Baldwin's Mansion
It was the weekend, and there sat Blaze in his study room, holding some files in his hand as he read through them. His study room had two round windows, one on the upper floor and one on the ground floor, giving it the appearance of a big whale. Bookcases covered most of the area, creating a personal library right in his own home. It was a space where he could find everything he needed.
A sharp knock echoed through Blaze's study, followed by the quiet creak of the door swinging open. A man in a tailored black suit stepped inside. He was one of Blaze's trusted men, Elijah, his movements precise, his expression unreadable. The door clicked softly behind him, sealing off the outside world as he entered the room, standing at attention.
Upon entering, he stood in front of Blaze, adjusting his posture and standing at attention. "Boss, he's here," the man informed Blaze, who appeared momentarily distracted but didn't take his eyes off the visitor.
"Let him come," Elijah gestured for the man to enter, then walked over to stand at the left side of the room. The atmosphere was tense as the visitor awaited Blaze's response.
Another man walked through the open door and saw his Boss sitting in his swivel chair, engrossed in his work. His eyes then caught sight of his friend Elijah, standing across the room.
"Boss," the man greeted, his voice steady, though his eyes briefly flickered to the figure standing silently in the corner of the room. He remained still, a sentinel at the threshold, his posture mirroring that of Elijah from earlier.
Blaze's gaze never wavered from the floor, his tone cutting through the silence like a blade. "What happened here a few days ago, when I wasn't around?"
The question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. The man stiffened, confusion knitting his brow. He glanced quickly between Blaze and the still figure in the corner. "Boss, I don't get it... What exactly are you referring to?"
After neatly arranging his files on the desk, Blaze gazed up at him with an unmistakable chill in his eyes. Before long, the door to the room swung wide open, and four men strode in, firmly shutting it behind them. The man at the forefront, facing his boss Liam, cast a puzzled glance over his shoulder, clearly bewildered by the unfolding situation. As he had entered the room and spotted his friend, he had sensed that something was off, but the current state of affairs left him utterly perplexed.
"You still don't wanna confess?" Blaze asked again, his tone firm but not aggressive. The man knitted his forehead in confusion, not understanding what his boss meant. "Boss, I can assure you that I did not do anything that could be disrespectful to you in any way," he said earnestly, wanting to clear his name of any suspicion.
Blaze moved with deliberate calm, each step measured as he approached Liam. The air in the room thickened, the silence pressing down on them all. Without a word, four of Blaze's men closed in, flanking him from all sides. Liam barely had time to process what was happening before the weight of the situation slammed into him.
"Knowing all of this... yet you still did it," Blaze's voice was low, a quiet storm beneath his words.
In an instant, Liam was on his knees, his body forced forward with brutal precision. His head hit the cold, smooth surface of Blaze's wooden desk with a harsh thud. The men surrounding him moved with practiced ease, grabbing his arms and pinning him down with unrelenting force.
Liam's mind raced, but his body betrayed him. He had no room to react, no time to fight back. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as the reality of his helplessness set in. Stunned, disoriented, and overwhelmed by the sudden shift in power, he could only brace himself against the cold touch of fate.
"Boss, I did nothing wrong," Liam's voice trembled, a note of desperation creeping in as he looked up, his eyes wide, pleading. "That woman... remember her."
Blaze's gaze was unflinching, his grip never wavering as he slowly helped Liam recall the events, his words like a cold, calculated echo in the room. "Woman?" Liam stammered, his mind racing through the faces of every woman he'd crossed paths with in recent days. Then, like a flash of recognition, one name, one face surfaced in his mind. "Is that the same woman who was here... in the mansion?"
Blaze didn't answer immediately, but the tension in his hand only grew. His fingers tightened painfully around Liam's head, a silent warning that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
Liam's thoughts scrambled as he tried to piece it together, his memory shifting to that particular encounter. Blaze's voice cut through his fog of confusion, his words venomous and dripping with contempt. "She was wandering around, refusing to listen, refusing to obey—my orders." His grip tightened even further as he spoke of her, each word slipping from his mouth like a curse. His disgust was palpable, as if simply recalling the woman's disobedience was a stain he couldn't scrub clean.
Blaze didn't wait for a response. With cold precision, he placed Liam's right hand on the desk, forcing him into a vulnerable position. "You touched her with this hand, didn't you?" His words were not a question, but a statement, as if he was answering his own unspoken accusations.
The room seemed to hold its breath. Blaze's eyes never left Liam's face as he gestured to Elijah, one of his most trusted men who stood at attention nearby, waiting for orders. Without hesitation, Elijah stepped forward, his movements sharp and practiced. He handed over a cold, metallic object to Blaze, who took it in his hand without a second glance. The gleam of the object reflected in the dim light, an unspoken promise of what was about to come. Blaze's grip on Liam's head tightened once more, and the room seemed to shrink, the weight of what was happening sinking into every corner.
The knife in Blaze's hand gleamed with a dangerous, almost hypnotic sharpness. It was a Crocodile Bowie Rambo, a blade designed for precision, its edge reflecting the light with an unsettling sheen. It was a weapon that demanded respect, and Blaze wielded it with the calm confidence of someone who had used it far too many times before.
Liam's breath caught in his throat as he saw the blade in Blaze's hand, his eyes widening with a mix of panic and disbelief.
"Boss... what are you doing?" Liam's voice cracked, desperation flooding his words as he tried to pull away, but it was already too late. Blaze's gaze flicked down to the knife, then slowly returned to Liam's trembling hand, still placed firmly on the desk. The silence between them was suffocating, heavy with the weight of what was about to unfold.
"No... no, boss!" Liam begged, his voice rising in panic as his heart pounded in his chest. But it was futile—before he could move or say anything more, the other two men stepped forward, their strong hands gripping his arms, holding him in place with ruthless precision. There was no escape. No mercy.
"You shouldn't have done that," Blaze's voice was a low, cold whisper—just loud enough for Liam to hear, as if the words themselves were a verdict. His expression was unreadable, detached, as if this was nothing more than an unpleasant but necessary task.
Then, with a motion so fluid it was almost graceful, Blaze brought the knife down. The cold steel made a soft, slicing sound as it cut through flesh with eerie ease, the sound of it almost drowned out by Liam's strangled gasp. The room seemed to freeze as the act was done, the blade's work completed with a precision only Blaze could command.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood as the reality of Liam's situation settled in. There would be no turning back now.
Blaze lowered himself until he was level with Liam, the smile on his face a cold thing that didn't reach his eyes. "You know," he murmured—loud enough for everyone in the room to hear—"you don't touch what I adore." His voice was soft, cruel, as if savoring each syllable. "If you harm it... I'll make you suffer like nothing you've ever imagined."
The tape over his mouth muffled the protest Liam made. Panic ripped through him, he kicked and flailed, anxious to loosen the iron clamp which held him. Any effort was responded to with trained violence. The other men pushed him down to the point where he lay helpless on the desk, sucking air in shallow gasps.
Blaze's expression turned to one of grim satisfaction. He moved with clinical calm, the room shrinking around the single, terrible point where he worked. The sounds in the study — sharp, mechanical, human — blurred into a single, unbearable chorus. For those who watched, the minutes stretched like an eternity. Elijah could not bear the sight; he turned his eyes away, jaw clenched.
And when it was all over Blaze straightened himself as though he had accomplished something.
"Take him out," Blaze said, in a flat voice. The men complied, and dragged Liam out of the study into the shadows outside. The room which, just a little earlier, was so well ordered and clean bore the marks of violence: spots of dark colour, upset papers, an odour in the air that made Elijah sick of heart. And Blaze was a part of the ruination, his suit spotted and his features set as though he had been in war--and in his heart, had been vindicated.
He looked at the empty place where his honor had been challenged and, for a moment, let himself believe that the message had been made clear.
Author's Note:
Hello y'all, enjoy reading my story? Then add it to your library and if you could please use some power stones <3
Good night<3
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