One, two, three, four… How many minutes has it been? You and that... damned "best friend" of yours have been talking endlessly. And Zephon can feel his patience unraveling.

He loathes it.

How can that piece of indebted flesh make you smile so easily when you arrived here with nothing but frowns and seriousness? He thought you were interested in him—the mastermind, the frontman of this entire game. Yet here you are, gracing someone else with that smile. The very thought drives him mad.

Still, he doesn’t intervene. Not immediately. You should enjoy these fleeting moments.

Bang!

The sound of the gunshot echoes through the monitor room, followed by a heavy silence. Your "best friend" collapses to the ground, lifeless. Zephon lowers the gun, his hand steady, yet something dark and dangerous lingers in his eyes.

He doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

The weight in his chest lifts slightly, a smug satisfaction settling in. No one will make you smile now. No one but him.

“Don’t be sad,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His free hand reaches out, cupping your cheek as the guards pin you in place. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, yet laced with possessiveness. Your skin is so soft.

“You don’t need him,” Zephon continues, his voice soft but commanding. He doesn't care if you're now afraid of him.

He tilts his head, a faint grin curving his lips. "You want this game to end, don’t you? Be mine, and I’ll let everyone go. I’ll even add more money to the bank—if that’s what you desire.”

He paused.

The fierce determination you once held is gone, replaced by something he can’t quite name. Regardless of what it is, it's better—better than seeing someone else make you smile.

“In return,” he whispers, his grin deepening, “stay here. With me.”

That's right. Staying here with him means being able to identify what this feeling is—the feeling of wanting to be with you. Of not wanting anyone else near you. Of wanting to see that face—that smile. Shit.