April 14th, 3:17pm—Tony's room, Bellingham Mansion, Liverpool.
Tony(Kai) had stayed home through out that day, even went to a clinic to treat the wonds but still the scent of cologne and blood was oddly thick in the air.
A once-polished clean-smelling room now smelled like the crime scene of a high-budget drama. But that's wasn't the main case, the Bellinghams log house was now Chaos.
[Do not be mistaken, the log house is actually where the Bellingham Industries stores some goods they make. Extra cameras, doors, chairs, some construction material]
Back to the Story!!!!!
His heart was still hammering from the adrenaline. The guys hadn't even seen the uppercut coming. One swing, maybe two—Tony wasn't exactly counting—but enough to send the arrogant bastard sprawling into the antique settee like a human wrecking ball.
Somewhere behind the tipped-over couch, the man groaned again. He didn't know if Security picked him and the others up. Assuming the media didn't eat the whole mess alive first.
One of the decorative vases—a 19th-century Italian piece that cost more than a small apartment in Kensington—lay in pieces near the grand piano. He mentally added it to the damage report. Along with the coffee table, the shattered whiskey decanter, and whatever pride the attacker had walked in with.
Tony adjusted his casual wear with slow, deliberate fingers, knuckles bandaged. His top shirt was flying out, with his baggy jean.
He wasn't angry.
No, anger was what led up to a fight. What came after was something colder. Cleaner. A dull, electric buzz just under his skin.
"I died in a fight before!!! And now....in this new life, I'ma die again? Not happening!
He knew no one apart from himself and Clara saw the fight.
{Or so he thought?!!!)
"...Kai!!!!!," Clara's voice crackled through his earpiece, sharp with urgency and an edge of disbelief. "News just broke on Streamline. Someone posted a video. It's already going viral."
Tony blinked once.
"You're joking."
"Do I ever joke during PR disasters?" she shot back.
A chime. Then another. His phone buzzed like a swarm of bees on cocaine. Dozens—no, hundreds—of notifications rolled in faster than he could read.
BREAKING: Tony Bellingham in violent altercation at luxury Bellingham Log House
EXCLUSIVE FOOTAGE:Billionaire heir punches man during private meeting.
'Billionaire Brawl' trends worldwide after leaked fight goes public.
His jaw ticked. "Already trending?"
"#BillionaireBrawl is number two globally. Give it ten minutes."
Tony didn't need to ask for context. He could already imagine it—the grainy clip, recorded from a discreet corner camera or someone's hidden phone. The way it probably replayed his punch in glorious slow-motion. Every expression, every angle, every second of it would be meme-ified, dissected, and clipped into TikToks within the hour. And someone it looked like he was the one that started the whole bloody fight
They quickly left the room and went downstairs. Outside the floor-length windows, the first of the press vans arrived, tires screeching. A line of drones hummed into view, circling like vultures in formation. Paparazzi with long-lens cameras jogged up the marble steps, flashing credentials and shouting over one another.
[Paparazzi Wave Loading...]
"Mr. Bellingham—what started the fight?"
"Did you assault a innocent man in your own venue?"
"Is it true this is connected to the first attack in the Bellingham tower?!"
Tony turned his back to the window.
Inside, he bent down and righted the champagne stand with one arm, glass clinking lightly against metal. He poured himself a fresh glass from the untouched bottle and took a slow, deliberate sip. His hand didn't shake.
"I warned them," he muttered.
He wasn't talking to Clara. Or maybe he was.
[Cristiano wasn't at home, he had traveled to London, and Aaron wasn't at home, at that time!!!]
"I told them—come at me sideways, and I'll break something."
There was a pause on the line. Clara's voice returned, quieter but tighter.
"You do realize you just handed every media outlet from London to Seoul, infact in the whole continents a week's worth of headlines, right?"
"I don't care about headlines," Tony said, walking to the center of the sitting home.
"Well, I do," she snapped. "Because in thirty minutes, I'll be standing in front of a press briefing trying to spin your right hook into a public service announcement. You're trending across five continents, Tony. Five!".
He thought to himself, "Five? Really, why not the whole seven!!!?"
He ignored the panic in her tone and looked down at the floor.
Tony's reflection stared back at him from the mirror behind the drink bar. A scrape ran along his cheekbone—raw, almost poetic. His red eyes were sharp with defiance. There was a cut on his lip, and his jaw was tight enough to crack marble. He didn't look like a billionaire heir. He looked like a wolf that had finally bared its teeth.
"You're officially viral, Kai!!!" Clara added dryly. "And not in the good way."
"That's Good," he said, voice low and steady. "But stick with Tony, we don't want questions like....."Why did you call Tony Bellingham....Kai?
He downed the rest of his champagne in one swig, tossed the glass onto a nearby tray, and ran a hand through his long silver hair. The sound of the crowd outside grew louder—more cameras, more yelling. The lions had smelled blood.
"Let them watch."
{That was the simple Plan!!}}}
Clara sighed, but it wasn't defeat. It was that dangerous, calculated breath she always took before activating her full genius.
"Fine. We lean in."
"You're serious?"
"I'll call it a 'self-defense reflex triggered by a personal threat to family interests.'"
Tony snorted. "That's a lot of syllables for 'the guy had it coming.'"
Clara ignored that. "We'll drop an edited clip—low angle, just enough to make it seem like you were cornered. I'll get Lacie( someone who works for me) to craft a statement. Something clean, emotionally intelligent. 'Regretful but firm.' Your usual brand."
"Make sure my knuckles are visible in the thumbnail," Tony said coolly. "The people love a good shot of blood."
Clara hesitated.
"You know this makes you look like a loose cannon, right? Kai!!!! Don't spoil Tony's....infact your image!!!!"
"I won't and yes, I am a cannon. Just happens I aim before I fire."
A brief pause.
"...I'm going to pretend that sounded poetic instead of terrifying." Clara replied
Tony finally moved away from the wreckage, his every step slow and deliberate as if he were walking through the battlefield of his own legend.The scrape on his face was already drying, and he wore it like a badge.
"I'ma have to get this removed later!!!!"
From the hallway, the polished click of shoes approached. Jameson, one of the senior Bellingham aides, peeked through the window only to see the huge paparazzi outside .
{Jameson was one of the loyal and oldest workers for Cristiano, apart from Aaron}
"Mr. Bellingham—should I... uh... call for security?"
Tony didn't even glance at him. Sure. Tell security to get the car ready, we gonna head to the TOWER. I'll give them a headline they won't forget."
Jameson blinked. "Sir?"
Tony cracked his knuckles. The room smelled like broken pride, spilt whiskey, and the storm just before a thunderclap.
"Dent...He really wants this fight, doesn't he?"