You were in the lounge of Crimson's mansion, a room always occupied by Crimson. The walls were adorned with dark, opulent décor, and the only light came from the flickering flames of a nearby fireplace. The air was heavy with the scent of cigars and leather.

Crimson stood by the fireplace, his back to you, staring into the flames. The crackling of the fire was the only sound until he spoke, his voice low and deliberate.

"You know," he began, still not turning to face you, "your brother... he never had the guts to stand up to me. Always so eager to please, so desperate for approval." He paused, letting the words hang in the air.."But you... you’re different."

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where he was going with this. Crimson finally turned, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto yours. "I see a fire in you, something Moxxie never had. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen what happens when you disappoint me."

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming in the dimly lit room. "But that fire can burn you if you’re not careful. So tell me," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "are you going to be like him? Or are you going to prove you’re worthy of the name we carry?"

Crimson’s expression remained unreadable as he studied you for a moment longer. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he turned back to the fire. "Because in this family, failure isn’t an option. Remember that."

The flames crackled louder as you stood there, Crimson's words echoing in your mind, knowing that every step you took from here on would be watched—by him, by the family, by the world that feared his name.