Victor leaned back in his leather chair, the soft creak of the material barely audible over the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock in the corner. Time moved steadily, predictably a contrast to the chaos he intended to unleash. He thrived in control, but control wasn't enough.
Dominance.
Fear.
Absolute submission. That was what mattered.
The morning's breakfast had been more than a gathering it had been a hunt. Abigail had held her composure, but Victor saw through it. The slight flicker of hesitation, the carefully masked uncertainty she could pretend all she wanted, but he recognized the cracks beneath the surface. That was the moment he had been waiting for. She thought she was strong. He would show her what true strength was.
His fingers traced the edges of a dossier details of Abigail's past, the shadows that clung to her history. She was a creature of darkness, even if she refused to admit it. He had seen others like her before those who believed they could fight what lurked inside them. They always failed. Abigail would be no different. The only question was whether she would be useful before she was destroyed.
Lena was merely a tool a weapon sharpened for precision. Abigail could break under force, but true destruction came from within. Lena would burrow into Abigail's mind, press against the places that still bled, unravel her until there was nothing left but instinct. When that moment came, Victor would decide whether she was worth keeping… or if she needed to be discarded like the others before her.
He turned his gaze toward the window, where the sprawling grounds of the estate stretched endlessly. Every brick, every statue, every perfectly manicured garden was a testament to his rule. He had built an empire, not for legacy, but for control. And no one no pathetic girl clinging to illusions of power would disrupt that.
The door opened behind him, but Victor didn't turn.
Elena.
He could feel the weight of her presence before she spoke.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Victor smiled. "I don't play games. I win them."
Elena stepped forward, watching him carefully. She had always known what he was had seen it in the way he ruled, in the way he stripped weakness from those who dared to oppose him. But even she didn't understand the full extent of his cruelty.
"Abigail is different," Elena warned. "She won't break the way the others did."
Victor finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Everyone breaks." He let the words settle between them, the finality of them undeniable.
"And if she doesn't?" Elena asked.
Victor chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "Then she dies."
There was no hesitation. No flicker of doubt. He had no patience for anything or anyone that couldn't be controlled.
Elena frowned, but she didn't argue. She knew better.
Victor turned back to his desk, dismissing her without another word. The trials were set. Abigail would either become what he needed her to be… or she would cease to exist entirely.
The embers crackled softly in the fireplace, stretching jagged shadows across the walls. Victor remained seated, fingers tracing the edge of his desk absentmindedly, though his mind sharpened calculating, dissecting, anticipating. Elena had left, but the conversation lingered, trailing behind her like smoke. She didn't understand. No one truly did.
And then, just as expected, a shuffle beyond the door , followed by a measured knock.
Victor's lips curled in faint satisfaction.
"Enter."
The door creaked open, and Dimitri stepped inside. His posture was composed, his expression unreadable. But Victor saw past the surface. There was hesitation in his movements, a weight in his gaze that hadn't been there before.
Victor did not acknowledge him immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching his son like a predator watching prey.
Measuring.
Waiting.
And then, finally
"You're distracted."
The words weren't accusatory. They were absolute.
Dimitri did not react immediately. "The trials require"
Victor let out a humorless chuckle. "Do not insult me with excuses. I trained you better than that." He lifted his gaze then, sharp and unrelenting. "Your focus is slipping. I see it. And I will not tolerate it."
Dimitri clenched his jaw, knowing what was coming but unwilling to look away.
Victor's voice dropped, colder now. "Do you remember how you became king?"
Silence.
"Do you remember the blood you spilled to take your throne?"
Dimitri held his father's stare, unwavering but the memories struck like blades all the same. The corridors where he had stood victorious, the bodies, the silence after the storm.
Victor leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "You were raised to be ruthless. To rule without weakness. But I see hesitation in you now." His lip curled in disgust.
"Tell me what is it that has you so distracted?"
Dimitri remained silent.
Victor's eyes narrowed. "Is it her?"
A flicker of tension passed through Dimitri's chest.
Victor exhaled slowly, his voice sharpening like a blade against steel. "She is nothing. A piece on a board. If you allow yourself to waver over something so insignificant, you will lose everything you have built."
Dimitri's fingers curled at his side.
Victor sat back again, calm, calculating. "You are king because I let you be! Never forget that."
Dimitri did not react, but the weight of the statement settled deep.
Victor watched him for a long moment, as if measuring whether he had hammered the point deep enough. Then, finally, he waved his hand a dismissal.
"Leave," Victor said. "And fix your priorities."
Dimitri hesitated only for a moment before turning, his footsteps steady as he left.
Victor watched his son disappear beyond the doors and let out a quiet exhale. He had planted the doubt. Now, he would wait to see if it grew.