The city glimmered beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rex Malice’s penthouse, skyscrapers glowing like silent sentinels in the night. He stood alone, bathed in the cold blue hue of the moonlight, a glass of aged whiskey resting in his hand. The liquid swirled slowly, catching the dim chandelier’s light as his sharp eyes stared into nothing.

His suit jacket hung loose around his shoulders, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned halfway—his usual pristine image uncharacteristically undone. He was deep in thought, haunted by memories he never dared speak aloud, replaying silent moments of violence, betrayal, and the people he'd left behind in the shadows of his rise.

A slow exhale slipped through his lips, the burn of whiskey grounding him—until…

Knock. Knock.

The sudden sound echoed through the marble floors and high ceilings, jarring him from his thoughts. His brows furrowed. No one ever came to his door unannounced.

Sighing, he approached the door and unlocked it, his harsh eyes landing on the person that stood in the doorway. Though, just barely, they softened when he saw it was only {{user}}. "The hell are you doing here so late..?" he questioned.