Chapter 4
1150 Words
Wells’ POV —
"Kelly Parker…"
Her name drifted through my mind like a bruise—faint, but impossible to ignore.
I sat alone in my office, a chamber carved from silence.
The kind of silence that presses against the skin like cold marble.
My sanctuary. My fortress. My cage.
No one entered unless I willed it.
And no one ever forgot why.
A cup of coffee cooled at my right side, sending thin curls of steam toward the ceiling—ghosts rising upward only to disappear. I leaned back into my chair, fingers steepled, watching my assistant tremble before me.
He stared at the floor as though the truth lay hidden in its grain.
"What else do you know about her?"
My voice was a measured blade—quiet, but sharp enough to draw blood.
"I… I only got her name, sir. I—I’m sorry."
His apology quivered like a dying flame.
Disappointment spread through me. Slow. Heavy. Poisonous.
"You didn’t think to investigate her?"
My words were low thunder.
"You dragged a stranger into my home? What if she was sent here? What if she was a mask, a lie?"
"I'm sure she isn't—she just seemed… desperate."
"Desperation is the easiest mask to wear."
I let the truth linger between us like smoke.
"Everyone is performing for survival. Remember that."
His breathing stuttered.
"It won't happen again—"
The knock at the door cut him short.
"Yes?" I called.
A guard stepped in.
"There is a woman downstairs. She says she is here for the maid position."
My assistant froze.
"Her name?" I asked.
"Kelly Parker, sir."
So the ghost had a face after all.
"Let her in."
The guard left. I turned back to my assistant.
He dared to lift his eyes—only for them to fall again like stones dropped into a well.
"Last chance," I whispered, letting the danger thread itself through the air.
"The next mistake won’t be forgiven."
I brought my fist down on the table. The sound cracked the room open. He stumbled backward, fear scattering around him like dust.
"Thank you, sir!" he stuttered before fleeing.
Silence returned—my truest companion.
I sipped my coffee. Bitterness spread across my tongue.
On the wall, the framed photographs seemed to watch me like sleeping gods, their eyes hollow with memory.
Another knock.
"Come in."
The guards stepped aside, revealing her.
The girl walked in with cautious steps, yet her gaze carried an echo I recognized.
And then recognition struck me—clean and sharp.
The girl from the bar.
The night. The alcohol. Her clumsy courage.
She seemed to remember too.
"You…" she whispered, as if the word hurt.
A slow, humorless smile curved my lips.
"Fate has a strange sense of humor. Sit."
She obeyed, though her eyes clung to mine with an unsettling boldness—like someone staring into a storm just to see if it would swallow them.
"So you’re applying for a maid?"
My tone tasted of amusement and warning.
A small nod.
"Kelly Parker, right?"
"Yes. Weren’t you told?"
Her voice held the slightest bite.
Brave.
Foolish.
Intriguing.
"Mind your tongue," I said softly. "I am the storm in this room. You are the visitor."
She rolled her eyes, subtle but visible. A spark in a room full of gasoline.
"Are you here for the job—or something more?"
I leaned forward.
"Something hidden. Something dangerous."
"Sir," she said, exasperated, "I'm here because I need work. Isn’t it obvious?"
"You won't get it speaking to me like that."
She sighed.
"Sorry. I just… I have a lot happening and—"
"I didn’t ask for your tragedies."
Coldness coated my words.
"Your scars don't earn you empathy here. This is employment, not confession."
Her anger flickered behind her eyes—beautiful in its quiet fire.
"If you were a little nicer—"
"Nice is a luxury for the naive," I said. "Kindness is the rope people use to pull you down."
I stood, the room shrinking around her.
"You're starting now."
"W-What? I didn’t even—"
"You wanted the job."
My gaze pinned her in place.
"This is the cost."
She swallowed.
"I… yes, but—"
"No ‘but.’”
I gestured to the hall.
"Clean the room by the staircase. It’s a disaster."
Without waiting, I left—letting the echo of my footsteps finish the conversation.
---
The night was cold enough to feel alive.
The bar glowed like a wound in the dark, buzzing with life and decay. I slipped inside and ordered wine. A girl draped across me, lighting my cigarette, trailing her fingers along my chest as if searching for something beating underneath.
She wouldn’t find it.
Smoke blurred the lights into trembling halos.
Music thumped.
Laughter cracked.
Shadows danced.
Then—
BAM.
Gunfire.
Sharp as betrayal.
My guard leaned close.
"Sir… Scorpion’s men."
A reaction like lightning inside me.
"Arm me."
He handed me a g*n.
The bar dissolved into chaos—shouts, bodies scrambling, bullets tearing the air apart.
Death moved quickly.
I moved quicker.
And then a presence behind me—too familiar in its cold.
I turned.
Scorpion.
His smile was a bleeding wound.
"Nice to see you survive the night."
"You’re not afraid of death?" I asked.
"Death knows my name," he murmured. "And yours."
He lifted his g*n.
I smirked.
"That’s all you’ve got?"
"We finish this tonight. No more running."
He didn’t know the truth—
that monsters do not run.
They hunt.
Before he could fire, I struck—shoving his arm aside and driving my knuckles into his jaw. His body twisted; he kicked, but I caught his leg and slammed him into the floor.
"Have you forgotten who I am?"
The words rolled from me like dark scripture.
He spat blood.
"I remember you’re still a coward."
His fist cracked against my nose. Pain bloomed, metallic.
Rage followed like fire on dry leaves.
I grabbed him by the skull and broke him against the wall—once, twice—until the plaster cracked like bone.
A table shattered beneath him as he fell.
I turned to leave—
"Not over… yet, brother."
His voice scraped like metal on concrete.
He raised his g*n.
The first shot missed.
The second found my shoulder—fire exploding through flesh.
I hissed, clutching the wound.
My guard appeared, silent as shadow.
"Take him down."
A single blow to Scorpion’s skull ended it.
Blood dripped through my fingers as I tore fabric from my shirt and pressed it to the wound.
"Get the car," I muttered.
"Yes, sir."
I looked once more at the broken body of the man who shared my blood—but not my loyalty.
Then I walked out into the cold night, the taste of iron in my mouth, and darkness following close behind.
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