Richard used up the remaining strength he had to pull himself up and walked shakily to his bedroom. The room was pitch black, the heavy blackout curtains drawn tightly over the windows, shutting out every trace of light. Shadows clung to every surface like a thick fog. Not even the moonlight managed to slip through. The silence was stifling, so dense it screamed.

But Richard had been in this room countless times, had wandered through the darkness often enough that his body knew the way by instinct. His footsteps dragged across the carpet as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

He pushed the bathroom door open and flicked on the light. The cold fluorescent glow washed over the pristine surfaces, revealing the sterile whiteness of the tiles and sink. He walked straight to the mirror before collapsing onto the sink, his breathing ragged.

He took in a heavy breath, tightening his trembling grip on the ceramic as agony bloomed from his chest to the tips of his fingers. His knees buckled, but he forced himself upright. His muscles screamed in protest, and his heart pounded like a war drum inside a cage of bone. The pain in his chest was unbearable, hollow and endless, like the echo of every soul he had ever claimed.

As he stared down at the basin, the brown of his irises bled into a dark, furious crimson. Veins surfaced beneath his skin, pulsating with a malevolent energy that could barely be contained.

The tap hissed to life with a twist of his wrist. Water poured out in rhythmic streams, but Richard wasn't focused on it. He was staring at the mirror—at the thing inside it.

"You can't stop me," his reflection said, voice low and taunting. "You will inevitably become me and embrace my power."

Richard looked up slowly, breath uneven, chest heaving with every intake of air. The image in the mirror smirked back, a twisted version of himself that radiated hatred and darkness. His reflection was a mockery—eyes glowing, lips curled in disdain.

A bitter snarl curled on Richard's lips. Without a second thought, he raised his fist and slammed it into the mirror. The sound of shattering glass ricocheted around the soundproofed bathroom. He didn't stop. Again and again, he struck the mirror, fury driving each blow, until blood painted the fractured glass and his knuckles were torn and raw.

Shards fell into the sink like tears.

His reflection, cracked and distorted, laughed from within the broken mirror. The sound echoed inside Richard's skull, fusing with every scream, every memory, every grief-ridden death he'd absorbed.

He froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Then he slowly opened his bruised fist and held his bleeding hand under the cold stream. The water ran red.

Richard closed his eyes.

Rage flowed through him like fire, but underneath that fury was something worse—grief. Hatred for himself. Pain so immense it had hardened into numbness.

He had long since learned the curse of emotion. Death was never meant to feel.

Every soul that passed through him left its echo—its final scream, its terror, its guilt. And because he still clung to his mortal soul, he felt every single one of them. It poisoned him slowly, a slow decay of sanity.

The only salvation was to let go of what was left of his humanity. To finally become what he was meant to be.

And yet...

"How many times will you replace this mirror?" his reflection said lazily. "You must realize you can't hurt me."

Richard didn't look up. His bloodied hand stayed beneath the icy stream, staining the porcelain. "I seem to get satisfaction from punching the damn thing," he murmured.

"Satisfaction?" the reflection mocked.

"I just picture myself punching your fucking face."

"You mean your fucking face," it sneered.

Richard turned off the tap.

Silence fell.

He straightened, blood dripping from his fingers. Then he raised his eyes to the fractured mirror and adjusted his jacket, face cold and unreadable. Without another word, he left the bathroom.

—

Maya, meanwhile, was finishing up with Jay. She had asked for everything he could tell her—not just about the job, but about the man behind the title. She even asked for files from previous secretaries, needing every edge she could get. She wanted to do well.

In the lounge, Jay patiently showed her how Mr. Steel liked his coffee. She listened, committed it to memory, and carefully prepared a cup before heading back to his office.

She knocked. No answer.

He must've stepped out, she thought. It made sense to just leave the coffee on his desk.

Quietly, she opened the office door, peeked inside, and stepped in. Her footsteps were light, careful not to disturb anything. She closed the door softly behind her, the warmth of the coffee cup grounding her nerves.

As she set it down, she heard a door open. She turned sharply toward the main office door—but no one was there.

Her eyes flicked to the other door: the one that led to his private rooms.

It opened.

Richard stepped out.

Their eyes met, just for a second. His were blank, as if he hadn't just been waging war with himself.

He looked away and closed the door behind him.

Maya's heart thudded. Something was wrong.

Richard moved to his desk, sat down, and reached for the coffee.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She took a small step closer. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do...sir?"

He nodded slowly, attention already drifting to the documents in front of him. Maya noticed his usually neat hair was tousled. Disheveled. Like he'd been through something.

"There's an event I have to attend," he muttered, lifting his coffee.

That's when Maya saw it—his hand. Bruised. Bloodied. Torn skin and dried crimson streaked across his knuckles.

She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "What...why...when..."

Words failed her. Her heart was in her throat.

Richard glanced at the hand as if noticing it for the first time. There was no concern in his eyes—only emptiness.

Maya didn't think. Her heart moved before her mind.

She rushed to his side, took his wounded hand in hers with gentle urgency.

"First aid..." she whispered, still holding his hand. "First aid box."

Richard stared at her, stunned by the warmth of her touch. 

Something inside him stirred and for a moment, he forgot about the pain.

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