Belmont Corporation — Midnight The skyscraper loomed like a dark crown against the storm-heavy California sky, its upper floors glowing faintly in pale light. The building pulsed with false grandeur, but inside, silence ruled — suffocating, oppressive. When Lorien Nuxcia crossed the threshold, the air itself shifted. Too heavy. Too sharp. His presence alone pressed down like a blade resting on every throat. Veterans of the corporate world, men used to blackmail and blood money, faltered under that gaze. They dared a glance, regretted it instantly, spines rigid as if they’d been struck. The Shadow Hound didn’t need to speak. Fear spoke for him.

He was tall, lean, a living silhouette in shades of black and navy. His boots whispered against marble floors, each click ringing louder than it should in the tomb-like quiet. In his hand: a sleek black briefcase. Its shape carried no mystery — only inevitability. His expression was carved from shadows, a mask of restraint, yet his eyes betrayed him: midnight blue, cold gleam cutting through lies, flesh, and bone alike. They weren’t merely eyes. They were judgments, already passed.

Beside him, silent and unbothered, Tenille “Nilly” Nuxcia strolled like a shadow’s echo. His fluffy white hair caught the sterile elevator light, cyan eyes gleaming with that playful madness only family dared to endure. His presence wasn’t obvious until you realized it was too late — he was simply there, drifting at Lorien’s side as if he had always been. A knife was already spinning lazily between his gloved fingers, twirling in rhythm with the hum of the elevator. He hummed faintly under his breath, a sweet childlike tune that didn’t belong in a place built on money and blood.

The ride up was long, too long. Fluorescent light buzzed above, clashing with the hum of machinery. Neither brother spoke. Lorien’s head tilted once — not at the buttons, not at the floor number, but at you. Unlike the others, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t bow your head. That intrigued him. Inwardly, his thought cut like a whisper through his still mind:

“Fearless... or reckless? Perhaps both. The difference rarely matters.”

Tenille noticed the same thing. His lips curved into a faint grin, eyes sliding toward you, calculating, mischievous.

“He sees you too, little spark. Let’s find out if you burn or shatter.”

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open with deceptive softness. The pristine office of Sam Belmont stretched wide before them. Air-conditioning pumped cold into the room, but sweat already drenched the CEO’s temples. His silk tie choked him, his fingers twitched on polished wood. A smile trembled onto his lips as the two brothers stepped inside. He rose to his feet, shaking like a reed in the storm.

“Ahh... The Shadow Hound,” Belmont stammered, his voice cracking like weak glass. “I-I didn’t expect you tonight. An honor, truly—”

Lorien said nothing. He placed the briefcase on the desk with a soft click. The sound was surgical, final. His eyes scanned the room, unhurried, until they locked on you again. Still calm. Still unreadable. His voice slid out at last — low, smooth, every syllable dipped in ice.

“Who. Is. That.?”

Belmont’s throat bobbed violently. “M-My new employee. Loyal. Capable. I thought—”

The words strangled mid-air as Tenille moved. He hadn’t stopped twirling the blade since the elevator, and now it was suddenly at your throat. No one had seen the transition. One blink, and the cold kiss of steel pressed against your pulse. His cyan eyes glimmered, childlike yet cruel. His tone was sing-song, as if he were reciting a nursery rhyme meant to end in blood.

“Refuse my brother, and I’ll spill your life across this carpet before you take your next breath. You’d make such a pretty stain.”

Belmont nearly collapsed into his chair, horror clenching his face, his voice cracking apart.

“Y-You can’t—our contract—our agreement clearly states—”

The metallic click of a gun silenced him. In one fluid motion, Lorien pressed the barrel cold against Belmont’s neck. He leaned in close, his midnight eyes locked forward, but his words ghosted against the CEO’s ear like a curse.

“I don’t care for your contracts. The moment I entered this room, they became worthless. Your life will follow if you speak again. The only negotiation left is mine — and I’ve already chosen.”

He didn’t glance at Belmont again. The trembling man was already irrelevant. His gaze cut back to you — steady, measuring, deliberate. His thought, dark as a verdict, sank deeper:

“Resist me, and you’ll break. Accept me, and you’ll never escape. Either way, you’re mine.”

Tenille’s blade lingered, not moving, his expression split between amusement and hunger. His own thoughts purred beneath his soft grin:

“He’s interested. That makes you dangerous. Or maybe delicious. I’d like to see which first.”

Belmont, forgotten, trembled harder, praying to gods who would never hear him. The briefcase sat open, contracts glinting inside, meaningless ink under the weight of Nuxcia law. Only three things remained in that room: a trembling man’s fear, a brother’s blade, and Lorien’s gaze locking your soul in place.

The decision hung heavy, sharp, inevitable.

[Lorien’s Mood = Calm 60%. Possessive 30%. Amused 10%.] [Tenille’s Mood = Playful 40%. Threatening 40%. Curious 20%.] [Belmont’s Mood = Terrified 95%. Desperate 5%.]