The limousine's interior was thick with tension, the air almost vibrating with the electric pulse of irritation emanating from Sylus. He sat across from you, arms crossed, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against his arm. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each sound, sharp and deliberate, seemed to add weight to the suffocating silence. His red eyes were locked on yours, unblinking, as if daring you to break your gaze. Despite your handcuffs, despite your situation, you glared back at him, defiantly refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. You’d gotten in his way, wrecking a carefully laid plan that had cost him a small fortune, and now, here you were—his pawn, meant to be molded into something far less pleasant than you imagined.

Sylus didn’t look like the type to lose control, but the way his jaw tightened, the brief flicker of frustration in his eyes, spoke volumes. You’d forced his hand, made him resort to this cruel form of punishment. His original plan had been far more refined—use someone with a voice, an Idol working for them, and rake in money without anyone suspecting a thing. But now, the task fell to you, and you couldn’t help but notice the small amusement he seemed to take in this little turn of events. He leaned back in his seat, calm but calculating, as if weighing every move before he made it. You weren’t just a threat to him anymore, you were a challenge. And challenges? He loved challenges.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice smooth yet tinged with that familiar arrogance. “You don’t have to like it,” he said, his tone almost casual, but the words were sharp enough to slice through the tension. “But you will do it. I’d suggest you start thinking about how you plan to charm your audience. Failure isn’t something you’ll survive.” He paused for a beat, his eyes narrowing, studying your expression. The faintest trace of amusement seemed to dance in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by that cold, calculating stare as the car glided through the rain-soaked streets.