THE EXILED KING

NOT YET DEAD

Not knowing how much time had passed by, a low buzzing sound filled Nolan’s ears. His eyes blinked open slowly—heavy, tired, swollen.

The first thing he saw was the face of a dead monkey. Its skin was peeling, eyes gone, and its teeth stuck out like a horror movie creature. Flies danced all over it.

Nolan gasped.

The stench hit him hard.

He turned his head slowly. Pain shot through his neck. All around him, he saw used baby diapers, blood-stained tissue, leftover food, broken bottles, and bags of rotting vegetables.

He was inside a trash bin.

A big, green trash bin. The kind that stood at the back of restaurants and dirty streets.

The walls were high, stained with old grease and dried blood. The heat made the air thick. Maggots crawled everywhere.

His body screamed to move. To get out. But nothing moved.

His hands were heavy. His arms felt like they were chained down. When he tried to raise his head, pain exploded in his skull.

One of his eyes was swollen shut. The other could barely see.

Blood ran down his face. Thick. Sticky. His face was no longer the same. The skin had been broken, torn in several places.

The Sheikh Ahmed had done what he promised—he had ruined Nolan’s face.

Tears stung his one good eye, but he couldn’t cry. He was too weak.

His chest rose slowly. Each breath was a battle.

He remembered now. The beating. The knives. The last punch that knocked him out. The order from the sheikh—to kill him and dump him like trash.

And that’s exactly what they did.

They thought he was dead.

They didn’t check. They didn’t care.

They threw him here, like a piece of garbage.

Nolan tried again to move.

He pushed with what little strength he had, dragging his back against the trash bin wall. His fingers dug into old noodles, broken glass, and used pads.

It was hell.

But he refused to die there.

He was halfway up when he heard a voice outside. Someone shouting.

Before he could call out for help, a large black trash bag flew over the top.

SMACK!

It landed right on him.

He fell back into the bin, groaning in pain.

The bag split open—spoiled, rotten tomatoes spilled all over his body and face.

The smell was worse than death. The acids from the tomatoes stung his wounds.

He screamed. But his voice was weak. Only a dry moan came out.

He laid there, broken and bleeding, unable to move again.

Then, his mind wandered.

He began to ask himself…

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“What was my crime?”

“Was it wrong to love a woman too much?”

Tears rolled down the corner of his eye.

He remembered the long nights in the lab and factory, building Rhys Tech.

He remembered skipping meals, missing sleep, cancelling meetings—just to make sure Evelyn’s company succeeded.

He remembered how he gave up his own social life for hers.

His dream was to make her brand prosper.

And now?

Now he was nothing but garbage to her.

Denied his forty percent.

Left for dead.

Forgotten.

Alone.

Nolan began to cry—not from pain, but from the betrayal. The heartbreak. The unfairness of it all.

Inside that bin, with blood on his face and tomato juice stinging his wounds, he felt like his whole life had been one big lie.

And worst of all… no one was coming to save him.

Not yet.

Nolan opened his one good eye and looked around the trash bin.

The smell.

The pain.

The flies.

The maggots.

The blood.

It all woke something inside him.

Something dark.

Something strong.

He clenched his teeth, even though it hurt.

He looked up at the edge of the bin. It felt far. Too far.

But he refused to die in a trash can.

No.

Not like this.

With a shaky breath, Nolan moved again. He pushed his body, using his elbows, his knees—whatever still worked.

Each movement was pain. Sharp. Burning.

His wounds screamed, but he didn’t stop.

He grabbed the slimy, dirty wall and pulled himself up.

Bit by bit.

He slipped. He groaned. But he kept going.

Finally, his chest reached the top.

He gave one last push—and fell out of the trash bin.

THUD!

The sound was loud. His full weight slammed against the hard, dirty ground. His shoulder even twisted the wrong way.

CRACK!

“AAAHHHHHH!” Nolan screamed in pain.

His voice echoed through the alley.

Tears flowed again. This time, from pure agony.

But then…

Footsteps.

Voices.

Four young men came running into the alley. They looked rough—skinny jeans, chains, loud clothes, tattoos.

One of them was holding a half-eaten cheeseburger.

Nolan looked up at them with hope in his eyes.

He whispered, “Help… please…”

His hand reached out—not just for help, but for that burger. He was starving.

The guys stopped a few feet away.

“Yo… what’s that smell?” one of them said, covering his nose.

“Eeeeww, is that thing alive?” another asked, stepping back.

They all stared at Nolan like he was a rotting animal.

“Bro, you STINK like dead fish,” the tallest one said.

Then, one of them squinted. “Wait… wait, is that a belt?”

He pointed at Nolan’s waist.

The shortest one bent closer, still holding his nose. “Is that… the Hermès Mini Athena Belt?”

The third guy leaned in and touched it.

Nolan weakly tried to stop him.

“Ah! It is!” he shouted.

“That belt costs like… twenty thousand dollars in the market,” he added.

The last guy whistled. “Damn, that’s good money. If we sell it, each of us could get five thousand dollars.”

The first guy stepped forward, grinning. “Come on, guys… let’s take it.”