FIVE.

MICHAEL

The study always smelled the same — old leather, whiskey, and dominance.

My father’s signature.

He didn’t look up when I entered. Just finished signing something, folded the page with that precise, mechanical calm of his, and finally said:

“Close the door, Michael.”

His voice hadn’t aged. Still smooth. Still sharp enough to slice obedience out of anyone weaker.

I didn’t move.

“I won’t be long.”

That made him look up. Dark eyes flat as steel, assessing, dissecting.

“You’ve been making noise in the press again.”

I almost smiled. Noise.

That’s what he called building something without his hand in it.

“It’s called visibility,” I said. “You used to like that.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth — cold, calculated.

“Visibility is fine. Defiance isn’t.”

A low laugh slipped out of me. “You still think I belong to you.”

“You do.” He leaned back in that ridiculous throne of a chair. “Everything you have, I gave you. You’re my creation, Michael. My legacy.”

Something twisted in my chest — old, sharp, familiar.

I stepped closer to the desk. “Then maybe you should’ve made something human.”

His silence was worse than anger. I could hear him thinking — adjusting, plotting, calculating how to break me next.

“You’ll come around,” he murmured. “They always do.”

I turned toward the door.

“Not this time.”

His voice followed, cold and absolute.

“No matter what you build, it still bears my name.”

My hand paused on the handle for one heartbeat.

Then I said quietly,

“Then I’ll burn the name too.”

And I walked out.

---

The hate between us has always been a living thing — thick enough to taste in the air.

He is a controlling, manipulative freak, and it doesn’t help that I look just like him. Same cold eyes, same dark hair, same hunger for control.

And because of that, he thinks I’m his.

His possession.

His property.

Silly old man.

That’s the habit I’m breaking.

It’s why I built my own company.

My own name.

My own empire.

I’ll die before I let that old snake twist my life into his shape again.

---

“Michael.”

I stepped into the car without looking at Ilya. He’s basically my shadow, my personal assistant without the title.

“Tell me,” I said.

“The man in the basement… what do you want done with him?”

A pulse of bloodlust rose from somewhere deep, dark, and buried.

I inhaled slowly.

Control.

Control.

Breathe.

I said nothing.

Because what I wanted was simple — a slow death. A begging-for-mercy, bone-by-bone death. And Nathaniel, with his medical fascination and sick curiosity, would gladly help.

But we can’t alert my father. Not yet.

My footsteps echoed on the marble floor as I headed to the basement. I loosened my tie, handed it to Ilya, then my cufflinks.

“Only Nathaniel and William can come down,” I said.

Ilya nodded.

The mansion was a gift from the school to its richest, most powerful students — not their parents. Us.

Nathaniel and William are hunters like me.

Eddie and Samuel?

Destroyers. Pure chaos.

And the man we’re holding — Julian — does not deserve a quick death. Not even close.

---

The musky scent of the basement hit me — wet walls, old iron, and blood.

I walked to the holding cell.

“Well,” I said, “don’t you look miserable.”

His belly had shrunk, hair thinned, cheeks hollow, eyes filled with pure horror.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Professor Julian?”

He scrambled deeper into the cell.

“Come on,” I teased. “Running from me? I thought we were friends.”

He hugged himself and stared at the floor.

“You need to eat.”

I held out my hand.

Fear and hunger fought on his face, but hunger won.

He took my hand like a drowning man clinging to a rope.

I led him to the table and watched him devour the food.

Didn’t rush him.

Just watched.

When he finished, I smiled.

“I really want to kill you, Julian.”

His eyes widened.

“But…” I continued, “I can’t risk alerting the person backing you. Not yet.”

“Please,” he begged. “Please, I won’t go to her anymore. I’ll quit. I’ll move out of the country. Please.”

I patted his shoulder.

“There, there. I’ll let you go. But you won’t quit your job. I need you as a spy — for the other side. And you will stay far, far away from Red. You won’t breathe near her. You won’t look at her. For every time you glance at her, I’ll take an eye. For every moment you stand in her presence, I’ll take an organ.”

I smiled.

“Am I clear?”

He nodded frantically.

“Good,” I said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Then I grabbed his nape and slammed his face into the table.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Until blood dripped and he whimpered.

“You won’t die from that.”

I stepped out of the basement and found Nathaniel waiting, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You might want to check where your pretty professor is.”

He slipped past me and disappeared into the dark.

I pulled out my phone.

Checked Red’s story.

And anger clawed up my spine like fire.

She was at a club.

In that dress.

Nothing left to imagination.

In front of all those people.

Fuck me.