Sebastian Vale

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Cold walls and an expensive tiled floor covered with a soft, blood-red fur rug. Silence, but not comfortable; rather, suffocating for one of them.

"So, here we are again, my old friend."

Sebastian's voice dripped with dark sarcasm as he sat at his desk opposite the person before him. He continued,

"Really, orchestrating a full-blown assassination attempt, tracking my location and precise timing, isn't that hard work? But, unfortunately... you're not quite as skilled as I expected."

Ricardo, handcuffed before Sebastian, let out a suppressed laugh, then said mockingly at the whole situation "Ah, I always knew that. You didn't need to remind me."

Ricardo leaned his head back slightly as he said, "Why haven't you killed me yet? I don't think it's mercy, knowing you."

Half a smile touched Sebastian's lips. A smile flashed across his face as he replied, "Didn't you tell me once that you wanted permission to test the torture chamber?"

---

Within minutes, the guard Barth had already seized Ricardo by the arm, marching him ahead through the hallway, forcing him to keep pace.

The heavy metal door slammed shut with a deadly click. A scream... two... three... a moment of silence, a moment of knowing. ________________________________________________

The black clock's hands moved slowly, and time seemed to crawl inside Sebastian's office.

One minute, two, three, five, ten, an hour, two... Time gnawed at his soul like a sword, and with each passing minute, his composure frayed more and more like fragile threads beneath a cutting blade.

Finally, the clock struck twelve, midnight. He sighed—not from boredom, not from anxiety, but from a long-awaited relief.

---

The engine roared with a muffled hum as the driver slid through the deserted city streets, their dim lights drifting smoothly between the alleyways, the glow of the lights gently reflected off them.

Meanwhile, Sebastian's mind wandered, lost in the fog of his troubled thoughts.

The car glided across the dark road like a polished shadow before coming to a smooth stop in front of the palace—a black Rolls-Royce Phantom, its gleaming body reflecting the night light like a cold mirror, revealing only what it chose.

The stop wasn't abrupt; it felt like part of a meticulously choreographed scene: a gradual slowing down, the engine's sound whispering instead of roaring, then silence… a profound silence that seemed to announce the arrival of something that needed no announcement.

Before it, the palace rose.

A towering structure, its facades of opaque black glass seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The floors ascended with precise geometric fluidity, each level illuminated with a calculated dimness—warm, soft lights filtering in from within, tracing delicate golden lines against the deep blackness, as if the palace breathed light instead of radiating it.

The glass didn't reveal what lay within; it stubbornly concealed it, making the palace appear unsettlingly alive, like a giant eye watching unseen. The car's reflection on his windshield is slightly distorted, expanding and contracting, as if the space itself is reshaping the reality around it.

The front door opens first.

The driver gets out—a quiet, deliberate movement, devoid of any extraneous gesture. His features are neutral, his presence almost invisible despite its precision; a man made to be part of the background, not the main attraction. His footsteps on the stone floor make a faint sound, quickly fading into the vast emptiness.

He walks toward the back door, pausing for a brief second… a second that stretches as if time itself is waiting.

Then he reaches out and opens the door.

The car door opens… but this time, the exit isn't as slow as it should be.

His shadow appears first, yes—but he doesn't linger behind it.

He steps out faster than he should, as if something inside is pulling him with an invisible thread. His feet touched the ground with his usual steady touch, but that steadiness was superficial… a thin veneer concealing a vibrant, pulsating tension.

His eyes—those cold gray ones—didn't search for details this time, didn't scrutinize the palace, the light, or the shadows… but slid directly inward, toward a distant point unseen from here, yet clear to him alone. The depth of their dark color intensified, as if the shadows had gathered within them instead of surrounding him.

His breathing was slightly deeper, barely noticeable… but different. Not the tension of fear, but something closer to a suffocating longing, a wait that had stretched on longer than it should have.

His black hair stirred in the night breeze, but he didn't care. He didn't lift it, didn't smooth it as he usually did. That disarray remained as it was—honest this time, untamed.

His next step came without warning. He didn't look up at the driver, didn't wait, didn't give the moment its usual weight. It was as if everything around him had suddenly lost its value, vanished before a single thought.

Inside that palace… a person.

A person who made him wait all night… no, made him count the moments.

His jaw tightened slightly, not with anger but as if trying to suppress something too big to hide. Something beyond longing, beyond desire… something closer to a disturbing, unbalanced need, one that knew no bounds.

And for a moment—brief, fleeting—

the tranquility that always surrounded him shattered.

Then he moved.

With steady steps… but faster than he should have been, as if every extra second away from that person… was an unbearable mistake.

The palace doors opened before him, and he slipped inside as if he belonged to this silence more than any sound. The door closed behind him with a relatively loud click. The warm air greeted him, but his steps didn't slow down… they were steady, slightly quick, as if they carried a purpose that couldn't be postponed.

He crossed the hall without looking back.

Everything around him—the vastness, the grandeur, the stillness—simply faded before a single thought that completely consumed him.

The stairs.

He headed straight for them and began to climb.

His steps on the marble formed a distinct rhythm this time… one step, then another, then another—regular, but faster than they should have been. His hand touched the banister lightly, as was his old habit, while his eyes remained raised upwards, as if theend was there… as if it were there.

And with each step he ascended, something inside him intensified.

A long wait… nearing its end.

He reached the top floor.

The corridor was almost suffocatingly quiet, light filtering in in faint strands, thcurtains swaying slowly in the night breeze. A door was half-open… as if someone hadleft it that way on purpose.

He paused for a second.

Then he moved forward.

He pushed the door open gently, and it creaked open with a soft scrape on the thin carpet beneath, revealing the scene beyond—

Her.

She stood on the balcony, her back to him, her hair swaying in the air, the distant city shimmering behind her like a sea of ​​lights. She didn't move… didn't turn… but she didn't seem surprised either.

As if she knew

That he would return.

That he wouldn't be long.

He approached her slowly this time… his steps lost their urgency, but the tension hadn't disappeared—it had deepened, intensified. Until he stood directly behind her, close enough to feel her presence without touching her.

Just one moment…

Cautious, silent.

Then he raised his arms. She slid around him from behind, a firm embrace, unwavering. He pulled her close until her head rested against his chest. He held her tightly, a quiet embrace—not painful, but one that conveyed a silent need, an attachment that had long since transcended mere simplicity.

His breath brushed against her shoulder and neck… deeper than usual.

A quiet voice, yet one with a different, unfamiliar softness, a tone that hinted at something that had gone too far.

"Did you miss me?"