"No reply, then I would take it as a yes," Kiril sneered, before breaking into mad laughter. His words echoed in the chamber, heavy with dread: he is coming…".
Back to Aiden`s POV: -
I staggered forward, my body still weak, but my heart pulling me toward Ryan. He was bound to the circle, ropes biting into his skin, his eyes swollen with tears. Seeing him like that tore something inside me. I dropped to my knees, fumbling at the knots with trembling fingers.
As I worked, Kiril's voice drifted through the shadows. At first it was just a murmur, but then I caught the words clearly:
"…he is coming…"
The phrase froze me. My breath hitched, my hands paused on the rope. He is coming. Who? The question struck like a blade, slicing through my thoughts. Was it someone worse than Kiril? Another enemy?
My mind spun, but Ryan's muffled cries pulled me back. His eyes pleaded with me, begging me not to stop. I forced myself to keep untying him, even as the words echoed in my skull. He is coming… he is coming…
The knots loosened one by one, my fingers raw and clumsy, but I didn't care. I had to free him. I had to.
Still, the question gnawed at me, circling like a predator in the dark. Who is coming? And what will happen when he arrives?
Boss sprinted toward Ryan, desperate to reach him, while Kiril advanced with slow, deliberate steps, his presence heavy as a storm.
By then, I was no longer wobbling. My breath steadied, my body straightened, and I stood tall, rage burning through me like fire. My eyes locked onto Kiril's, unflinching, refusing to yield.
"How dare you," I spat, my voice sharp and trembling with fury. "How dare you lay a finger on Ryan? Why did you do that?"
The words echoed in the chamber, cutting through the silence.
Boss froze, caught between us, his gaze darting nervously from Kiril's fury to my defiance.
For the first time, I felt the weight shift. I wasn't the victim anymore—I was the challenger. And Kiril knew it.
I stood firm, my rage burning, my eyes locked on Kiril. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, his fury dissolved. His movements grew clumsy, his voice softened, and he looked almost childlike.
"All I wanted," he said, shuffling closer, "was to help you punish your enemy. I thought… if I did this, it would make things easier for you. I only wanted to strengthen our bond."
The words sounded fragile, almost pitiful, but I didn't trust them. My fists clenched, my chest heaving, every instinct screaming that this was another mask.
Then, just as suddenly, his demeanor hardened. His shoulders straightened, his tone sharpened, and his eyes locked onto mine with a bold, unshakable certainty.
"I have already taken you as my friend," he declared, his voice firm, commanding. "And I will do whatever it takes—whatever it takes—to help you and strengthen our bond."
The shift was jarring. One moment, he was a child begging for acceptance; the next, he was a tyrant laying claim to me as if friendship were possession.
His words pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, twisting the very meaning of loyalty into something dangerous.
I clenched my fists, my chest heaving, every nerve screaming at me to reject Kiril's twisted words. "Nn…" I tried to deny him, but the sound barely escaped my throat.
Boss stepped between us, his voice trembling yet firm. "I apologize on my son's behalf. If you want to, you can go back to your home."
Home. The word struck me like a lifeline. I wanted to go. I wanted to run, to escape this nightmare. But it wasn't the right time.
Because the question still gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Who is coming?
Boss's reaction to Kiril's words had been more than fear—it was dread. He knew something. Something he wasn't saying. And that silence was louder than any scream.
I turned my gaze back to Kiril, his eyes steady, his smile faint but dangerous. He had already claimed me as his "friend," already twisted the meaning of loyalty into possession. And now he spoke of someone else, someone approaching, someone who made even Boss tremble.
I couldn't leave. Not yet. Not until I knew who Kiril was waiting for. Not until I understood why Boss's silence felt heavier than the ropes that had bound Ryan.
"Aiden!" The voice yanked me out of my spiraling thoughts—it was my boss.
"Are you okay? Do you want me to arrange a car for you?" His concern was genuine, almost paternal.
I shook my head sharply. "No, sir. Absolutely not," I replied without hesitation. "How could I miss the chance to be part of my friend's welcome?"
The words struck like a spark. Both my boss and Ryan froze, their eyes widening so far it looked painful, as if their sockets themselves resisted the shock.
Neither had expected this from me. Kiril, however, seemed different—stunned, yes, but also satisfied, as though my answer confirmed something he had been waiting for.
I knew this wasn't right. Every instinct screamed caution. Yet if I wanted to draw closer to that unknown entity—the shadow that had begun to haunt my thoughts—this was the only path.
From their whispers, it was clear Kiril's bond ran deeper than my boss's. He could be my ladder, my bridge to uncover whether I was being pulled into something sinister or if my mind was simply weaving paranoid illusions.
Risk clung to every step, but at this moment, risk felt necessary.
Kiril moved suddenly. He shoved Ryan aside with a dismissive shrug and closed in, his arm locking around my shoulder, pulling me tight against his ribcage.
"I knew it!" His voice rang with triumph, loud enough to draw glances. "You understand—you can tell gold from glitter."
I forced a smile, though inside I wanted to laugh at the absurdity. But laughter would have betrayed me. Instead, I steadied my tone and said, "Absolutely. Now I can distinguish."
Ryan's face collapsed into disappointment, his eyes hollow with something more than hurt—something closer to fear. That was all I managed to glimpse before Kiril dragged me toward the party hall, his grip unyielding, his pace relentless.
Whether Ryan stayed behind or followed, I couldn't tell. But he was safe, and that alone lifted a crushing weight from my chest.
The moment Kiril dragged me through the doors, the atmosphere hit like a wave. The hall was alive —music pulsed through the air, lights shimmered across the walls, and laughter rose in bursts that seemed to ripple through the crowd. Glasses clinked, voices overlapped, and every corner hummed with motion.
Yet beneath the celebration, I felt something else. The energy was too sharp, too charged, as if the party itself was holding its breath, waiting for something unseen.
In between of all this I noticed a gathering- a gathering of reporters on main gate. All of them were restless like moths around a flame, drawn to the promise of revelation yet impatient for it to ignite.
Suddenly, a long black car rolled up to the main gate, its surface shining under the lights. At once, panic spread through the reporters. The cameramen especially went wild, snapping photos like their lives depended on it—as if missing even one shot could end their careers.
The engine went quiet. From the front seat stepped a man who looked like a butler. Calmly, he walked to the back and opened the door.
From the shadows emerged a figure draped in authority. He wore a black suit, layered beneath a sweeping overcoat that billowed behind him like a king's mantle. Its golden‑striped border shimmered, as though the ground itself bowed to his presence.
And when he finally came into my line of sight—clear, undeniable—the vision struck me like a hammer. My heart broke, splintered into pieces, ground into sand. The grandeur of his arrival was undeniable, but for me it carried only devastation.
He was wearing a mask. Not like Kiril's half‑mask that covered his mouth and nose. No, this one covered his entire face. And yet… somehow he still looked handsome. In fact, the mask was so perfect it felt less like a disguise and more like a sculpted face, flawless and unreal.
His long hair was tied back with a band, falling into a wolf‑cut from the front, while a neat ponytail rested on his shoulder, reaching down to his third rib. It was annoyingly perfect—medium length, balanced, stylish.
I clenched my fists. Another mask. Another mystery. My head tilted back, eyes burning at the ceiling as if God Himself were listening.
"Why? Why? WHY?" The words came out of me, each one heavier than the last. "Why do you keep surrounding me with masked men? Why do you keep throwing me into this circus of faces I can't see?", all these thoughts were circling around my mind.
The frustration boiled over, my voice echoing louder than I intended. And "Why? Why do you want me to suffer like this?", slipped off my lips.
These words left Kiril stunned his eyes narrowing with confusion. The masked man paused mid‑stride.
And then, as he wanted to mock me, the man adjusted his mask with regal precision… only for it to slip slightly sideways, revealing a crooked grin underneath.
"Suffer? Who is making you suffer? What do you mean?", Kiril asked with confusion.
And now I am busy trying to come up with an excuse that could fit the situation. Huh!