deliberate care, the base making only the softest click against the linen. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the cloth, then let her hand fall back to her lap. Clyde watched the motion, then looked away again, out at the rain. His jaw flexed once, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave away that morning. The third wine glass waited, empty and expectant. The third plate gleamed. The third chair sat empty, but not for much longer. Somewhere near the entrance, the maître d’ inclined his head to a newcomer just stepping out of the lift, shaking droplets from an umbrella. Clyde saw it first. His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. Melinda followed his gaze, and for a moment her face went very still, as though someone had pressed pause on her heartbeat. The rain kept falling. The quartet played on. And in the warm, moneyed hush of the restaurant, the temperature at table nine seemed to drop several degrees all at once.
Then she arrived.
Lilith Sutter stepped out as though the restaurant had been waiting for her all evening and had only just remembered how to breathe once she arrived. She moved with the unhurried certainty of someone who had never needed to ask permission for anything in her life. Tall, almost as tall as Clyde in her heels, she wore a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers the color of wet ink, cut sharp enough to look weaponized. A long camel coat hung open over her shoulders, its hem brushing the backs of her calves with every step. The coat alone probably cost more than most people’s rent, but she wore it like something she’d thrown on because the night air had teeth. Her hair was the same unrelenting black as her brother’s, but where Clyde’s was simply long and a little wild, Lilith’s was disciplined into a low, sleek knot at the nape of her neck, every strand obedient. The style exposed the clean architecture of her skull, the dramatic hollows beneath cheekbones that could have been carved with a scalpel. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the chandeliers, made the deep red of her mouth look like a fresh wound. A single diamond stud glinted in one ear; the other lobe was bare, as if she’d decided symmetry was for people who still had something to prove.
“That devil…” Clyde remarks under his breath.
“Your sister.” Melinda snickers.
She paused just beyond the velvet rope, letting the maître d’ take her coat without looking at him. As the heavy cashmere slid from her shoulders, the room seemed to recalibrate around her. Conversations didn’t stop, exactly, but they thinned, voices lowering half an octave, the way animals quiet when a larger predator passes through the tall grass. Even the quartet faltered for a single bar before recovering. Lilith’s gaze swept the dining room once, clinical, proprietary, then settled on the table where her brother and Melinda were seated. A faint curve touched her lips, not quite a smile, more the acknowledgement a cat gives a mouse that has foolishly decided to stop running. She started forward. When she reached the table, she did not pull out the waiting chair. She simply stood behind it, one manicured hand resting lightly on the back, the other holding a slim black clutch that looked capable of hiding either a lipstick or a garrote. For a long moment she studied them both, head tilted a fraction, as if she were cataloging new bruises on old toys. Then, with the fluid inevitability of dark water filling a mold, she sat.
“You are late.” Clyde’s remark is pointed and cold. No emotion with the exception of, perhaps, a little bit of annoyance.
“My apologies.” She says nonchalantly. “Traffic was horrid.”
“You! Were! Late!” Clyde’s frustration is beginning to boil over. It startles Melinda because she has seen him at his worst. Lilith, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.
“Like I said, traffic was horrid.”
“Lilith, you wanted this meeting. You have wanted me right here and now for a very long time. To get me here you have harassed me to no end. You offended my future wife! You put a hit out on her ex-boyfriend! You destroyed my friendship with Joey! You even tried to get to me through my uncle, through Mason Van Stanton!”
“What can I say?” Lilith chuckles softly. “I enjoy a good game.”
“This is not a game!” Clyde shouts which gets the attention of other patrons. Melinda is startled. Lilith wags her finger at him, tauntingly.
“Careful, dear brother. You will get us thrown out.”
Clyde Sutter’s anger and rage is at its tipping point. Melinda Braddock senses this and quickly speaks up.
“Look, what Clyde is trying to say is that you never did endear yourself to us. We have no reason to trust you let alone give you this meeting that you demanded. Yet here we are and you could have had the decency to be on time.”
“You are correct and I do apologize.” She answers. “This meeting was my idea and here I am, late to my own party. How many times must I say it? I apologize.”
Melinda Braddock looks at her fiance. The Assassin is still angry but she can tell he has it under control now, so she remains quiet and lets him take over the conversation.
“Just get to the point, sister. What do you want?”
“Perhaps I should ask you?” Lilith grins. “What is it that you think I want, dear brother?”
“I believe the answer to that is quite obvious.” Clyde says cooly. “You want me to join with you in your life of crime.” He shakes his head. “It will never happen. I have left that life.”
“YOUR life of crime was relegated to petty street crimes, dear brother, while I ran a powerful criminal organization.” She snickers. “We are not the same. I offered you that power and you turned me down. I was disappointed at first but my exile in Russia taught me a few things; namely, that you will never turn back to crime and rule by my side the way I had hoped.”
“Good. Perhaps it is possible to get something through that thick head of yours after all?” The Assassin’s words cut through Lilith. Again, Lilith is not bothered.
“I still want you to join me, Clyde.” She states. “Going forward, my entire organization will be legitimate. I am…how is it that your street rat friend Joey would likely put it…I am going straight.”
“I find that claim highly dubious.” Melinda chimes in quickly. “Like Clyde said, YOU ordered the hit on Archie!”
“The boy you were going to marry before you reunited with my brother?” Lilith sighs and nods her head. “Yes, yes I did that.”
“And you almost killed me in the process!”
“You were not the target.” Lilith states. “Before you go and say something you shouldn’t, Ms. Braddock, know that I have given my brother a peace offering. I punished Mason Van Stanton for the crimes he committed against my brother. I will give you the same peace offering. Anything you want, name it, and I will give it to you.”
“There’s nothing I want from you.” Melinda snaps.
“Oh but everyone wants something.” Lilith winks. “Just think about it. You don’t have to tell me tonight.”
“My beloved has a point.” Clyde states. “Your claims are dubious. You may say that you are going straight…but legally doesn’t always mean the same thing as ethically.”
“What a bright boy you are!” Lilith exclaims. “You are correct, dear brother, just because my organization’s actions will be legal going forward does not mean they will be ethical.”
“So have you truly changed?”
“Have you changed?” Lilith points a finger at Clyde. “Are you little mister ethical? You may not be the raging monster that once abused ‘your beloved’ over there, but how did you get the money to pay for the psychiatric help that you needed to get that rage under control? Oh yes, that’s right, you were…and still are…the hired muscle for The Page Family of professional wrestling. In SCW you were the hired muscle for The Fall of Man. In another organization you and Melinda here broke a man’s leg just because you could.” Lilith smirks knowingly. “Yes, it was within the confines of professional wrestling, so it wasn’t illegal, but was it ethical to break that man’s leg? Is it ethical to do the dirty work for the Page family or The Fall of Man?”
“No…” The Assassin hates to admit it but his sister is right. He may be on the right side of the law now but he is hardly an upright individual. Melinda isn’t sure she likes how this conversation is going she looks at Clyde, then at Lilith, then back at Clyde again. Lilith just snickers.
“What is it that you want?” Melinda asks.
“I am not asking for my brother to help me pull off any crimes. I am not even asking him to join me as I attempt to take my organization and make it legitimate. I merely want one thing,” she holds up one finger, “I want a relationship with my brother. I want to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.”
======
==========
December 2nd, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The restaurant occupied the top floor of a converted Georgian townhouse in Mayfair, its tall sash windows looking out over a rain-slicked Berkeley Square where the plane trees dripped steadily onto the roofs of black cabs. Inside, the room felt like a hushed conspiracy of velvet and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers hung low enough that their prisms scattered tiny rainbows across the white linen tablecloths whenever someone passed beneath them. The walls were paneled in dark walnut, the kind of wood that had absorbed decades of cigar smoke and whispered deals, and between the panels hung vast gold-framed oils of long-dead aristocrats who seemed to watch the diners with the weary tolerance of people who had seen every human folly at least twice. Clyde Sutter sat with his back to the room, facing the windows so that the cold silver light from outside carved sharp shadows across his face. He was tall enough that even seated he seemed to take up more than his share of space, shoulders broad beneath the charcoal wool of his suit jacket, the collar of his black shirt open just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric. His hair, black and straight and a little too long, was pushed back from his forehead as though he’d run his hands through it too many times already tonight. He held a glass of red wine but hadn’t drunk from it in ten minutes; instead he turned the stem slowly between his fingers, watching the liquid cling to the sides of the bowl like blood that refused to fall.
Across from him, Melinda Braddock looked as though she had been cut from winter sunlight. Her hair, the pale gold of ripe wheat, was swept up in a loose twist that let a few fine strands escape to brush the nape of her neck. She wore a sleeveless dress the color of midnight water, simple but expensive, the kind of dress that relied entirely on the wearer’s bone structure to keep it from looking ordinary. A single string of pearls rested against her collarbones, rising and falling with each careful breath. Her hands were folded in her lap now, but every so often her right thumb worried at the emerald on her left ring finger, an unconscious habit she probably didn’t realize she had. The table between them had been set for three. The third chair waited like an accusation, its brocade cushion still perfectly smooth, the napkin folded into an elaborate bishop’s miter that no one had dared disturb. A small arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus sat in the center, the flowers so fresh that droplets still clung to their petals, catching the candlelight in trembling prisms. Silverware glinted. Water glasses sparkled. Everything was flawless, and everything felt wrong. From somewhere deeper in the restaurant came the low murmurs of conversation, the delicate clink of cutlery against porcelain, the occasional ripple of polite laughter that never quite reached the eyes. Waiters in black waistcoats moved between the tables with the silent efficiency of people who understood that their job was to be invisible until required.
Clyde’s gaze flicked toward the entrance for the third time in as many minutes. The maître d’ stood there beneath a crystal sconce, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of serene authority, but even he seemed to sense the tension at table nine. Melinda noticed the glance and her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. She reached for her own wine and took a sip that was more fortification than pleasure.
“Clyde…” Melinda whispered “...you’re making me nervous.”
“There is good reason to be nervous, my love.” He remarks cooly. “This is my sister we are dealing with.”
“Yes, I know.” Melinda sighs. “I’m not exactly pleased with this idea, myself, but it was YOUR idea. Besides, don’t you trust in Fate?”
Even The Assassin cannot help but laugh and even admire how his lovely fiance threw his belief in Fate right back in his face. He nods his head in agreement.
“Too true, my love. Still, even with the confirmation that Fate is in control, it does not make this particular evening any less troublesome. Do you think Mr. Cruze will look forward to what Fate has in store for him at Shattered Reality?”
“Shaun Cruze is a fool and he doesn’t believe in Fate.” Melinda remarks.
“If he did he would be terrified, and rightfully so, because Fate has written in the stars that I shall end his miraculous comeback before it can even begin.”
“But he’s not afraid because Shaun Cruze is ignorant to Fate.” Melinda says. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss. So babe, instead of worrying yourself to death and, in turn making me a nervous wreck, why don’t you try being a little ignorant just this one time, huh?”
“You mean pretend as if my sister isn’t some dangerous criminal who could easily have lured us into a trap this evening?”
“Yes. Exactly. Let’s pretend that!” Melinda nods her head.
“Very well.” Clyde takes a sip of his wine. “Ignorance is bliss.”
Outside the windows, London continued its evening performance: headlights sliding along wet asphalt, umbrellas blooming and folding like black flowers, red double-decker buses shouldering through the rain with imperial indifference. Big Ben tolled the half hour somewhere in the distance, the sound muffled by the glass and the rain and the thick walls of money that surrounded them. Inside, the minute hand on the ormolu clock above the fireplace crept forward with excruciating patience. They had arrived twenty minutes early. Now the early arrival felt like a mistake. Every second stretched, elastic and unbearable. The air between them carried the faint scent of Melinda’s perfume and the sharper note of Clyde’s cologne, cedar and black pepper, undercut now by something metallic that might have been nerves.
Melinda set her glass down with deliberate care, the base making only the softest click against the linen. She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the cloth, then let her hand fall back to her lap. Clyde watched the motion, then looked away again, out at the rain. His jaw flexed once, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave away that morning. The third wine glass waited, empty and expectant. The third plate gleamed. The third chair sat empty, but not for much longer. Somewhere near the entrance, the maître d’ inclined his head to a newcomer just stepping out of the lift, shaking droplets from an umbrella. Clyde saw it first. His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. Melinda followed his gaze, and for a moment her face went very still, as though someone had pressed pause on her heartbeat. The rain kept falling. The quartet played on. And in the warm, moneyed hush of the restaurant, the temperature at table nine seemed to drop several degrees all at once.
Then she arrived.
Lilith Sutter stepped out as though the restaurant had been waiting for her all evening and had only just remembered how to breathe once she arrived. She moved with the unhurried certainty of someone who had never needed to ask permission for anything in her life. Tall, almost as tall as Clyde in her heels, she wore a black silk blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers the color of wet ink, cut sharp enough to look weaponized. A long camel coat hung open over her shoulders, its hem brushing the backs of her calves with every step. The coat alone probably cost more than most people’s rent, but she wore it like something she’d thrown on because the night air had teeth. Her hair was the same unrelenting black as her brother’s, but where Clyde’s was simply long and a little wild, Lilith’s was disciplined into a low, sleek knot at the nape of her neck, every strand obedient. The style exposed the clean architecture of her skull, the dramatic hollows beneath cheekbones that could have been carved with a scalpel. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the chandeliers, made the deep red of her mouth look like a fresh wound. A single diamond stud glinted in one ear; the other lobe was bare, as if she’d decided symmetry was for people who still had something to prove.
“That devil…” Clyde remarks under his breath.
“Your sister.” Melinda snickers.
She paused just beyond the velvet rope, letting the maître d’ take her coat without looking at him. As the heavy cashmere slid from her shoulders, the room seemed to recalibrate around her. Conversations didn’t stop, exactly, but they thinned, voices lowering half an octave, the way animals quiet when a larger predator passes through the tall grass. Even the quartet faltered for a single bar before recovering. Lilith’s gaze swept the dining room once, clinical, proprietary, then settled on the table where her brother and Melinda were seated. A faint curve touched her lips, not quite a smile, more the acknowledgement a cat gives a mouse that has foolishly decided to stop running. She started forward. When she reached the table, she did not pull out the waiting chair. She simply stood behind it, one manicured hand resting lightly on the back, the other holding a slim black clutch that looked capable of hiding either a lipstick or a garrote. For a long moment she studied them both, head tilted a fraction, as if she were cataloging new bruises on old toys. Then, with the fluid inevitability of dark water filling a mold, she sat.
“You are late.” Clyde’s remark is pointed and cold. No emotion with the exception of, perhaps, a little bit of annoyance.
“My apologies.” She says nonchalantly. “Traffic was horrid.”
“You! Were! Late!” Clyde’s frustration is beginning to boil over. It startles Melinda because she has seen him at his worst. Lilith, for whatever reason, doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.
“Like I said, traffic was horrid.”
“Lilith, you wanted this meeting. You have wanted me right here and now for a very long time. To get me here you have harassed me to no end. You offended my future wife! You put a hit out on her ex-boyfriend! You destroyed my friendship with Joey! You even tried to get to me through my uncle, through Mason Van Stanton!”
“What can I say?” Lilith chuckles softly. “I enjoy a good game.”
“This is not a game!” Clyde shouts which gets the attention of other patrons. Melinda is startled. Lilith wags her finger at him, tauntingly.
“Careful, dear brother. You will get us thrown out.”
Clyde Sutter’s anger and rage is at its tipping point. Melinda Braddock senses this and quickly speaks up.
“Look, what Clyde is trying to say is that you never did endear yourself to us. We have no reason to trust you let alone give you this meeting that you demanded. Yet here we are and you could have had the decency to be on time.”
“You are correct and I do apologize.” She answers. “This meeting was my idea and here I am, late to my own party. How many times must I say it? I apologize.”
Melinda Braddock looks at her fiance. The Assassin is still angry but she can tell he has it under control now, so she remains quiet and lets him take over the conversation.
“Just get to the point, sister. What do you want?”
“Perhaps I should ask you?” Lilith grins. “What is it that you think I want, dear brother?”
“I believe the answer to that is quite obvious.” Clyde says cooly. “You want me to join with you in your life of crime.” He shakes his head. “It will never happen. I have left that life.”
“YOUR life of crime was relegated to petty street crimes, dear brother, while I ran a powerful criminal organization.” She snickers. “We are not the same. I offered you that power and you turned me down. I was disappointed at first but my exile in Russia taught me a few things; namely, that you will never turn back to crime and rule by my side the way I had hoped.”
“Good. Perhaps it is possible to get something through that thick head of yours after all?” The Assassin’s words cut through Lilith. Again, Lilith is not bothered.
“I still want you to join me, Clyde.” She states. “Going forward, my entire organization will be legitimate. I am…how is it that your street rat friend Joey would likely put it…I am going straight.”
“I find that claim highly dubious.” Melinda chimes in quickly. “Like Clyde said, YOU ordered the hit on Archie!”
“The boy you were going to marry before you reunited with my brother?” Lilith sighs and nods her head. “Yes, yes I did that.”
“And you almost killed me in the process!”
“You were not the target.” Lilith states. “Before you go and say something you shouldn’t, Ms. Braddock, know that I have given my brother a peace offering. I punished Mason Van Stanton for the crimes he committed against my brother. I will give you the same peace offering. Anything you want, name it, and I will give it to you.”
“There’s nothing I want from you.” Melinda snaps.
“Oh but everyone wants something.” Lilith winks. “Just think about it. You don’t have to tell me tonight.”
“My beloved has a point.” Clyde states. “Your claims are dubious. You may say that you are going straight…but legally doesn’t always mean the same thing as ethically.”
“What a bright boy you are!” Lilith exclaims. “You are correct, dear brother, just because my organization’s actions will be legal going forward does not mean they will be ethical.”
“So have you truly changed?”
“Have you changed?” Lilith points a finger at Clyde. “Are you little mister ethical? You may not be the raging monster that once abused ‘your beloved’ over there, but how did you get the money to pay for the psychiatric help that you needed to get that rage under control? Oh yes, that’s right, you were…and still are…the hired muscle for The Page Family of professional wrestling. In SCW you were the hired muscle for The Fall of Man. In another organization you and Melinda here broke a man’s leg just because you could.” Lilith smirks knowingly. “Yes, it was within the confines of professional wrestling, so it wasn’t illegal, but was it ethical to break that man’s leg? Is it ethical to do the dirty work for the Page family or The Fall of Man?”
“No…” The Assassin hates to admit it but his sister is right. He may be on the right side of the law now but he is hardly an upright individual. Melinda isn’t sure she likes how this conversation is going she looks at Clyde, then at Lilith, then back at Clyde again. Lilith just snickers.
“What is it that you want?” Melinda asks.
“I am not asking for my brother to help me pull off any crimes. I am not even asking him to join me as I attempt to take my organization and make it legitimate. I merely want one thing,” she holds up one finger, “I want a relationship with my brother. I want to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.”
![[Image: XJiTNy0.png]](https://i.imgur.com/XJiTNy0.png)
Career Achievements
MWE Television Champion 2x
MWE Riot Champion 1x
GCW World Tag Team Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
MWA World Tag Team Champion 2x