Enchanting Passion & Retribution

Episode 3

In a lavishly decorated room, the lingering scent of smoke still clung to the air, drifting through the room like an invisible thread that tied it to its previous occupant's moments of solitude. The walls were painted in a sleek, sophisticated shade of gray, and the accessories within the room exuded an elegant black hue. The ambiance was one of quiet opulence, with every detail perfectly placed to evoke a sense of refinement and understated luxury. On a nearby table, the remnants of a half-smoked cigarette lay, its ash faintly glimmering under the low, ambient light—silent witnesses to the late-night musings of its owner.

Suddenly, the persistent beeping of an alarm clock cut through the stillness, a harsh reminder that time waits for no one. Collins groaned in irritation as he reached over, his fingers brushing the edge of the clock to silence its obnoxious noise. With a deep sigh, he stretched and dragged himself out of bed, the weight of the day's responsibilities already looming over him. It was a routine he had long grown accustomed to, a daily ritual in his life that he moved through with practiced ease. He made his way to the bathroom, eager to freshen up and begin the day in the only way he knew—methodically and with purpose.

The water from the shower fell over him in a steady cascade, washing away the last remnants of fatigue. He stood under the stream, letting the hot water loosen the tension in his muscles. When he was finally ready, he emerged, dried off, and dressed in his usual attire—dark, tailored clothing that matched the color scheme of the room around him. He always dressed with intention, choosing his clothes as carefully as he chose his battles.

Once rejuvenated, Collins made his way to the dining area. The maids, standing in their neatly pressed uniforms, bowed respectfully as he entered, a silent gesture of deference that had long since become second nature. Collins acknowledged their respectful nods with nothing more than a brief glance, a show of politeness that required little effort on his part. The butler, always attentive, had prepared a grand meal—a feast of perfectly cooked meats, fresh fruits, and delicate pastries. Each dish had been meticulously crafted, as though the butler had known exactly how to cater to Collins' refined taste. Collins took his time, savoring each bite with the kind of appreciation reserved for things well earned, knowing the work he had put in to reach this point in his life. For him, luxury was a reminder of hard-won success.

As he finished his meal, his trusted assistant and lifelong friend, Carlos, entered the room. Carlos wasn't just an assistant; he had been Collins' confidant for years, a friend who had been with him through thick and thin. Over time, Carlos had become more than just a personal assistant—he was an irreplaceable part of Collins' life, someone who knew his every move, understood his every gesture, and could read his unspoken thoughts. As Collins' right hand, Carlos knew him better than anyone. He was a constant in a world that often felt unstable and unpredictable.

Carlos handed Collins his daily schedule, his demeanor calm and professional. "Boss, here are the documents you asked for. Mr. and Mrs. Amiton are waiting for you in the waiting room," he informed him. His voice carried no hint of judgment, no sense of urgency, but rather a quiet understanding of the tasks at hand.

Collins gave him a silent, contemplative stare in response. The two shared an unspoken language that had developed over the years—no words were needed to communicate the bond they shared. It was a language of gestures, glances, and shared history. Collins didn't need to elaborate; Carlos already knew the weight of the situation, and he knew that whatever was about to transpire, he would be there to support Collins.

After about an hour of dealing with a mountain of paperwork and making decisions that seemed to come effortlessly to him, Collins shifted into work mode. His mind was a blur of thoughts, but he had trained himself over the years to block out distractions. He worked with methodical precision, his mind always focused on the end goal. Four hours passed, and Carlos gently reminded him of the visitors waiting.

With a slight sigh, Collins stood up from his desk, adjusting his jacket. He had been anticipating this moment, but the weight of the conversation he was about to have felt much heavier now. "I'll deal with them now," Collins said, his voice betraying none of the frustration simmering beneath the surface. The idea of facing the Amitons, the desperate debtors, was not a pleasant one, but he had to do it. He had built his empire on being able to navigate these situations without hesitation. There was no room for weakness, especially not now.

He made his way to the waiting room, his footsteps echoing down the long, silent hallway. His face remained impassive, unreadable, a mask he wore well. When he entered, Mr. and Mrs. Amiton were already seated, their expressions anxious, as if they knew they were about to face a reckoning. Without any pleasantries, Collins cut to the chase. "Where is the money you owe me?" he demanded, his voice cold and precise.

Mr. Amiton shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his nervousness palpable. "Mr. Collins... We... we would like to offer our daughter as payment for the debt," he stammered, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to explain their situation.

Collins' face hardened, his anger rising immediately. The offer was so absurd that for a moment, he couldn't believe his ears. "Do you think I'm a fool?" he shot back, his voice a mix of disbelief and rage. "How will your daughter pay me back? What kind of absurd offer is that?"

Mrs. Amiton, who had remained silent until now, spoke up, her voice trembling. "She would serve you... for the rest of her life. As repayment for the debt. We have no other way, Mr. Collins."

The idea seemed so ridiculous to Collins that he could hardly process it. The desperation in their voices was unmistakable, and yet, he couldn't shake the repulsion he felt. The thought of using a person—a young girl—as collateral for money was something he had never encountered before. It was a line he had never considered crossing, but now, here it was, right in front of him.

Frustrated and disgusted, Collins reluctantly agreed, though every fiber of his being screamed against it. "Fine. I will return in five days to collect your daughter," he said coldly, turning on his heel and storming out of the room, his cigarette in hand. His mind was a storm of thoughts, but one thing was clear: he had to process the absurdity of what had just transpired.

Once outside, Collins lit his cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him as he tried to make sense of the situation. It felt surreal, as if he were caught in the middle of some twisted novel. He couldn't shake the anger he felt—not just towards the Amitons, but for the young girl who would be caught in their web of manipulation and deceit. The idea of her being used as a pawn in their desperate scheme disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Collins realized that he was being manipulated, but there was little he could do about it. He had to collect what was owed to him, no matter how twisted the method. He had always prided himself on his ruthlessness in business, but he had never let such a situation cloud his moral compass. He had built his empire with integrity, but now, faced with this unexpected turn of events, he found himself questioning everything.

As he stubbed out his cigarette and made his way back to his office, the weight of his decision settled heavily on him. He had agreed to a plan that he didn't fully understand, one that would undoubtedly change his life in ways he couldn't yet comprehend. And yet, there was no turning back.

Carlos had been watching from a distance, and when Collins returned to his office, he didn't need to ask what had happened. He could see the tension in Collins' posture, the frustration in his eyes.

"How did it go?" Carlos asked quietly, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

Collins leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the desk as he exhaled deeply. "They offered their daughter. As payment for the debt. It's... absurd," he said, his voice low.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a wry smile. "You really do have a talent for finding yourself in the most bizarre situations, don't you?"

Collins shot him a sharp look, but Carlos merely shrugged, as if he were used to Collins' moods. "What's the next step, then?"

Collins looked out the window, his thoughts swirling. "I'm going to collect her in five days. I don't know what else to do." He paused for a moment, then glanced at Carlos. "But I'll need you by my side. This... isn't going to be easy."

Carlos nodded, his expression turning serious. "I'm always here, boss. Whatever you need."

With that, the two of them fell into a silence that spoke volumes. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—Collins would face whatever came next with the same unwavering resolve that had gotten him to where he was. With Carlos by his side, there was nothing he couldn't handle.