Chapter 8 8
|| Author POV ||
The office was quiet except for the soft scratching of Tristian’s pen against the crisp white sheets of documents spread across his desk.
The city lights shimmered against the glass walls of his high-rise office, casting long shadows that stretched across the polished floor.
Tristian leaned back in his leather chair for a brief moment, eyes scanning the papers with cold precision, when a sharp knock echoed through the room. He didn’t flinch. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
“Enter.” he said in a calm voice but carrying an unmistakable edge.
The door swung open, and two of his men stepped in, flanking a man whose hands were bound tightly behind his back. He was shoved onto the floor, landing with a harsh thud. Tristian’s icy gaze immediately fell on him, and the air in the room seemed to chill further.
“Who is this?” Tristian asked, rising slowly from his chair. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory.
“He’s the one who leaked our information, boss.” one of his men reported, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.
Tristian’s eyes narrowed, glinting like blades. His steps were measured as he walked toward the man, each one heavy with silent menace. The man looked up, his face pale and slick with sweat. His lips trembled as he tried to speak, but no words came out at first.
“You’re lucky I’m not in the mood for playing games today.” he said, crouching slightly to level his piercing gaze at the trembling man on the floor. “Tell me your name.”
“I-I… my name…I’m Robert.” the man stuttered, trembling. “Please… I-I didn’t mean… I can explain.”
Tristian smirked, a slow, dark curl of amusement crossing his lips. “Explain?” he asked, tilting his head. “Do you think pleading will save you? Do you think I care for explanations when someone betrays me?”
“No! N-no, sir! I… I’ll do anything! Please… forgive me…” Robert’s voice cracked, fear rising like a tide.
Tristian’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening. “You think I’m interested in forgiveness?” He straightened up, his long shadow falling over the man like a guillotine. “Who sent you?”
Tristian leaned closer, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the cold office air. “Who sent you?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his stinky face.
Robert shook his head violently, eyes wide. “I- I-I can’t… they’ll kill me! I swear...”
Tristian straightened, his smile widening but darkening into something more sinister. “If you won’t speak… we’ll see how long your courage lasts.”
He turned sharply to his men. “Do as I said.” his men understood his sign.
Without hesitation, Tristian’s men began to beat Robert mercilessly. Fists struck ribs and backs, leaving him gasping, whimpering, and crawling to the floor. Each hit seemed to draw out more information, but Robert clung stubbornly to silence.
Tristian’s eyes glimmered with amusement and impatience. “One more time,” he said, stepping closer, voice calm but lethal. “Who sent you?”
“I..I-James Smith! Please… he-he made me do it.” Robert gasped, barely coherent, blood trickling from his lips.
Tristian’s smirk widened into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, it was pure malice and satisfaction. “James…” he whispered, letting the name roll off his tongue like venom.
Lifetime enemy, from college days to now, always scheming, always craving what Tristian owned, his empire, his authority, his legacy.
“Feed him to the alligators!” Tristian ordered coldly, his voice carrying absolute command. His men didn’t hesitate, dragging Robert away.
Robert's screams echoed through the office hallway. The sound faded, but the memory of it lingered in the heavy air.
Tristian moved toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of his office, cigarette in hand. He lit it with slow, deliberate motions, inhaling the smoke deeply before exhaling. The daylight reflected in his sharp eyes, a dangerous gleam in the darkness.
As he stood there, staring out at the city below, his mind drifted to Alice.
She is small, innocent, fragile. And yet, in her vulnerability, there was a beauty that struck him deeply. The way she cried silently, the way she tried to hide her pain… it made him think of her in ways that stirred something dark and possessive within him. A smile tugged at his lips, wicked.
He flicked the ash from his cigarette and let his gaze harden. James Smith would pay.
And Alice… she would remain untouched. No one would dare harm her while he was around.
Tristian exhaled slowly, smoke curling around him like a dark cloud. “Everything will be handled,” he murmured to himself, the smirk widening. “And those who think they can cross me… they’ll learn what it means to betray the Volcov name.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass wall, a rhythm of lethal patience. The city below continued to move, oblivious to the storm that was brewing above.
Tristian flicked the cigarette into the air, watching the ember disappear into the night. His mind was already racing, forming plans, strategizing and plotting revenge.
And somewhere deep inside, he felt a strange warmth, the memory of Alice’s doe eyes, the way she looked at him with trust and innocence. A part of him promised that he would protect her, keep her safe… and maybe, in the shadows of his empire and vengeance, claim what was his by right.
Tristian took out his phone and dialled a number before speaking into the call. Planning a new trap.