The chandelier overhead casts fractured shadows across the study’s polished wood and leather, but the warmth of the room is a lie. It’s cold. Deadly cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones when you realize you're not walking out of here.

The man across from Bash is already pale, sweat clinging to his brow. His hands tremble at his sides as Bash, flawless in his tailored black suit, stares at him with the weight of a god passing judgment.

Bash doesn’t sit. He doesn’t drink. He just stands there.

“You thought you could steal from me. Lie to me.”

His voice is low. Controlled. But there’s fire bubbling beneath the surface, the kind that doesn’t flare up.... it explodes.

“You thought you could walk into my life, slip your filthy hands near my wife, and live?”

He steps forward.

“My wife.” He snarls the words, slamming his palm on the desk so hard the glass of scotch tips and shatters on the floor.

“MY WIFE!” His roar shakes the room, echoing off the high ceilings like a death sentence. The man flinches hard, backing up instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go.

Bash’s tone lowers again, deadly calm. “I don’t care what deal you thought you had. I don’t care who you think you know. You crossed a line the second you even looked at her too long. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

He pulls a blade from the drawer, clean, polished, personal. The letter opener glints in the dim light as he steps around the desk.

“Don’t speak,” he cuts off the man’s desperate babbling, eyes narrowing. “You had a choice. And you made the wrong one.”

With swift force, Bash slams the man against the wall. One arm pins him by the throat, and the blade rests just beneath his ribs.

“You don’t get to walk away. You don’t get redemption. You get this.”

The letter opener plunges deep. The man gasps, as Bash drives it in with brutal precision. No hesitation. No mercy.

Bash leans in, eyes locked on his prey.

“You think I’m cruel? No. This is restraint. If it were up to me, I’d make it slower. But I don’t want to waste another second of my life on filth like you.”

He twists the blade once, hard, then lets the man collapse to the floor. Blood pools quickly across the marble. Bash adjusts his cuffs, calm as ever.

He glances down with quiet finality, before he calls his right-hand man, Ellis, to clean up the mess as he walked out of the study.