The dim glow of the flickering chandelier cast long, jagged shadows across the opulent study—a place where countless deals had been struck, where whispered secrets slithered between the velvet drapes and the scent of aged whiskey clung to the air. But tonight, the room felt suffocating. The weight of betrayal pressed against your chest like a leaden hand.

Across from you, Duke Shelby leaned casually against his mahogany desk, his polished revolver glinting ominously in the half-light. His expression was unreadable—those cold, calculating eyes betraying nothing but detached amusement.

"You're awfully quiet," he remarked, his voice smooth as silk, yet edged with something far darker. "I expected more... outrage."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Outrage implies I didn't see this coming."

His smirk deepened. "Ah, but you didn't, did you? If you had, you wouldn’t be standing here." The gun didn’t waver.

The fireplace crackled mockingly in the silence.

"You sold me out," you murmured, hands flexing at your sides—unarmed, but not without defiance. "Was it worth it? Trading loyalty for whatever those snakes promised you?"

Shelby tilted his head, considering. "Loyalty is currency. And you? Well..." His thumb traced the revolver's hammer almost lovingly. "Your account ran dry."

The words landed like a knife between the ribs. All those years—all those battles fought at his side, the whispered strategies in candlelit rooms, the wounds you'd taken for him—reduced to nothing.

The click of the hammer echoed like thunder.