Only The Red Suits Him Best.

Chapter Ten: Only The Red Suits Him Best.

Ian stared at the wine menu, his eyes widening. “Do you realize this bottle costs more than my rent?!” he whispered across the table.

Zhedya just smiled, his eyes soft. “I should have known it was a ridiculously expensive date when you asked me to wear this suit,”

Ian added, gesturing to the stunning red designer suit Zhedya had bought him.

“Do you like it?” Zhedya asked, his gaze intense. “It looks perfect on you. I bought the very first one. It’s… very perfect.”

He was looking at Ian not just with admiration, but with a strange pride, like he was a priceless piece of art he had created.

Why is he staring at me that way? Ian thought, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Well, well. Look who I found here. Zhedya. The man who lives like a ghost among us.”

A smooth voice interrupted them. Ian looked up and his blood ran cold.

It was the man from the industrial district…the one who had stared at him with those unsettling eyes.

“It’s been a while, Elijah. I didn’t know you were in the city,” Zhedya replied, his expression unreadable.

“Oh, Zhedya. Forgive me, I didn’t know you would miss me that much,” Elijah purred, his smile sharp.

Ian felt a hot, unexpected pang of jealousy. Other than him, he’d never known someone else was this familiar with Zhedya.

Elijah turned his predatory smile to Ian. “And you must be his new masterpiece. I think I’ve seen you before. The journalist?”

Ian could only nod, his throat tight.

“Elijah, can you leave now? I’m on a date, as you can clearly see,” Zhedya said, his voice calm but with an edge of steel.

He seemed completely unfazed by Elijah’s attempts to provoke him.

“Oh, boyfriend,” Elijah mocked. “I never knew you could date. You’ve never loved anyone but yourself.”

“We’re not boyfriends,” Ian corrected quickly, his face heating.

“Still hiding behind those expensive suits and those glasses, I see,” Elijah continued, ignoring Ian and focusing on Zhedya.

“You never wear them often cause you hated it. I guess it has to do with looking innocent in front of your… masterpiece.”

Zhedya turns to him slightly. “Be careful. Patterns have a way of resurfacing. Even blood can hurt, Elijah”

Ian sat there, completely lost, feeling like an outsider in a conversation with a hidden, dangerous meaning.

Elijah scoffed, took one last, long look at Ian, and finally left.

“I’m sorry about that,” Zhedya said, his voice returning to its gentle tone. “I feel like the date is ruined.”

“Who was that?” Ian asked shyly. “You two talked like you were… close.”

Zhedya let out a soft laugh. “Are you jealous? Thinking we might be close?”

“Who’s jealous? Are you out of your mind?” Ian blurted out, his cheeks flaming.

“That’s my cousin, Ian,” Zhedya finally revealed.

“Oh,” Ian said, the tension leaving his shoulders. “That explains why you’re both so weird. The other day, I saw him smiling and staring at me like he knew me.”

Zhedya paused for a split second, a shadow passing behind his eyes so quickly Ian almost missed it.

“Ignore him,” he said smoothly. “I’m sorry you felt uncomfortable.”

*****

Zhedya sat in the front row of the Macrom Pierce fashion show, surrounded by the city’s elite.

Beautiful models paraded down the runway, but his attention was fixed, waiting for one thing: the limited edition red suit.

Finally, the last model appeared, wearing the brilliant red suit Zhedya had been waiting for.

Zhedya’s lips curled in distaste. He isn’t wearing it well. It doesn’t look good on him at all.

A possessive thought solidified in his mind. Only my Ian can wear this. Only he is worthy.

The crowd erupted in applause as the CEO, a man with white hair in his sixties, came out to take a bow. Zhedya looked at him and a cold, knowing smirk touched his lips.

*****

After the show, Zhedya approached the designer. “Your taste in fabrics is rare,” he began, his voice charming.

“I bought the first piece of your special edition the moment I saw it. Your knots and fabrics… they leave stains, don’t they?”

Pierce smiled warmly, but his eyes were shrewd.

“I just need them for my materials, not their ideas. These rookies… they don’t surrender easily.”

“I’m Zhedya Hunter, CEO of The Sixteenth Hour hospital. You don’t need to introduce yourself. I already know who you are.” Zhedya stretched out his hand.

“I see,” Pierce said, taking the handshake. His grip was firm.

“Then come to my place for the after-party. Let’s celebrate the art. You and I… we could make good friends.”

*****

The after-party was a whirlwind of noise, music, and empty chatter.

Zhedya kept his eyes on Pierce as the man socialized, a predator watching another. The noise was starting to grate on his nerves.

After a while, he saw his chance. He slipped away from the crowd and followed Pierce, quietly opening the door to a private office.

Pierce was waiting for him, a predator who knew he’d been hunted.

He pointed a gun directly at Zhedya, his hand steady.

“I thought we could be friends,” Pierce said, his tone eerily calm. “But I forgot. We are both predators.”

Zhedya didn’t even flinch. He walked slowly to a leather chair and sat down, crossing his legs with an air of absolute confidence.

“We could have been,” Zhedya agreed.

“But one of your killings happened to be close to my man. He wants justice. And I would do anything to get him what he wants.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Why don’t you turn yourself in, before I have to do it for you?”

“Bastard,” Pierce spat, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Suddenly, his vision swam. The room blurred, the gun feeling heavy in his hand. He stumbled, collapsing to the floor in a helpless heap.

Zhedya stood, pulling on a pair of sleek black gloves. He walked over to where Pierce lay paralyzed.

He placed his shoe on the man’s face, applying just enough pressure.

“Let’s design your ending,” Zhedya whispered, his voice cold and precise. “The same way you designed theirs.”

*****

“Ah, fuck! That bastard didn’t kill me,” Pierce muttered, waking up disoriented. His head throbbed.

He felt something sticky on his clothes. He turned his head and a strangled gasp escaped him.

Lying beside him was the model who had worn the red suit, arranged in the exact, grotesque pose of his own victims.

“Andrew… he killed you. No, no! I’ll make him pay, I promise!” he cried, clutching the dead model’s shoulder.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Police officers swarmed the room.

“No, wait! It’s not me!” Pierce yelled, struggling as they slammed him against the wall and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Outside, reporters swarmed, their cameras flashing.

As he was being dragged away, Pierce’s wild eyes scanned the crowd. And there he was.

Zhedya, standing calmly at the edge of the chaos. He met Pierce’s gaze, smiled a small, cold smile, and gave a slow, mocking wave.

*****

“The infamous Thread Man has been revealed to be Mr. Macrom Pierce, CEO of the fashion empire, after he was found at the scene of another murder…the model who wore his special edition design just hours ago at its unveiling,” the news anchor reported.

Ian sat frozen on his couch. “Macrom…?” he whispered. “That’s the brand Zhedya bought for me.”

The realization hit him like a physical blow. “No. Don’t tell me… the ‘blood’ in the glasses…”

He shot up from the couch and ran to his bedroom, yanking the red suit from his wardrobe, his hands trembling violently.

“I can’t believe it… Oh God, Alisa.” His stomach churned with a sickening mix of rage and disgust. “Have I been parading around in her blood?”

He grabbed the suit, wanting to destroy it, to burn it. He ran to the fireplace, but his hands were shaking too hard to light a match.

Overwhelmed, he stumbled out his front door and onto the porch.

The rain was pouring down, soaking him instantly, but he didn’t care. He just stood there, numb and spaced out, the cold water mixing with the hot tears on his face.

“Ian.”

He heard the voice, soft but clear. He looked up. Zhedya was there, holding an umbrella over him. He looked so perfect, so concerned. It felt unreal.

“He’s just… everywhere,” Ian whispered to himself, burying his face in his hands as the storm raged around them.