Chapter 155

Magnus Hale

I stand paralyzed, my heart hammering. The shock hits me full force.

The person in front of me…

It can’t be.

A wide smile rips across my face before I can contain it, so involuntary that it startles me for a second. The seated man raises his head, his eyes widening as he recognizes me.

"M-Magnus?" His voice comes out trembling. "I thought you were locked up somewhere else."

"Hello, boss. Or should I say... ex-boss?"

I turn my gaze to Adrian; his excitement is almost childlike.

"Is this your gift?" I ask, holding back the threat of laughter pushing up my throat.

"Yes, love. Do you like it?" He responds, and the glint in his eyes is almost palpable.

I smile back, an electric satisfaction surging through my body.

"I do." My words sound cold, but not without pleasure. "I might even say I love you after a gift like this."

Adrian’s eyes go wide at those words; the smile he gives me is so genuine it makes my chest thud.

The man, my former boss, recoils a step, his trembling fingers searching for something they can’t find.

"H-How could you bring me here, Thomas?" He stammers, his voice drowned by guilt.

Thomas rests his hand on his son’s shoulder with a paternal naturalness that makes me nauseous.

"My son asked for it," he says, as if announcing a simple treat. "I thought it would be an appropriate gift for my son-in-law."

Adrian lets out a short, satisfied laugh.

"Have fun, my love." His voice is sweet and sharp.

The ex-boss tries to appeal with desperate words.

"I can get you out of here, Magnus. I’ll pay, I’ll do anything..."

My laughter breaks the silence—low, cutting, a thin blade slicing through his attempt at pleading.

"Get me out of here? Right now, I don't care if I rot in this place. I’ve always dreamed of this moment: me killing you, killing everyone who abandoned me."

I approached slowly, the way a lion approaches its prey. He backed away, his knees giving out, trembling like a frightened rabbit.

"Please, Magnus. Don't kill me, please. I was wrong; I was wrong for abandoning you." His eyes filled with tears, begging.

I tilted my head to the side and smiled, wide and cold. I moved in without hesitation; my fists fell repeatedly on his face until he collapsed. I didn't stop, getting on top of him and punching even harder.

"S-Stop… Help… Stop…" His voice lost its strength until it vanished.

"I always gave my all for the mob. I always obeyed like a loyal dog. And when I needed it most, they threw me into this hell." The words came out sharp, each syllable draining a bit more of my patience.

The rage consumed me, and I didn't know when to stop. I punched him without rhythm, just to empty the fury, his face caving under my fists, his breath vanishing between his teeth. My hands were stained, blood sticking to the fabric of my uniform and warming my skin; the metallic scent filled the room.

I stood up panting, my heart on fire, and stomped hard on his head—once, twice, several times, like someone trying to mark the floor with what was left. Even when the body went still, the rage still hammered in me; I only pulled away when I felt I had emptied that weight. The silence that remained was heavy and damp.

I look at the ceiling, trying to control my breathing, which still comes in gasps. My chest pulses, my ribs burn, but a cold calm starts taking over; the discharge of fury has left me lighter, more whole.

Unloading everything on that bastard had a perverse effect of relief: I felt as if I had ripped out an old burden. Killing with my own hands was, in a way, the therapy I needed.

A dry sound cuts through the silence: clapping. I turn my head and see Adrian leaning against the wall, clapping slowly, with that dark smile of his, eyes shining with satisfaction.

"Very well, my love. That was absolutely beautiful. You looked so sexy killing him. Perfect." He smiles, but his eyes remain cold.

I can't contain myself. I move toward the door, slam it shut in the face of his father and the warden, and in one swift motion, I grab him by the collar, drag him to the wall, and pin him there.

The kiss is brutal and hungry, like everything I did moments ago: I grip his nape firmly, pressing my body against his until I feel his frantic heart beating against mine.

The kiss was still burning on my lips when the adrenaline consumed me entirely. My body pulsed with the fury and pleasure of my ex-boss’s death, and that needed to come out somehow. My hands dug into Adrian’s uniform, pulling him toward me, sliding the fabric down without thinking of anything but the need devouring me.

Before I could measure it, I was already kneeling before him. Surprise—I saw it in his eyes, that brief spark of shock. But I gave no room for words. I gripped his waist, pulled him closer, and without hesitation, I swallowed his hardness.

"M-Magnus… Love…" His voice broke into a moan, deep and desperate.

His fingers buried themselves in my hair, pulling hard, and that only spurred me on. I started slow, letting him feel the heat of my mouth, the tight slide, every inch sucked with greed. The metallic taste of pre-cum mixed with my own frenzy, and soon I couldn't maintain control.

My head moved back and forth with increasing intensity, my throat opening to swallow all of him, never flinching, never showing mercy. Adrian’s hoarse moans echoed like sickly music, louder and more insane by the second.

I felt him shudder against me, and the pleasure of dominating him this way, of tearing sighs and moans from him like offerings, left me even more aroused.

I pull my mouth away, panting, and run my tongue along the entire length, leaving him wet, glistening under the dim light of the room. The taste, the heat, the pulse in my hands—it all consumes me. I resume contact, deeper, more intense, ignoring the gag, focused only on the pleasure of hearing him moan my name, lost in me.

I pull back just enough to wrap my hand around him, squeezing firmly, feeling him throb against my skin. I provoke him with the tip of my tongue, exploring slowly, and lift my eyes. He stares at me. The insane glint in his gaze is pure desire, naked lust, and a sickly devotion. No one has ever looked at me like that… as if I were an altar, as if there were nothing but me.

Without thinking, I stand up and kiss him, grabbing his nape and pinning him to me. Our tongues fight, intertwining in a frantic rhythm, and when he sucks mine, a hoarse moan escapes my throat, muffled between us. I pull away, gasping, and in an impulse, I tear off my uniform, letting it fall to the floor.

I take a few steps to the table, leaning my hands on it, my body exposed, hot, and surrendered. I turn my face over my shoulder and stare at him. I say nothing. I don't have to.

He understands.