Chapter 88: At the edge of it all.
~~~~
"Just leave! Leave my house right now!"
Beauty's voice trembled as she screamed. Her whole body was shaking, barely able to stand. She pointed at Roy, who stood frozen at the doorway.
Roy didn't move. He stared at her, torn between guilt and helplessness. He wasn't afraid for himself-he was afraid for her. Beauty looked like she was unraveling right before his eyes.
Her eyes were puffy and red, the kind that only come after hours of crying. Her face was pale, sickly, as if the life had drained out of her. Her body was stiff, locked in tension, as if holding herself together by sheer force.
Roy's heart thudded in his chest. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, to say "It's not what you think." He wanted to fix it-whatever this was.
But he couldn't. Not this time.
Would she ever believe him? Could she ever accept the truth?
"I don't believe it," she whispered, then screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
Suddenly, she snatched a ceramic plate from the table and hurled it to the ground.
Crash!
The plate shattered, splinters flying in every direction.
A sharp shard lodged in her leg. She winced, but didn't cry out. Blood trickled down her skin, painting her ankle red.
"Beauty! That's enough!"
Flora and Fiona jumped up from their seats, panic in their voices.
"Please, don't hurt yourself. Just sit. Please."
They caught her as she swayed, helping her into a chair. Her body trembled violently, breath ragged and uneven.
Then they turned to Roy.
Fiona didn't say a word. She didn't need to. Her eyes told him everything.
Leave. Now.
And Roy understood.
He stepped outside. The sunlight hit his face, but it felt distant, meaningless. The world around him moved, but he didn't feel part of it.
He felt hollow.
Like something inside him had died.
Like he was nothing more than a ghost of himself.
~~~~
Roy didn't just leave that day-he felt like he had died.
Not physically, but somewhere deep inside.
He couldn't cry. He didn't even have the strength to. Whatever was left of him had already broken apart.
---
At the Scott Mansion...
Scott stayed home that day. Business at the company had slowed down, giving him a rare chance to spend the day with his family. The house buzzed with familiar voices-except for two: Grandfather Mark, Scott's father, and Uncle Matthew, the second son of the family. Both were still away on a business trip.
After breakfast, Charlotte seemed to be in better spirits. With Joan's help, she strolled around the garden, chatting and laughing softly. She even played with baby Jada for a while before the little girl drifted off to sleep in her arms. Charlotte's color had returned, and for the first time in a while, her voice carried a little strength.
Later that morning, after her walk, Charlotte came back into the sitting room and sat beside Scott on the sofa.
She looked around, then turned to her son.
"Scott... what about your sister? Have you heard from Aria recently? It's been a while since I saw her."
Scott paused, rubbing the back of his neck.
"She video calls every now and then," he said. "I asked her why she hasn't come around, and she said she's been busy with work-too much going on, not in town."
Charlotte frowned slightly. "Is something wrong with her?"
"I don't think so, Mom. She probably just needs some space," Scott replied. "Maybe something's up in her personal life. I'm not sure. Maxson talks to her more than I do."
He nodded toward Maxson, who was on his phone across the room.
Maxson looked up, surprised. "Wait-me?"
Then to Charlotte, "Mom, did you hear what your son just said? I'm not the one who's supposed to be closer to her."
He stopped when he noticed Scott's expression-stern, unreadable, and cold enough to cut the air.
"Alright, bro," Maxson muttered, backing off. "I'll call her now."
He pulled up Aria's number and dialed. The line rang several times, but there was no answer.
"She's not picking up," Maxson said, looking toward Charlotte. "Maybe she'll call back when she's free."
Charlotte didn't budge. Her instincts told her something was wrong.
"Call her again," she said firmly. "Now. Something doesn't feel right."
Maxson hesitated, but one look at Charlotte's eyes and he nodded.
He dialed again.
This time, someone answered-but it wasn't Aria.
"Hello?" a man's voice said.
Maxson's brow tightened. "Uh... who's this?"
"Oh, I'm Duncan," the voice replied casually. "I'm a friend of Aria's. She's in the restroom right now. Can you call back in a few minutes?"
Maxson cleared his throat. "Alright. Just let her know her brother called to check on her. And... sorry, you said your name is Duncan?"
"Yeah, Duncan," he repeated. "She's okay, no worries. If it helps, I can send you our location."
Then the call ended.
Maxson froze for a second, unsure of what to say. Telling the truth might only worry Charlotte more-so he lied.
"She's asleep," he said, pocketing his phone. "One of her female friends picked up. She'll call us back when she wakes up."
Charlotte stared at him for a moment, not entirely convinced.
"If that's the case... I hope she's really okay."
Maxson avoided her eyes and glanced at Scott, who hadn't said a word.
He just sat there-silent, unreadable.
And Maxson, deep down, knew something wasn't right.
~~~~
Inside a magnificent building, silence reigned.
It was the kind of silence so thick, so still, it felt like time itself had stopped.
The only sound in the room came from a porcelain cup, the gentle clink of a spoon stirring black coffee in slow, hypnotic circles.
At the center of a sleek, glass table sat a man-Arthur. His movements were calm, methodical, almost detached. The dark coffee swirled with purpose, like his thoughts. Thick. Quiet. Calculated.
Then came the sound of heels.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Sharp. Deliberate. Confident.
They echoed through the marble hallway like the ticking of a clock winding down-until she appeared.
She entered like a storm dressed in elegance.
Miss Diana.
Her short, black dress clung to her body with precision, every inch designed to seduce and command. Her presence filled the room before she even spoke. Crimson lips curved-not into a smile, but something closer to a dare.
Her hair, long and fluid, cascaded over her shoulders like a fountain of midnight silk, catching the overhead lights as she moved.
She approached the table with slow, measured grace, the kind that drew eyes without permission.
Then she stopped.
Right in front of him.
Arthur didn't look up.
She watched the spoon still turning in the coffee. Calm. Cold.
With a soft scoff, she pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. Crossed her legs. Tilted her head.
"No greeting? No welcome? Not even the decency of a guest menu?" she asked, voice velvet with sarcasm. "Am I not a guest, Arthur?"
Still stirring, he replied without glancing her way.
"A guest? Don't be dramatic, Diana. You were the one who called my PA to schedule this little meeting."
He chuckled under his breath. Diana always liked theatrics-always needed to test the edges of power, taste every corner of the room.
Diana smirked. "Oh, Arthur... You know I always get what I want. Straight, no detours."
She leaned back casually. "But let's not pretend I'm here to be anyone's partner. Least of all yours."
Her voice was light, but her eyes said something sharper.
"And you," she continued, narrowing her gaze, "you always talk about getting what you want. Funny-you never managed to get my brother."
Arthur's hand paused. The spoon slowed, finally resting.
Diana's tone dropped.
"This is Diana speaking now. And I remember everything."
Arthur finally looked up, a slow smirk forming on his face. "Your brother?" He scoffed. "He was nothing. Just another pawn I could use and throw away."
He leaned back in his seat. "Though I'll admit... he knew how to play."
Diana didn't flinch. "Let's not waste time. Either we get to business, or I walk out of here now. You and I both know you can't pull off your little scheme without me."
She laughed then-bold and effortless. A laugh that didn't ask for approval.
Arthur laughed too, low and amused. "Diana, you're wild. That's why I enjoy working with you. In this business-Boss Beast doesn't believe in rules."
He leaned forward, voice darkening. "Just be sure you can play by my rules."
Her eyes glinted.
"I have rules too," she said, meeting his gaze without blinking. "And I hope Boss Beast remembers-I never play to lose."
Just then, Black Eye entered, quiet as a shadow. Without a word, he placed a steaming cup of vanilla coffee in front of Miss Diana.
She didn't blink.
She smiled.
Business was just getting started.
~~~~
Black Eye's failure had come at a cost-one that hit harder than any blow he'd taken. Not just for him, but for Arthur too. The mission had collapsed beneath them, dragging down months of careful planning and quiet maneuvering. Arthur had said little in the aftermath.
But his silence had been sharper than a scream.
The punishment that followed wasn't loud. No public display, no theatrical wrath. It came in cold steel and still air-brutal in its quiet cruelty.
They locked him away underground. No windows, no warmth, no sense of time. Just concrete walls, stale air, and the ache of hunger gnawing at his bones. He was beaten when he faltered, denied food when he weakened, and forced to train long past the point of collapse. There was no mercy. No rest.
Only the echo of pain.
The chamber knew him well-the lash of leather against flesh, the heavy drag of his breath, the soft, choking groans he tried to swallow. But still, he never cried out.
Not once.
Because he understood pain. It was no stranger. It had walked beside him long before Arthur ever came into his life. What terrified him wasn't the suffering. It was the idea that he'd let his master down. That he'd lost his purpose.
That? That was real fear.
And so, he endured.
The days blurred. Then the weeks. There was no clock, no light, only the steady rhythm of torment. But somehow, he held on. One breath. Then another.
Then, one day, the heavy door creaked open.
Arthur stepped inside.
He didn't speak right away. Just stood there, studying the man he'd once trusted, perhaps wondering if anything was left of him.
But Black Eye hadn't broken. Not truly.
He stood slowly-not with defiance, but with quiet control. His face was marked with bruises, his frame leaner, harder. But it was his eyes that caught Arthur off guard.
They didn't beg.
They burned.
Not with rage. Not with pride. But with something deeper.
Resolve.
Arthur's expression shifted, just slightly. A twitch of the mouth, a glint of approval in his gaze.
"You survived," he said finally, his voice cool and flat. "Now prove you're still worth something."
Black Eye didn't flinch. He didn't argue. He simply dropped to one knee, his fist pressed to the cold floor.
"Give me the next mission," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "I won't fail again."
Arthur watched him for a long, unreadable moment.
The punishment hadn't shattered him.
It had sharpened him.
Tougher. Quieter. Colder.
A new plan was already forming in Arthur's mind-something ruthless, something exact. And now, he had the weapon to carry it out.
Black Eye had returned.
Not as a man.
But as a blade.
~~~
After Aria had shown up completely drunk at the club, Duncan had no choice but to step in. He picked her up, steadying her as she swayed and slurred, and decided to drive her home.
But the question was-where?
As he drove, thoughts spiraled through his mind. He couldn't take her to her brother's house. That would be a disaster-her brother would be furious, and she'd be embarrassed. Her family's house was also out of the question. She didn't need judgment tonight. She needed peace.
Aria had her own apartment now-a beautiful, quiet place she rarely stayed in. She was always around people. Always dropping by her brother's to play with Flora, or visiting her parents just to feel the warmth of family. But not tonight. Not like this.
Duncan knew the only safe place left was her apartment. So he drove there.
He parked in the underground garage, the engine humming quietly before he turned it off. For a moment, he just sat there, looking at her passed out in the passenger seat. Her head leaned against the window, mouth slightly parted, peaceful in a way that tugged at something deep inside him.
He sighed, got out, and slipped into the other side. Gently, he lifted her into his arms. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. Locking the car with a soft click, he carried her into the building, took the elevator, and stepped into her apartment.
The space was dim-dark, at first-but as he stepped inside, motion lights blinked on one by one, casting a soft glow across the room. The design was sleek, modern, with black and deep blue accents. It looked like something out of a magazine, like a queen's private retreat.
It was unmistakably her.
Duncan smiled faintly. She'd always loved black and blue.
He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. She shifted slightly, curling up as he pulled the thick duvet over her. Just as he was about to turn and leave, her voice came-soft, slurred, barely audible.
"Don't leave... don't leave..."
It tugged at his heart.
He knew she was dreaming. Maybe even didn't know he was there. But he stayed. He reached down and brushed her cheek lightly.
"I love you, Aria," he whispered, the words escaping before he could stop them.
He stayed with her until her breathing slowed, deep and steady. Only then did he slip away, careful not to wake her. He found the guest room, freshened up with a quick shower, and returned to the kitchen.
Something told him she'd wake up in the middle of the night-starving, confused, maybe even sick. So he made something light for both of them. Nothing too heavy. Just enough to fill the emptiness if it came.
Then, finally, Duncan settled on the living room sofa. He didn't want to be far in case she called out again. In case she needed someone close.
He closed his eyes, the image of her wrapped in blue and black, whispering "don't leave," still lingering in his mind.
And he didn't.