SAOIRSE.

“So, you’re quitting?”

You gotta be kidding me.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stood in my head manager’s office, the air thick with the scent of aged leather and something different, the lingering shadow of secrets.

It was the first time I'd laid eyes on my manager in the years I'd slaved away at Nexus, lighting cigarettes and pretending the club's glittering facade was all there was.

But now, face-to-face, it was a hard wind knocking the sane out of me. He was the man from the other night, the one who entered the room in an absurd, provocative laced bunny outfit.

My fingers fidgeted relentlessly, twisting together in a desperate attempt to steady myself. I couldn't force myself to meet his piercing gaze, staring instead at the polished mahogany desk that separated us like a barrier.

“The incident from last night must have been very traumatizing for you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the dimly lit room.

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. The blood splattered across the floor, the way that stranger had torn through the chaos like a storm, it all replayed in my mind, vivid and unrelenting.

“It is my duty to make my people safe in this club, but I have failed you, miserably. I deeply apologize.”

“I know that none of us wanted that to happen,” I muttered, forcing a smile that felt brittle and false. “Only if I had just been more careful and more aware, sir. So, part of it was my fault.”

The man leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, the intensity in them making my skin prickle. “Oh, sweetheart. Please! Drop the ‘sir’. Just call me Azriel.”

I finally dared a glance up, catching the sharp lines of his face, the way his lips curled with that effortless authority. Though he looks very feminine, I can tell he was no ordinary club owner; there was something about him, something that made the room feel smaller, the walls closing in.

His suit was impeccable, tailored to perfection, but beneath it lurked the same dangerous energy I'd sensed in the bunny outfit. He exuded control, the kind that could crush a person without breaking a sweat.

Curiosity burned through my fear, reckless and insistent. “That man,” I said, my voice trembling despite myself. “Who is he? The one from last night. The one who...who saved me?”

“Ah, yes.” Azriel's smile widened, slow and deliberate, as if he'd been expecting me to ask that very question. “You just can't keep that curiousity within yourself, huh? Are you sure you really want to know?”

Is that supposed to be a threat?

“Zeus Trojan. Head of the Trojan Covenant.” he responded, “That son of a gun. I'm telling you he's a dangerous man, he doesn't just run this city. He owns it, body, soul, name it. Destruction and sin are his currency, Saoirse. Every corner bends to his command, every soul kneels in fear and desire.”

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if savoring the moment, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and menace.

“And saved you? Oh, sweetheart. That man is no hero. He's a force of nature. Zeus doesn't save lives. He claims them, plays with them.” A grin spread to his lip. “Last night, he didn't rescue you out of kindness. He did it maybe because you caught his eye, and in his world, that's a death sentence or a twisted gift, depending on his mood.”

His words hung heavy, each one dripping with menace, painting Zeus as something monstrous, untouchable. My pulse quickened, a chill creeping up my spine.

Azriel continued, his voice smooth but laced with warning. “This city, Castello, isn't the playground you think it is. It's ruled by the mafia, layers of power that crush anyone who dares to look too closely.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, his gaze never leaving mine.

“At the very top sits the Obsidian, the Head, who pulls strings from the abyss, untouchable and unseen, a ghost that commands empires from the void. Beneath them, is the Trojan Covenant, the first rank, enforces the will, handling the bloodiest deals, the alliances forged in fire and betrayal. They deal in lives, in fortunes, in the kind of sins that stain your soul forever.”

“What—what do you mean?” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “Why are you telling me this? I don't want any part of—”

Azriel cut me off with a wave of his hand, his tone sharpening. “Because you need to understand, Saoirse.”

He paused, his gaze boring into me, making me feel exposed, vulnerable. “All those killings you've heard whispers about, the messy and forbidden business that stains the underbelly of this place? It's all part of it. Nexus isn't just a club, it's a front. A glittering mask for the Trojan Covenant. We launder fortunes, broker pacts with devils, and when things get...unruly, we clean up the mess. Last night was a taste of that reality.”

My mind reeled, the pieces clicking into a horrifying picture. "Why me?" I demanded, my voice rising with a mix of anger and terror. “Why drag me into this? I didn't ask for any of this!”

“Because you already are. You dove right in it, sweetheart. You witnessed too much, and I bet you wouldn't even dare keep what you just witnessed to yourself.” Azriel's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Panic surged through me, hot and blinding, a tidal wave that crashed over my senses. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. “I—I’m sorry…but I quit.”

I spun on my heel, lunging for the door, my hand slamming against the knob with a desperate thud. Freedom was just a twist away, quit, run, disappear into the night, leave this hell behind.

My vision blurred, the room spinning as the weight of it all pressed down. This was a nightmare I needed to escape, a trap I had to break free from.

“You wouldn't want your choice to kill that little brother of yours, right?”

That sentence made me stop running and from twisting the knob. The revelation hit me, so sudden and shattering, leaving me reeling as if the ground had been yanked from my feet. 

I hadn't seen it coming, not the depth of their knowledge, not the way they'd weaponized my brother against me.

He rose slowly from his chair, his presence filling the room like a shadow that blotted out the light, towering over me even from across the desk. “You will work for him in exchange for your brother’s life.”

“H—How…” I whirled back, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“I know everything about those who work under me, Saoirse. Your whole life, laid out like an open book. That ill little brother of yours, fighting for every breath in that rundown hospital, his tiny body hooked up to machines that beep like a ticking clock.”

“You’re…using my brother against me?” I mumbled, fists turning white. “Don't you dare lay your fingers on him!”

“One word, Saoirse. One word from him, and your brother's life vanishes, your world crumbles into thin dust.” Azriel threatened. “Zeus is your only salvation. He'll pull strings, make deals with the devil himself to keep that boy breathing.”

“No, please! Stop! Leave my brother out of this! He’s sick! How could you use him like this?!”

These monsters are sick rotten to the core. Tears stung my eyes as the weight of his blackmail crushed me. There was no escape, no choice. The bargain was sealed.

I was trapped, another tool in their sick game, and Zeus Trojan's presence was too much to ignore, a monster waiting to devour me.

“Then the choice is yours, Saoirse.”

SAOIRSE.

“The choice is yours, Saoirse. Pick wisely.”

Those words clawed at me, digging into my skin like thorns, twisting deeper with every breath as I stood there in Azriel's office, my hand clunched onto the door knob, slippery under my sweaty palm.

The air was thick, suffocating, and I could feel his gaze burning into my back like a brand.

I spun around slowly, white-hot pain shooting through my fingers. Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away, forcing steel into my spine. No. I wouldn't break. Not for him. Not for any of them.

“You think you can blackmail me with my brother?” I hissed, my voice low and venomous, each word dripping with defiance. “Using a sick innocent kid to make me your puppet? You're worse than monsters. You're nothing but cowards hiding behind power.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing his sharp features before it melted into that infuriating smirk. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the fabric of his suit straining just enough to remind me of the predator beneath.

“Cowards? Oh, sweetheart, cowards are far different from survivors. And you are about to learn that defiance in Castello gets you buried.”

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us, my heels clicking sharply on the floor. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in, but I refused to back down.

“Worse? Like what? You kill me? Fine. But Aofie? He's innocent. Touch him, and I'll make sure every soul in this city knows what you really are, spineless lunatics playing god with lives that aren't yours.”

“Bold words from a girl who's shaking like a leaf.” His laugh was a dark rumble, low and mocking, vibrating through the air like thunder. “You think running your mouth will save you? Zeus doesn't take kindly to threats. And neither do I.”

I jabbed a finger at his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath, but I didn't flinch.

“Let him come. Let your precious Zeus hunt me down. I'll fight. I'll scream. I'll expose every dirty secret you hide.” I provoked even further. “You want loyalty? Earn it. Not with your own poor tricks.”

Azriel's smirk faded, his eyes darkening to something feral, dangerous. He straightened, towering over me, his presence overwhelming, like a storm cloud blocking the sun.

“You have no idea what you're unleashing, Saoirse. Zeus Trojan doesn't play games, he ends them. Walk out that door, and you're fair game. He'll find you, break you. And when he does, your brother won't be the only one paying.”

The threat hung heavy, but it only fueled the fire in my veins. I shoved past him, my shoulder brushing his arm, the contact sending an unwanted spark through me, heat and hate mingling in a toxic rush.

“Then let the wolf hunt,” I spat, yanking the door open. “I'm not his to own.”

I slammed it behind me, the echo reverberating down the empty hallway. My legs trembled as I ran, heels clacking frantically against the polished floor, past the dim lights of the club where shadows danced like ghosts.

Great. Where in the world did you get to say those bold words to him?! At this point, you're just literally digging your own grave, Saoirse!

The main room was a blur of bodies and bass, but I didn't stop, bursting through the back exit into the humid night air of Castello. Rain had started to fall, a light drizzle that soaked my skin instantly, plastering my hair to my face.

Panic clawed at my throat, but I pushed it down, forcing my mind to focus. Home first. Grab what I could, then disappear.

Aofie. I had to get to him, warn the hospital, and find a way to protect him. But how? These men owned the city, Azriel had said it himself. Every corner bent to his command. So, who am I really running from?

My apartment was blocks away, a rundown building in the heart of the slums, but I sprinted, ignoring the catcalls from drunks and the distant wail of sirens. The streets were alive with Castello's underbelly, prostitutes in skimpy outfits, dealers lurking in alleys, the air thick with smoke and desperation. I ducked into my building, heart pounding, and raced up the stairs, keys fumbling in my lock.

Inside, the space was cramped, cluttered with Aofie's drawings on the fridge and his favorite stuffed bear on the couch. I grabbed a duffel bag, shoving in clothes, cash from my hidden stash, barely enough for a bus ticket out of town, and Aofie's photo. My hands trembling with sweat as I dialed the hospital, voice breathless.

“I–Uh. Hello. This is Saoirse. Saoirse Vincenzo. I need to speak to Dr. Devinal about my brother, Aofie. It's urgent.”

The nurse on the line hesitated. “Ma'am, visiting hours are over. Is there an emergency?”

“Yes! Tell him—tell him not to let anyone near Aofie. No strangers. Please, just...protect him.” I hung up, tears streaming now, mixing with the rain on my face. I couldn't stay. They'd find me here.

I slipped out the back way, into the alley, the drizzle turning to a steady pour. Castello's streets were a maze, but I knew them, shortcuts through markets, hidden paths. If I could make it to the bus station, maybe catch a ride to the outskirts, then…what? Run forever? But Aofie. My little brother needed me.

Footsteps echoed behind me, too close, too deliberate. I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing but shadows. Paranoia? Maybe I was just paranoid. But deep in my skin, I can’t shake the feeling that there could be them.

That there could be him.

I quickened my pace, weaving through puddles, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The bus station was a mile away, neon signs flickering in the distance.

A hand clamped over my mouth from behind, strong and unyielding, yanking me into a dark alley. I screamed into the palm, muffled, thrashing wildly, my elbow connecting with a solid chest.

“Hemp!” I snarled, biting down hard on the hand, tasting blood.

“Fuck!” The voice was a growl, deep and familiar, laced with pain and amusement.

Zeus Trojan.

He spun me around, pinning me against the brick wall with one hand, his body pressing into mine, hard and hot despite the rain. His black eyes gleamed in the dim light, predatory, like a wolf cornering its prey.

My bite didn't flinch him, not a fucking bit, he just looked at it with a smirk.

“You bite like a fox, Saoirse,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

His free hand gripped my wrist, pinning it above my head, the other still covering my mouth lightly now, thumb brushing my lips.

“However, foxes cannot outsmart wolves, can they?”

I struggled, kicking at his shins, my knee grazing his thigh. “Get off me!”

He chuckled, low and dark, his body trapping mine, the heat of him seeping through my wet clothes. “Defiant little thing, aren't you? Running from Azriel's office like that, brave, but stupid. Did you really think you could hide in my city?”

I glared up at him, defiance burning in my chest. “Your city? Castello belongs to no one. Let me go, or I'll scream loud enough to bring the whole street down.”

His eyes darkened, a thrill of danger flashing in them. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my neck, the touch electric, sending unwanted sparks through my veins.

“Scream then. Let them come.”

I bit my lip. Without saying a word I headbutted him, hard, my forehead connecting with his chin. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench free, shoving him back.

“Get lost, you lunatic!” I yelled, bolting down the alley.

He was on me in seconds, faster than I thought possible, tackling me to the ground in a puddle. We rolled, mud and rain soaking us, his weight pinning me down. I clawed at his face, nails raking his cheek, drawing red marks.

“You fight dirty,” he hissed, but there was admiration in his tone, his hands capturing my wrists, holding them above my head.

“Like you don't?” I panted, bucking beneath him, our bodies grinding together in the struggle.

His shirt was torn, revealing glimpses of tattooed skin, muscles flexing as he restrained me. The rain poured harder, plastering his hair to his forehead, making him look even more feral.

His hands clamped around my wrists like iron vices, pinning them above my head, I twisted, my soaked clothes and pants clinging to my thighs, the fabric tearing slightly as I kicked out, my heel grazing his shin but doing nothing to budge him. His breath came in hot bursts against my neck, whiskey-laced and heavy with the metallic tang.

“Let me go, you asshole!” I snarled, my voice raw, throat burning from the scream I'd muffled into his palm moments ago.

My knee jerked up, aiming for his groin, but he shifted, his thigh blocking the blow, the hard press of his leg grinding against mine in a way that ignited an unwelcome friction, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Zeus's eyes, dark and feral under the flickering streetlight, locked onto mine, pupils swallowing like a storm devouring the sky. His free hand shot up, fingers tangling in my wet hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat, the pull sharp enough to make my scalp sting.

“Fight all you want.”

I spat, the saliva landing on his cheek, trailing down in a slick path that mixed with the water streaming from his hair. “You're insane.”

His grip tightened in my hair, tilting my head further, and then his mouth crashed onto mine, not a kiss, but an invasion. His lips bruised against mine, demanding, parting them with ruthless force. His tongue thrust in, tasting of aged whiskey and the sharp bite of danger, swirling against mine in a possessive claim that stole my breath.

I bit down hard on his lower lip, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth, but instead of pulling away, he groaned deep in his throat, the sound raw and primal, his hips grinding forward, pinning me harder against the ground. The pressure built, a throbbing ache between my legs that made my thighs clench involuntarily, my body arching into him despite the rage screaming in my mind.

His free hand slid down, fingers digging into my hip, thumb pressing into the curve of my waist, the touch searing through the wet fabric. I thrashed, my wrists straining against his hold, nails scraping uselessly at his forearm, drawing thin red lines that beaded with blood.

The kiss deepened, his tongue relentless, exploring, dominating, until my lungs burned for air. When he finally tore away, his lips were swollen and glistening with our mingled blood and rain, his eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in ragged sync with mine.

“You taste like rebellion, Saoirse,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, thumb swiping the corner of my mouth. “Addictive as fuck.”

“Addictive? You're a fucking psycho,” I gasped, my voice breaking, body still buzzing from the unwanted sparks he'd ignited. “Let me up, or I'll knee you where it hurts most.”

His laugh was a dark rumble, echoing off the alley walls, but his eyes narrowed, a predatory glint sharpening them. He released my wrists but didn't step back, his hand trailing down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fiesty, aren't we?” His fingers curled around my throat, not squeezing, but holding, a promise of control that made my pulse leap under his palm.

The rain poured harder, soaking us both, but the heat between us burned hotter, a dangerous surge of hate that left me breathless and aching.

I kneed him then, hard in the groin, and he doubled over with a curse, releasing me. I took the chance to kick him and scrambled up, slipping in the mud, and ran again, my lungs burning.

“Run, little fox. Run as far as you can.” Behind me, his voice carried on the wind. “Just remember, I hunt better than you hide.”

The bus station loomed ahead, lights blurring through the rain. I ducked inside, drenched and panting, buying a ticket to the nearest town with shaking hands. As the bus pulled out, I peered into the night, half-expecting to see him. But the streets were empty and silent. For now.

Hours later, in a cheap motel on the outskirts, I collapsed on the bed, exhaustion crashing over me. But sleep didn't come. Zeus's words echoed over and over. And deep down, a part of me wondered if I wanted to be found.

The game had begun, and as long as I’m in Castello City, no one escaped the wolf.

ZEUS.

Pretty things often hide in thorns, and even if I have to tear off my flesh to get to her, I intend to pluck them bare, one by one.

The door slammed shut behind me, echoing in the room. The stench of bleach hit me first, sharp, chemical, trying to erase the night's carnage. But it couldn't touch and couldn’t deny the smell of blood that still lingers to me, a scent as intoxicating as her defiance. 

The cleanup crew had vanished and executed their job efficiently, leaving the room as clean as new, as if the walls had never echoed with screams nor the floor never spilled blood.

I crossed the room, my boots thudding against the marble floor, each step a reminder of the power I wielded in Nexus.

My fingers brushed the porcelain vase on the nightstand, its surface smeared with jagged streaks, a blood, dried in patterns that mirrored the chaos of her fury. 

“Saoirse.”

The name rolled off my tongue. A pretty name for a girl who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. I gripped the vase, feeling its weight, then dropped it against the floor. It shattered with a satisfying crash, shards scattering.

I picked one up, its edge cool and sharp, tracing it along my fingertips until a bead of my own blood welled up, a tiny, stinging sacrifice to the memory of her.

She'd stood her ground, trembling yet unyielding, her uniform torn in shreds that revealed glimpses of pale skin marked by bruises. 

The way her hands shook as she clutched that vase, breath coming in ragged gasps, but she didn't break. A quiet resolve, like the calm before the storm.

Most girls in this hellhole would have crumbled, begged for mercy, and played the victim to survive.

But not her. 

And when my hooded men dragged the limp body away, leaking life onto the floor, she stared at me, not with gratitude, not with pure terror, but with a quiet challenge that ignited something primal, a hunger I hadn't felt in years.

I crushed the shard in my fist, as questions flooded my mind. Why did this cigarette woman, with her shadowed eyes and wild jet-black hair, choose to endure in a place like this? 

Nexus was crawling with eager girls, desperate to please, to submit, their bodies offered like cheap thrills. But Saoirse…she intrigued me more than she should. More than anyone had in a long fucking time.

I yanked my phone from my pocket, dialing the tech team's secure line. The ring was immediate, insistent. 

“Pull all the footage and files you have of Saoirse.”

There was a pause on the other end, a hesitation that screamed incompetence. “Sir, is this... standard protocol?” the voice stammered, laced with fear.

“Do I sound like I give a fuck about protocol?” I growled, the words slicing through the air like a whip.

The line went dead. Good. Obedience was the only currency that mattered in my world. I poured myself a glass of scotch from the bar cart, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light.

As I sipped, the burn tracing a path down my throat, the wall screen flickered to life with a soft hum. I sank into the leather chair, the same one I'd lounged in while watching her struggle, and let the images unfold.

I zoomed in, my fingers hovering over the controls, noting the faint bruise on her cheek, hidden beneath layers of makeup. Not from tonight, that was fresh, from the bastard I'd put down. This one was older, faded yellow at the edges.

The footage shifted to the back rooms, the break area where staff huddled like rats in a cage. She sat alone, staring at her phone, fingers trembling as she scrolled through messages. Without tearing my eyes from the screen, I typed furiously, hacking into the club's internal logs. 

Her employee file popped up: Saoirse Vincenzo. Twenty-three. No family listed. Bullshit. I dug deeper, cross-referencing databases. Her brother, Aofie Vincenzo. Thirteen. Hospitalized for leukemia. Bills piling up like unpaid debts, her pay abysmal — minimum wage plus tips, barely scraping by for his treatments. 

She worked doubles, triples, shifts bleeding into the night, her body a machine fueled by quiet desperation.

Then, the footage from the other night, the night I first saw her. She was arguing with a man inside the club, his hands gripping her arms too tightly, fingers digging in like claws.

Her boyfriend or whatever, shoved her against the wall, face twisted in rage, spitting words I couldn't hear but imagined all too well, insults, demands, the poison of control. She didn't fight back, not then. 

Her body went still, eyes hollow, absorbing the blows like a sponge. But when he turned away, she wiped her cheek, a flicker of something dark crossing her face. Rage. Quiet, simmering, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

It hooked me. Not her beauty that was undeniable, curves that begged to be traced, but this. Her quiet rage. The way she swallowed pain, turned it into fuel. Most people broke under pressure, but she sharpened herself on it, emerging stronger, deadlier.

I leaned forward, breath fogging the screen as I replayed the moment she swung the vase. The crack echoed in my mind, blood spraying in slow motion, her defiance of a wildfire. 

She was a storm in a teacup, and I wanted to unleash her, feel her fury crash over me.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped in, his presence a cold draft cutting through the room's heat. The one who kept the shadows at bay in this empire of sin.

He glanced at the screen, eyes narrowing. “What are you, a pervert? Watching her again? This isn't like you at all, Zeus.”

I didn't bother turning off the feed, letting the images play on. Azriel poured himself a drink, settling across from me, his movements deliberate, controlled. It seems that he read the question I had in mind as he spoke.

“Same as the rest. Desperation. Her brother's sick. Bills are piling up. Nexus pays better than most dives, but you know the drill. Once you're in, it's hard to get out. Debts, threats, the whole fucking cycle.”

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere, her file flashing in my peripheral vision. Low pay, abusive boyfriend, sick brother. But she never complained, never asked for help. That rage simmered, a weapon she hadn't fully unleashed. 

Yet.

Azriel sipped his scotch, gaze piercing, like he could see straight through me. “Attachment is liability, Zeus. You know that. You're not built for softness. Girls like her, they break or they burn. And you? You burn everything you touch.”

His words were a warning, laced with the truth I'd lived by for years. Softness was a myth in my world, a trap for fools. I'd clawed my way to the top, built an empire on fear and control, Nexus, the Trojan Covenant, all of it, mine. 

Attachments? They were chains, weaknesses to be exploited. But Saoirse...she wasn't a weakness. She was a puzzle, a flame I wanted to hold, to consume.

I kept my face impassive. The way she'd remained frozen, memories crashing over her like waves. And then her defiance, refusing to fold even though death is staring at her face.

It was a hunger I couldn’t quite name but want to fucking consume. Something deeper, darker.

Azriel set his glass down with a clink, tone sharpening. “Whatever you're thinking, stop. She's not yours to save or ruin.”

I smirked, the cold grin twisting my lips as I finally shut off the screen, plunging the room into dimmer shadows. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He knew better. In Nexus. In the Trojan Covenant. I am a king, and kings take what they want. 

Saoirse was mine to watch, to unravel. Her quiet rage called to me, promising chaos I craved, the fear, the fire. I saw it all.

“I don’t do saving games, and I ruin pretty things perfectly,” I murmured, more to myself than him, my voice rough with the weight of it. 

“She caught a glimpse of the monster hiding beneath my skin and yet didn't flinch. As if she recognized them — craved them, even.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Recognized them? Or saw something she wants to destroy?”

“Destroy. Ignite. Either way, I don’t care. It's mine now.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms, his gaze unwavering. ‘You've got that look, Zeus. The one that says you're already planning how to break her or worse, how to keep her.”

“Break her?” I echoed, pouring another scotch, the liquid splashing against the glass. “No. I want to see her shatter on her own terms. That rage. It's…beautiful. Untamed.”

Azriel snorted, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “This isn't a game. She's got a brother to protect, debts that could bury her. If you pull her in, it'll be war.”

“War? I thrive on war, Azriel.” I set the glass down, leaning forward. “And Saoirse…without her realizing she's already in the middle of one.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. He held my stare for a long moment. “Just don't say I didn't warn you. What starts as an intrigue like that, it’s dangerous…it consumes.”

He stood up and headed towards the door, clicking it shut behind him, I returned to the screen, replaying the footage once more.

I poured another drink, the scotch burning as I imagined her here, in my world, her defiance clashing against my control. 

Soon. Very soon. She will be mine to break and ruin.