So what now

Behind The Library Door

Theo Leventis

I sat at my desk, everything in place—as it should be. Blueprints. Phone taps. Routes.

But something was missing.

The job wasn’t done.

The party expects results—results I promised to deliver.

They wanted the opposing side silenced.

I said I’d take care of it.

I always do.

I watched the footage live.

My men entered Desmond Vale’s estate with precision.

Minutes later, they were dead. One by one.

Executed. Sloppy. Embarrassing.

Desmond was still breathing.

“If you want something done right,” I muttered, standing up, “you have to do it yourself.”

I picked up my phone, then looked at the calendar.

June 12th. His wife’s death anniversary.

Every year, Vale threw a party- public, sentimental party. Predictable.

“Get him something expensive,” I told my guards.

“Bring the car to the front.”

June 12th

The estate looked exactly as expected—

Too many flowers. Too many handshakes.

Too much pity for a man who should’ve been buried next to his wife by now.

Desmond was in the library he built for her, as always.

I heard voices, but when I walked in, no one was there.

He looked surprised. Nervous, maybe. Maybe not enough.

“Didn’t expect you here,” he said.

“You never do,” I replied.

He reached for his glass of whiskey, resting on his wife’s crocheted coaster.

His hand was shaking more than usual.

I stepped closer. Adjusted his tie—tightened it just enough to hurt, but not to kill.

“I hate being tricked,”

“And I hate being disobeyed.”

“These stupid decisions you make… they’re why you’re alone. No family. No friends.

Even your wife probably begged to die. And your daughter—dead before she even took her first breath.”

He snapped.

Threw a punch—rage and desperation behind it. It brushed my jaw.

I didn’t flinch.

“Keep him firm,” I ordered.

My guards stepped in and pinned him.

I put on my black leather gloves and hit him until all he could remember… was me.

I straightened my jacket and crouched in front of him, eye to eye.

“You had power. You had respect. You threw it away.”

“Now you beg.”

He smiled—some twisted, dying sense of pride flickering behind his swollen face.

Then he spat on my shoe. Blood. Spit.

And mumbled:

“So what now?”

I stared at him. Silent.

Then pulled the trigger.

I dropped the gun. I would never need it again.

I walked out, closing the door behind me,

slipping into the lights,

into the clinking glasses,

Into the performance.

"Lets honor his wife."

"I’m a politician.

Not a monster."

Seraphina

My father said the world was too loud for women like me.

“You feel too much, Honeybunch”.

“Politics is no place for softness”.

“You’re safest when you’re invisible”.

He never hit me.

Never raised his voice.

He didn’t have to. His words were always calm, but sharp enough to leave bruises.

“Let the men handle it.”

“All this ambition will ruin you.”

“Just stay here—where no one can hurt you.”

Whenever he had an event, he kept me in the library

And if anyone unexpected came by, he made me hide in a closet.

He didn’t want his enemies to know about me.

You know…. politics.

No one knew I existed.

Not the guests. Not the guards.

He told people the wing was under renovation.

I finally built up the nerve to ask him something—just once.

To be seen. To matter.

“I want to be there for Mom’s anniversary,” I said.

“Nobody cares about me. I just want to be with her.”

He didn’t yell. He just stared at me.

Then said I should never think like that again.

Footsteps.

We both heard them.

I didn’t argue anymore. I just ran to the closet.

Slid into my corner. Held my breath.

Through the c***k in the door, I watched.

Eyes wide. Frozen.

A man walked in. And hit my father. Mercilessly.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t look away.

Then I heard it.

“So what now?”

A gunshot echoes through the room, its noise drowning out every other sound in the room.

THUD.

And then Daddy’s body collapses.

Topples onto the bare floor

Theo doesn’t even blink at the sight.

He simply drops the gun and walks away.

His guards trail behind him.

And then the door slams shut.

The moment it does, my body moves on its own.

I push the closet door open and scramble to Dad’s side.

“Daddy…”

I whisper, my voice shaky.

He doesn’t move.

“Daddy.”

This time, my voice is a bit louder.

Still, no words.

He just lies there.

His eyes are wide and open.

But, they’re empty. Bare.

Staring into nothingness.

“Daddy! Wake up!”

Daddy always warned me not to raise my voice

But I didn’t care.

I scream, shaking him back and forth. Back and forth.

“Daddy, wake up! Please wake up! Dad, why, please!”

But then I pause.

I feel something… something gooey… sticking to my bare palms.

‘Hm…?’ My right brow quirks up in confusion.

I raise my hands to my face for inspection. Analyze it for a second.

And then, I gasp.

It’s blood.

It’s thick, red, and smeared across both my hands.

I try my best to shake it off, but it clings to my skin like paint.

And it’s not just on my hands anymore.

It’s on my dress.

It’s in my shoes.

It’s all over the floor.

‘W-What? Why? Why is it everywhere??’

My stomach churns at the sight.

Eventually, the realization sinks in.

It’s not just blood.

It’s Daddy’s blood.

The Daddy who never hit me.

The Daddy who always hid me and protected me

The Daddy… whom I would never see again

I stop, hearing that same voice.

The same voice, flat with no emotion

Each word weighs me down

All I could do was take a second look

I came out of the library, hands behind my back to hide the stains

Like they weren’t all over me

Each step I take leaves a footprint of blood

I look at him head to toe

Left to right

Marking everything about him

from his clothes to his shoes to the little freckles

The perfectly trimmed goatee

Seraphina

I felt a hand rest gently on my shoulder.

I looked up.

It was my dad’s younger brother—the only person in this world who knew I existed.

He worked hand in hand with my father, always behind the scenes, always in the shadows.

I couldn’t speak.

All I could do was cry.

He didn’t say much. Just looked at me and said,

“There’s no time to waste.”

He took my hand and led me out of the house through a secret door in the back—the one Dad told me never to use.

My things were already packed in the car.

And so was Jasmine, my black husky with ice-blue eyes.

Still young. Still innocent.

She was waiting in the back seat, quiet and alert, like she knew something was wrong.

All I could do was hold her.

Tight.

The car ride was silent, except for the soft whine Jasmine made every time I shifted.

My uncle kept glancing back at me, once in a while, trying to ask how I was doing.

Each time, I gave him the same thing:

A blank stare.

Nothing more.

Because there was nothing left to say.

He took me to his house.

Or maybe… just another cage.

But it was different this time.

Because this time, I was involved.

He didn’t treat me like I was soft.

He treated me like me.

I still wasn’t allowed to go out.

Still a ghost to the outside world.

But now… I was a ghost with a purpose.

Private lessons. Every day.

Martial arts. Politics. Finance. Behavioral psychology.

I studied everything.

And in my free time?

I researched my father's killer.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until I could see his face even with my eyes closed.

While I sleep

Him on the ground begging

While drilling a nail through his fingers

I was twelve.

But I knew exactly what I wanted.

And I had time.