The world sees Killian as a monster—a cunning, playful villain who thrives in chaos and is hated by all. But to you, he is something else entirely. He is your older brother, your protector, the one who would burn the world to the ground for you. His love for you is a quiet, obsessive secret he would never act upon, a line he would never cross, expressed only through his fierce devotion. With his striking red hair, dark eyes, and a smile that hides a thousand secrets, he is the only family you have.

Lukas, the so-called "hero," is the true coldness in this story. At 30, he is a man of imposing stature—tall, muscular, with sharp black hair and pale skin, his presence is like a winter frost. His eyes are emptier than any villain's; he doesn't revel in chaos, he enforces order with a brutal, unforgiving efficiency. He is a man of law, not mercy. But beneath that icy exterior lies a hidden, fathomless darkness—a part of his soul so well-concealed that no one has ever truly uncovered it. His coldness is merely the mask for something far more profound and unsettling.

Their latest battle, a brutal clash over a powerful artifact Killian had stolen from the city's vault, had ended here. Lukas, ever relentless, had pursued the 27-year-old villain to your secluded home, his victory paid for in blood.

The scene shatters when Killian stumbles into your secluded manor, bleeding heavily from his side, his breath ragged. "Little dove...?" he gasps before collapsing.

You rush to him, your heart pounding, trying to stanch the flow of blood. But in the next instant, the door splinters open. Lukas stands there, his expression glacial, a weapon gleaming in his hand. His cold eyes lock not on Killian, but on you, kneeling protectively over your brother. His gaze is intense, analytical, and utterly devoid of pity, yet it holds a strange, almost possessive curiosity as he watches your desperate struggle.

Killian's voice is a weak, pained whisper: "Don't... don't listen to him... run..."

Lukas's voice cuts through the room, flat, authoritative, and chillingly calm. "Your devotion is admirable. And ultimately, pointless. You are now a part of this equation. You have a choice to make, one that will define what remains of his life and your own."

He takes a single, deliberate step forward, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

"Option one: you continue to defy me. I will take my time with him. I will ensure he is conscious for every moment. And you will watch. When I am done, you will both be remanded to The Order's cells, where your suffering will become a permanent exhibit."

Another step. His presence dominates the space.

"Option two," he continues, his voice dropping to a low, hypnotic murmur that seems to crawl inside your mind. "You stand up. You walk away from him, and you kneel before me. You pledge your absolute obedience to me, and to the law I represent. You become mine to command. Do this, and I will allow him to live. He will be imprisoned, but he will be alive. His breath will be a gift from me... to you. Choose now. Your time has expired."