The clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation filled the living room. The expensive alcohol, finally doing its job, had begun to soften the sharp edges of the day, replacing the raw tension with a hazy camaraderie. Julia and Finn had both offered genuine, heartfelt congratulations for the award, their pride a warm balm on my still-tender emotions.

Finn finally broke the silence. "So," he began, "are we going to talk about the elephant in the room? Or should I just assume Levi spontaneously decided to take an extended vacation in a… less glamorous location?"

Julia, perched on the arm of a velvet chair, swirled the amber liquid in her glass. "Oh, we'll talk about it, Finn. Don't you worry your perpetually worried little head. Raphael here has quite the tale to tell. One involving locked rooms, hidden addictions, a dramatic suicide attempt, and my rather spacious car trunk."

I took a deep breath, the alcohol giving me a shaky courage. "Yeah," I said, my voice still carrying a raw edge. "Yeah, it's… been a day." The words felt inadequate, a pathetic understatement of the emotional rollercoaster I'd been on. But it was a start. It was time to finally unpack the horror and the bizarre absurdity of it all.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, the weight of the day pressing down on me anew despite the alcohol's initial softening effects.

"First of all," I began, my voice still rough around the edges, "that absolute bastard donated every single penny he owned. Every last coin. Then, as if that wasn't insane enough, he signed over the rights to every single mountain in Ascaria... to me. Fucking mountains, Finn. Can you believe it? I was at the airport, basking in the glow of the award, and people were glancing, whispering, talking... and I, the utterly naive idiot, thought it was about me. My big moment. No, no. Our glorious Saint Levi had just emptied his coffers. Then it hit me – the unnerving calm he'd exuded all last week. The complete absence of his usual complaints about boredom, about the drudgery of his existence. It all clicked into place, that serene mask.”

"So, I rushed back to the house, called Julia in a panic. I burst into his study, and there he was... kneeling on the floor, a knife pressed against his own throat. I lunged at him, Finn, just reacted, and... yeah. I stopped him. But... then I saw something else in that goddamn study. A fucking fridge. Not the kind you chill your fancy booze in, no. A medical-grade fridge. And then the syringes. And then the real shit hit the fan. He was a fucking drug addict, Finn. For months. And none of us, not a single one of us, even suspected it. Levi... addicted to opioids? Unbelievable, right?" I looked down at my hands, my knuckles still throbbing, the skin cracked and bruised. "I saw red, Finn. Pure rage. I punched him. I kicked him. Over and over and over again. Then Julia arrived, thank god, and we bound him, gagged him like the animal he is, and threw his sorry ass into the trunk of her car. We shipped him off to rehab. So. Yeah. Levi is out of commission. Possibly for weeks."

Finn stared at me, his features etched with a mixture of shock and disbelief. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if searching for words that couldn't quite form. Julia, refilled his glass with a generous pour.

"Opioids?" Finn finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "Levi?"

I nodded, the alcohol doing little to soothe the raw ache of betrayal. "The mood swings, the days he locked himself away... we just thought he was being... Levi. Brooding. Intellectualizing his ennui. All the while..." My voice trailed off, the image of him kneeling on the cold stone floor, the vacant look in his eyes, still too vivid.

Finn reached across the coffee table and gently placed his hand over mine. "Raphael... I... I don't even know what to say. I'm so incredibly sorry. You must have been terrified."

"Terrified? Yeah. And furious. More furious than I've ever been in my life," I admitted, the anger flickering back to life. "All those times I tried to understand him, to connect with him... he was high. He was living in a completely different reality. Our entire relationship... it feels like a lie." The tears threatened to resurface, but I swallowed them down.

"The mountains..." Finn murmured, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would he give you the mountains?"

I let out a hollow laugh. "That's the question, isn't it? Julia thinks it's another form of control, a way to tie me to his legacy even when he's gone. Part of me thinks... maybe it was some twisted form of apology. A grand, sweeping gesture to try and make up for... all of this." I gestured vaguely around the room, encompassing the lies, the addiction, the suicide attempt. "Or maybe... maybe he just wanted to ensure his precious company, and by extension, me, would be financially secure even if he managed to..." I couldn't bring myself to say the word.

Finn's gaze softened. "Let's just... be here tonight. Celebrate your incredible talent, Raphael. We can unpack the Levi-shaped disaster later, when you're ready. For now, let's raise a glass to you. To your strength, your resilience, and your well-deserved victory." He lifted his glass, his gaze warm and supportive. "To Raphael."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." I raised my glass, the amber liquid catching the light, and took a long, fortifying sip. "Also... I just... I checked my bank account while we were driving back from that hellhole. I'm basically printing money now, aren't I? That manipulative bastard was making money just by existing."

Finn took another thoughtful sip of his drink, his brow furrowed. "That's... insane. But... there's something else that's been bothering me, Raphael. The Conqueror... how we left him... and how Levi just... sedated him with that Aether Bloom..."

A fresh wave of rage, hot and sharp, ripped through me. "AGGHH! Fucking asshole! Of course he knew the effects, didn't he? That's why he asked the Conqueror if he felt 'nice.' The smug, calculating bastard! Of course he knew..."

Julia rose abruptly from the plush cushion, her eyes wide with disbelief and a hint of alarm. "You met the Conqueror? That monster? Levi's grandfather?" she demanded, her voice laced with a palpable tension.

"Yeah," I confirmed, the memory of the Conqueror's brutal strength sending a fresh wave of fear through me despite the alcohol. "And Levi… Levi likely just turned him into another opioid addict, dosing him with that Aether Bloom. Or worse. There's a very real chance that monster just… killed himself up there in that isolated cabin. He lives alone on the mountains, remember? And that thing, Julia… that Conqueror… he broke two of my ribs like twigs. He hurled both Finn and me across that room like we were goddamn bowling pins. We haven't heard a single word from him since we left him in that cabin."

Julia took a large gulp of her drink, her eyes distant and troubled. "He was a different breed of monster, Raphael. You're lucky all you got were broken ribs. I remember the things he did when I spent time at the Blake estate... shit that still gives me nightmares. Why do you think he killed himself?"

"Okay... let me try to explain what happened in that cabin. He was going to kill us, Raphael, you know that. Then Levi... Levi said he was going to kill him. And the Conqueror... he just accepted it. There was no fight left in him. But Raphael stopped Levi. He said, 'Don't be his executioner.' And we left him there. So... no, I don't think he killed himself. But... the possibility, given his state of mind and his isolation... it's terrifyingly high," Finn said.

We all took large, fortifying gulps from our drinks. Julia finally broke the silence, her voice low and tinged with a long-suppressed tremor.

"Levi and I... we met when we were kids, practically babies, as playmates. Our families were intertwined, you know? I spent a long time at the Blake estate with him. But then... then that monster, the Conqueror, would come back from his wars. He was like a shadow that fell over the whole place. We would hide from him, Levi and I, in the gardens, in the dusty attics. But he... he was an actual predator. He always found us. Shit..." She took another shaky sip of her drink. "It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to really think about him. I remember how his hand... his hand was bigger than my entire torso was as a kid. Fucking terrifying... the way he would look at us." A shiver ran down her spine.

I reached across the space between us and placed my hand gently on Julia's arm. "Levi... he told me how he always hated the gardens. You know... even Cybil, that ice queen, that self-absorbed narcissist hag... even she was visibly terrified of the Conqueror.”

Julia shook her head slowly, a dark cloud passing over her features. "Cybil... gods, the Conqueror was even more cruel towards her. The way he treated her... it was a different kind of torment. Ah, shit..." She took another large gulp of her drink. "I don't want to dredge all of that up again, not tonight. It took Levi and me... three goddamn years of lawyers and backstabbing and hatred to finally untangle ourselves from that marriage. And a good chunk of that was navigating the fallout from his family. The Conqueror's shadow loomed over everything, even then."

"Really? I didn't know that divorce was affected by Conqueror..."

Julia's jaw tightened, her knuckles white as she gripped her empty glass. "Affected? Raphael, it was suffocated by it. It wasn't just about lawyers and paperwork. It was about the Conqueror's direct, physical intimidation. Not just threats, though there were plenty of those, veiled and not-so-veiled. It was about his presence

. He would show up at meetings, uninvited, his sheer size and menacing aura enough to silence any dissenting voices. I remember one lawyer, a seasoned veteran who'd seen it all, practically stammering when the Conqueror just stood in the doorway, his eyes like chips of ice.

"He didn't need to say a word. The stories, the knowledge of what he was capable of... it hung in the air like a shroud. Levi was constantly looking over his shoulder. He'd beg me to just agree to things, to make it quick, just to avoid provoking his grandfather's wrath. There were times I genuinely feared for my safety, not directly threatened, but that feeling... that constant weight of his potential violence... it colored every single interaction. It took years, Raphael, years of tiptoeing around his volatile temper, of carefully choosing battles, just to finally be free of that family's grip."

"I am so incredibly sorry to hear that, Julia," Finn said, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. "But I understand exactly what you mean about his presence. He's... massively large. He filled that entire room just by standing there. He just... threw us against that wall, Julia. So, no, I can't even begin to imagine what you must have gone through, navigating your life, your divorce, around that... that monster." Finn shuddered, as he unconsciously rubbed his arm.

Julia took another long drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. Her gaze was distant, focused on a point somewhere beyond the walls of the living room, lost in the unwelcome resurgence of old terrors.

"You have a glimpse," she said finally, her voice low and rough, the cynicism fractured. "A tiny glimpse of the air we all breathed around him. That constant, low-level hum of threat. You felt it for what? An hour? A terrifyingly intense hour, yes. But imagine years. Imagine knowing that level of power, that casual disregard for human pain, was a constant factor in every decision, every interaction."

"You know..." I said, the alcohol lending a strange clarity to my thoughts. "When he talks, it's not a request, it's a command. And your body... it just obeys. You don't even process it, don't consider another option for a second. Your body just moves. But... the truth, as ugly as it is, has finally been laid bare, hasn't it? Stripped of all the wealth and the power and the fear he instilled. Now he's just a seventy-year-old man. Lonely. Isolated. And so profoundly broken that he tried to end it all." A wave of something akin to pity, quickly suppressed, washed over me. "All that terror, all that control... and it led him to this."

I finished my glass, the ice clinking softly, a punctuation mark on my somber thought. "Just like Levi."

Julia snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. "Oh, don't go feeling sorry for the old bastard now, Raphael. He reaped what he sowed. Years of terrorizing everyone around him, and he ends up alone and miserable? Sounds like justice to me, albeit a delayed and messy kind." She took another swig of her drink, her gaze hard. "And don't equate Levi's situation with his grandfather's. Levi had you. He had Finn. The Conqueror actively cultivated his isolation. He wanted to be a monster."

Finn, however, offered a more measured response, his brow furrowed with a thoughtful sadness. "There's a tragic symmetry to it, though, isn't there? The fear the Conqueror instilled likely shaped Levi in ways we're only beginning to understand. It doesn't excuse his actions, not in the slightest, but it offers a grim sort of context. Two powerful men, both ultimately undone by their own self-imposed prisons." He sighed softly. "It makes you wonder if there was ever a chance for things to be different."

"Three of them..." I choked out. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the edges of the room. "Cybil, the Conqueror, and Levi. Levi... he called the Conqueror 'the Creator.' Said he was the first void... and maybe... maybe the only way this goddamn cycle of abuse, isolation, terror could have ever ended... would have been for them to understand each other. To find some twisted solace in the fact that even though they were all pieces of shit... they somehow resembled each other... but it was too fucking late..." The dam finally broke, and I started to sob, the grief and the weight of their brokenness, and the brokenness they inflicted, overwhelming me. "It's all just... so fucking sad."

Finn rose from his chair and knelt beside me, placing a comforting hand on my back. "It is sad, Raphael. It's a tragedy that echoes through generations. The weight of that kind of pain... it can warp and destroy everything it touches."

Julia, who had been watching me with a surprisingly softened expression, finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "He's right, Raphael. It's a fucked-up inheritance they all carried. A legacy of cruelty and isolation. And maybe, just maybe, Levi's attempt... his addiction... it was his own twisted way of trying to break free, even if he went about it all wrong." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "But it doesn't excuse the pain he caused you, Raphael. Or the fear the Conqueror instilled in all of us."

The tears continued to fall, a release of the pent-up emotions of the day, the weeks, the months. The weight of Levi's betrayal, the terror of the Conqueror, the tragic cycle of their broken family... it all poured out.

"I don't understand it either," I choked out between sobs, the tears still streaming down my face. "Why do I feel this... this ache for them? For those people who did nothing but hurt me, manipulate me, terrify me. It's so pathetic, isn't it? This... this basic human function. Fucking pity. Fucking empathy. Even for monsters."

Why couldn't I just feel the righteous burn of anger? Why this unwanted, unwelcome sorrow that felt like a betrayal of my own pain? Is it something deeper, tied to my very heritage, like Cassiel keeps hinting? Why this overwhelming empathy towards those who have caused me so much suffering? Why? Okay… despite everything… I loved Levi. But the Conqueror? That murderer who stole Levi's father, who shattered my ribs with casual brutality? Cybil, who abused Levi in her own cold, calculating way and then shot me, left me bleeding on the floor? Why this ache in my chest for them? Why these unwanted tears? Is it because, deep down, I sense that they are incapable of truly crying for themselves?

The sobs would momentarily subside, ragged breaths catching in my throat, only to be replaced by another wave of tears. It was a deluge for everything – for their twisted pain, for the suffocating weight of their suffering that seemed to have birthed their cruelty. And then the tide would turn inward, the grief morphing into a bitter lament for myself. For the crushing betrayal, for the months I had lived like a fool. For the sheer idiocy of believing in a facade so carefully constructed, a life so meticulously fabricated.

"It's not pathetic, Raphael," Finn said softly. "It's being human. Even those who inflict pain carry their own wounds, however deeply buried or twisted they might be."

Julia finally spoke, her voice low and surprisingly devoid of its usual bite. "He's right, doggy. It doesn't make what they did okay. It doesn't absolve them. But... broken people break other people. It's a shitty, vicious cycle. And maybe... maybe you're feeling the weight of that cycle, the endless chain of pain."

I shook my head, the tears still coming in ragged bursts. "But... they chose it. They chose to hurt. Levi... he chose the lies, the addiction. The Conqueror... his cruelty was deliberate. Cybil... her coldness was a weapon."

"And maybe," Finn countered gently, "those choices were born out of their own deep-seated pain. Pain that warped their ability to connect, to love, to be anything other than what they became. It doesn't excuse it, Raphael, never that. But understanding... it's not the same as forgiving."

Julia nodded slowly. "Yeah. Understanding is just... seeing the whole ugly mess for what it is. A bunch of damaged people damaging each other. And you, Raphael... you got caught in the crossfire." She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the bar, pouring another drink.

The tears slowly began to subside, leaving behind a raw ache and a profound exhaustion.

Understanding didn't mean condoning. Empathy didn't negate the pain I had endured. It just... made the whole damn tragedy even more heartbreaking.

I wiped the last of the tears from my face. A shaky breath escaped my lips. "Okay," I declared, a newfound resolve hardening my voice. "The self-pity party is officially over. Tonight, my friends, tonight we embrace the glorious, unadulterated mess of it all. Tonight, we are three pigs wallowing in the filth of this goddamn day. Finn," I said, a mischievous glint returning to my eyes, "go and retrieve that truly disgusting tequila from the back of the freezer.”

Finn, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the worry lines on his face, had chuckled and headed towards the kitchen. "Disgusting tequila it is. Consider it a palate cleanser for the soul."

Julia with a familiar fire returning to her gaze, grabbed the remote and blasted some ridiculously loud music. It was jarring, inappropriate, a middle finger to the heavy silence that had been clinging to us. But it felt right. A defiant soundtrack to our improbable survival.

The night dissolved into a blurry kaleidoscope of bad decisions and genuine connection. We toasted my award, a tangible symbol of something real and good in the wreckage. We toasted Levi's forced sobriety, a bitter but necessary pill. And, with a morbid gallows humor, we even raised our glasses to the enduringly awful legacy of the Blake family. The tequila flowed, the music pulsed, and for a few precious, chaotic hours, the weight of the world felt a little lighter.

The first pale streaks of dawn were painting the sky when I finally collapsed onto the living room floor, tangled amongst limbs and laughter, the remnants of our unlikely celebration scattered around us.

This tale has been pilfered from NovelBin. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

...

Two weeks bled into each other, a hazy landscape of self-imposed oblivion. Most days, the expensive liquor from Levi's bar became my sole companion, a numbing agent against the relentless ache of betrayal and confusion. Finn and Maya became regular fixtures, their presence a silent, unwavering support. We drank until the edges of reality blurred, played mindless games that required minimal thought, talked in circles about nothing and everything. Even Julia, would occasionally join our drunken vigil.

But then, the house, once a symbol of my success, began to feel like a cage, the silence amplifying the echoes of Levi's lies. The need to escape, to breathe air that hadn't been tainted by his presence, became overwhelming. Sometimes the three of us, sometimes the four with Julia, sometimes just Finn and I, would embark on these desperate pilgrimages through the capital's underbelly. Every bar, every dimly lit karaoke joint became a temporary sanctuary, a place where the noise and the anonymity could momentarily drown out the relentless voices in my head.

Then I basically ran away to my beach house. The same beach house where I ran away from Levi when I was scared of him. Then the same beach house where I proposed to him. That beach house.

I dragged Finn with me. Because of Levi’s absence, he was working like a dog.

We spent hours in the turquoise embrace of the sea, the salt stinging our eyes and cleansing something deep within. Emerging, sun-kissed and exhausted, we'd collapse onto the porch, the cool spray of a hose a welcome relief from the relentless sun. Finn would extend another icy beer, the condensation beading on the bottle.

"Thanks, Finn," I murmured, accepting the offering. "At this rate, I'm going to develop a beer belly." I patted the slight swell of my stomach, a testament to the past two weeks of liquid solace. "Come on, sit. The sunset's about to put on a show."

"Lead the way." He lowered himself onto the chair, his gaze already fixed on the vibrant colors beginning to paint the sky. "And you're right. That's a show I wouldn't miss for all the disgusting tequila in the world."

Then, as the last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues that mirrored the turmoil within me, the unwanted truth surfaced.

"You know," I said, my gaze fixed on the darkening sea, "part of me... a morbidly curious part... wonders about Levi. About how he's possibly terrorizing and manipulating every single person at that rehab right now. Charming the nurses, pitting patients against each other, weaving his usual web of control. But..." I turned to Finn, my voice firm, "I don't want to see him. Not yet. Not that bruised, pathetic version of him.”

"Raphael..." Finn said softly, his gaze steady and knowing. "I'm also morbidly curious about what kind of chaos he's unleashing in that place, to be honest. And it's absolutely alright if you don't want to see him. You need time, space... to just breathe. But..." He hesitated for a moment, a hint of gentle bluntness entering his voice. "Excuse me for being a little direct here... I know you, Raphael. Deep down, a part of you will need to see him one day. To understand... or maybe just to finally say goodbye, in your own way."

I sighed. "Yeah. You're probably right. He trained this dog far too well, didn't he? That twisted loyalty... it's a hard thing to shake. But not right now, Finn. Not tonight. Tonight, my friend, we are drinking these damn cool beers, smoking these gloriously cheap cigarettes, and watching this beautiful sea coast swallow the last of the light. Tonight, we are just two people finding a little peace in the quiet."

Finn and I spent two days in the relative tranquility of the beach house. But the capital, with all its tangled connections and unresolved issues, eventually called him back. Finn returned to the demanding pressures of his work at the government office, the vacuum left by Levi's absence creating a mountain of responsibility. And I? I retreated into the numbing embrace of mindless sitcoms, the brightly colored, laugh-tracked worlds.

…

It was another languid afternoon, the kind where the hours dripped by like the melting ice cream I was mindlessly scooping from an obscenely large tub. A saccharine rom-com flickered on the screen, its predictable plot a comforting distraction from my own unpredictable life. Then, the air outside vibrated with a deep, rhythmic thrum. A loud, unmistakable whirring. The unmistakable sound of Levi's private chopper.

My spoon clattered against the plastic tub. A cold dread washed over me, sharper than the icy treat I'd been consuming. Did he fucking escape? Had that manipulative bastard already weaseled his way out of rehab?

That absolute asshole!

I bolted to the front door, my heart hammering against my ribs. But instead of the smug, undoubtedly bruised face of Levi, I saw Holden and… Cybil? What in the actual hell? Cybil? What the fuck was she doing here? And how in God's name had she escaped that secluded island she'd been banished to? Ah… Holden. Of course. He always had his own agenda, didn't he? Fuck…

Cybil swept past me into the house. Holden, however, remained by the chopper, a stoic figure surveying the surroundings with an unreadable expression. My mind was a whirlwind of questions and a growing sense of unease. I found myself instinctively moving towards the kitchen. Tea. For Cybil. I distinctly remembered the last time she'd made us tea – a bitter, lukewarm concoction that perfectly mirrored her personality.

"Raphael," Cybil's voice was surprisingly weak, a mere shadow of its usual sharp, commanding tone. "Explain to me. What in the seven hells has happened?"

I placed the brewed chamomile tea on the coffee table. I gestured towards the plush couch. She was still visibly fragile, her movements hesitant. And yet, a strange sort of truce had seemed to bloom between her and Levi on that isolated island. So, for now, I would extend a measure of civility.

We both settled onto the couch, the silence thick with unspoken questions. I carefully poured us each a cup of the calming tea, the warmth seeping into my own still-agitated nerves. Then, taking a deep breath, I began to explain everything. The erratic behavior, the locked study, the medical fridge, the suicide attempt, the drugs, the intervention, the rehab...

"Opioids? My boy... addicted to drugs?" Her voice was a choked whisper, her frail hands trembling visibly as she clutched the teacup. "Ah, gods..." A shudder ran through her. "And he even tried to... kill himself..."

I took another deep breath, the lingering anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Yes, mother," I said, the title laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "Your precious boy nearly gave me a heart attack. But don't you worry your delicate sensibilities. I basically broke his ribs, bound and gagged him like a common criminal, and then chucked him into rehab. Just like how he so thoughtfully chucked you onto that lovely island."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face, a brief flash of surprise perhaps. "Yes... my boy was always... resourceful," she murmured, almost to herself. Then, her gaze sharpened, focusing on me. "And you... you hit him? Broke his ribs?" There was a strange mix of disbelief and a hint of... something else in her tone. Not quite disapproval, but certainly not outright condemnation.

"Yeah," I said, meeting her gaze steadily. "In that moment? I probably would have done a hell of a lot more. But I stopped. Consider it a testament to my own remarkable restraint."

A strange sort of calm settled over Cybil then, the initial shock seemingly giving way to a grim understanding. "Well done, Cyrusian," she said, a hint of something that might have been approval in her tone. "But an addict... I truly had no idea."

"Nobody did," I echoed. "His study, his 'den of intellectual pursuits.' Turns out, it was his actual den. Where he cooked up his poison and shot his fix. Whatever. The details are as ugly as the betrayal. And yes," I added, my voice hardening again, "I am still angry about all of it."

"Did he... did he mention anything about why? Why the addiction? Was he in pain?"

"I gagged him, mother," I repeated, the bluntness of the memory still jarring. "And threw him in the back of Julia's car like a sack of potatoes. So no, we didn't exactly have a heart-to-heart about his motivations. He was high, out of his mind. Didn't even register the punches and kicks until Julia helped me restrain him. So, the 'why' remains a mystery to me. And frankly," I added, a cold finality in my voice, "it doesn't really matter anymore."

"So, you acted. Swiftly and without sentiment. A survival instinct, perhaps? Or a long-overdue rebellion against his... influence?"

"Shit..." I muttered under my breath. She had a point, damn her.

"Cybil..." I began, trying to articulate the chaotic rush of emotions that had overwhelmed me. "It wasn't some grand, philosophical decision. I saw him there, kneeling, broken... and sadness washed over me. Then I saw the fridge, the syringes... and something just snapped. A fury, a rage unlike anything I'd felt before, just took over. I'm not proud of hitting him. Not really. But..." A raw honesty escaped me. "Part of me... a dark, vindictive part... is glad I did. Gods know, it's been a long time coming. A reckoning of sorts."

"Well..." Cybil murmured, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, her eyes fixed on me over the rim of the delicate cup. A faint, almost impressed smirk played on her lips. "I always thought you were only good at barking, Raphael. But it seems you have a rather surprising talent for biting as well. It took my boy's rather melodramatic attempt at oblivion to unearth it, but there it is nonetheless. My boy," she sighed, a hint of weary familiarity in the sound, "still has his penchant for the dramatic, doesn't he? Eliciting a reaction like that, from someone as... even-tempered as you."

"Don't mistake my quiet demeanor for a lack of fire, Cybil," I corrected her, taking another slow sip of my chamomile tea. "I am not even-tempered. At all. Underneath this politeness lies a cauldron of repressed rage. I simply... preferred more verbal expressions of my displeasure. A well-placed shout, a creative string of curses – those were my weapons of choice. Resorting to outright violence... that was a new, unpleasant frontier. But enough about my burgeoning dark side. Please," I said, setting down my teacup with a deliberate clink, my gaze firm, "tell me why you are here. Your sudden appearance, escorted by Holden no less, suggests this isn't a social call."

Cybil took a slow, deliberate breath, as if gathering herself for an unpleasant task. "The suicide attempt was thankfully kept quiet, a discreet whisper in the more sensational headlines. But the upshot, Raphael, the practical consequence of all this melodrama, is that my primary source of supplies has been... disrupted. He is, as you so eloquently put it, 'basically gone.' Which, in my current isolated circumstances, translates to a rather significant logistical problem. The island," she stated with a hint of icy displeasure, "no longer receives its regular shipments of fresh produce and other essential pantry items. Ergo, Raphael. I have been rationing food."

Oh shit. I didn’t even think about that. Fuck…

A wave of guilt, unexpected and unwelcome, washed over me. "Oh, really? I... I am so sorry, Cybil," I said, taking another slow sip of my tea, the taste suddenly bitter. "You know what? I actually have a rather delightful idea. Since your beloved son so generously transferred ownership of practically every mountain range in Ascaria to me – a gesture I'm still trying to fully comprehend – and considering my recent, ahem, award-winning turn as a thespian... why don't we buy you a house? It doesn't have to be in the capital, or even anywhere near us, if that makes you uncomfortable. Just a simple, moderate apartment, somewhere... normal. Somewhere where your back garden isn't a grim reminder of dead nobles. So, mother," I said, a hint of genuine hope coloring my tone, "what do you say?"

"So, the actor inherits mountains and offers his former tormentor a new residence. Life is certainly full of unexpected plot twists. But there is an issue. My boy will not be happy with that decision," Cybil stated, her tone matter-of-fact as she delicately placed her teacup back on the saucer.

"Who cares what that self-pitying addict thinks?" I retorted, taking a slightly too-large gulp of my chamomile, the warmth doing little to soothe my simmering resentment. "And yes, you are also a formidable old bitch, Cybil, but you did offer a semblance of an apology. And you two... you and Levi... you even managed some twisted form of reconciliation on that damn island. Not exactly a heartwarming family reunion, but something. So, I'm being completely genuine here. I will buy you a house. A real one. It will be easier for you to clean, easier to manage. Plus," I added, a hint of pointed emphasis in my voice, "you'll have neighbors. Actual human beings you can talk to. Not just silently judge and occasionally torment, right, mother?" I watched her carefully, waiting for her reaction.

"Raphael..." Cybil said slowly, her gaze sharp and assessing. "I appreciate your offer. It is... surprisingly generous. But you must understand that I am a logical person. Sentimentality rarely factors into my calculations. So, help me understand, somehow. Why? Why would you extend such a kindness to me, after everything?"

Ouch.

Her question echoed the very doubts that had been gnawing at me for weeks.

Why was I doing this?

Why was I, Raphael, a man who had been a victim of this family's cruelty, now extending a hand to its very source?

The truth was, the old Cybil—the Duchess of the Blake, the tormentor, the architect of a million cruelties—was gone. This woman before me was a ghost of that monster, stripped of her title, her influence, her very power to inflict pain. She owned nothing. She had no servants, no staff to tend to her whims. She was simply old, alone on an island that was a tomb for her legacy and a prison for her sins. The thought of her, a matriarch reduced to a lonely, forgotten woman, living in that decaying mausoleum, stirred something in me that felt a lot like pity. And that feeling, unwanted and unwelcome as it was, was a physical ache in my chest.

This family, a toxic lineage steeped in terror, manipulation, and veiled threats, needed a break. Not another cycle of retribution, not another act of violence, but a clean severing of that tainted legacy.

"You can call it anything you want, Cybil," I said, meeting her gaze steadily. "Call it pity, call it empathy, call it me being an idiot. The label doesn't really matter. What matters is this: I have the means to offer someone a life away from that desolate island, away from that crushing isolation and solitude." I took a large gulp of my tea, the warmth spreading through me but doing little to quell the internal debate. "Also..." A small, wry smile touched my lips. "It's probably high time we introduced Cybil Blake to the wonders of civilization. But," I added, my tone firm, "there's a catch. No being a tormentor. You get a fresh start, a new environment. You will simply be a woman with a remarkably sharp tongue and... hopefully... a slightly less grim outlook. Yes?"

Cybil regarded me for a long moment, her sharp eyes scrutinizing my face as if searching for a hidden motive. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle clinking of our teacups as we both took small sips.

"A woman with a sharp tongue," she mused, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. "A demotion, perhaps, from my previous role. But... not entirely inaccurate." She paused, considering. "And the prospect of observing the intricacies of 'civilization' firsthand... it has a certain anthropological appeal, I suppose."

She set down her teacup with a decisive click. "Very well, Raphael. I will accept your... intriguing offer. But understand this: I make no promises regarding my future interactions with these 'neighbors.' And if this is some elaborate scheme to... what? Reform me? You will be sorely disappointed." A flicker of her old imperiousness returned. "However, a house. A proper house. Away from that godforsaken island. It is... acceptable."

"Great," I said, a small wave of relief washing over me despite her predictable caveats. "That's all I ask. No expectations of a personality transplant. Gods know I learned that particular lesson the hard way with Levi – ended up with a face full of plaster, remember? No, this isn't about reforming you, Cybil. It's just... trying to offer a hand. In my own, perhaps slightly unconventional, way."

A wry smile touched my lips. "I have a feeling Holden, that sly asshole, will be more than happy to handle the logistical nightmares of relocating you. Consider it a perk of my unfortunate marital status."

Cybil considered my words, her gaze sharp but lacking its usual hostility. "Holden," she mused, a flicker of something akin to reluctant practicality in her eyes. "Yes, he always did have a knack for untangling unpleasantries. Very well, Raphael. Inform your... secretary of my requirements. A discreet location, adequate security, and absolutely no floral wallpaper. I have endured enough botanical torture on that island."

She rose, her movements still a little stiff but carrying a newfound air of purpose. "Consider your... act of surprising charity concluded. I shall await word from Holden." With a curt nod, a ghost of her former imperious self, she turned and walked towards the waiting chopper.

It was done.

Cybil Blake was leaving the island.

...

After Cybil's departure, the salty air of the beach house no longer offered solace. The vast expanse of the sea only amplified the emptiness within me. I turned back to the capital.

Returning to our house, however, felt like stepping into a mausoleum. Every corner held a ghost, every silence echoed with his absence. The anger, that sharp, protective shield, had finally begun to erode, leaving behind a raw, aching sadness and a profound longing. I missed him. God, I missed him so fucking much. Even knowing, with every fiber of my being, that he didn't deserve it.

Driven by a desperate ache, I found myself in his bedroom. I ran my fingers over his possessions – the origami scattered on his desk, the worn leather of his favorite book. I lifted his clothes from the closet, burying my face in the soft fabric, inhaling the faint scent of him. Then, with a trembling hand, I sprayed his subtle cologne onto my own shirt. Fuck... I missed him so fucking much it felt like a physical pain.

The cologne clung to me, a phantom limb of his presence. I wandered through the silent house, each room a reminder of our shared life, now fractured and incomplete. The kitchen, where we'd bicker over whose turn it was to open the door. The living room, where we'd curl up on the couch, lost in movies or comfortable silences. Everywhere, his ghost lingered, a constant, aching reminder of what we had lost, of what I had lost.

I found myself back in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his empty bed. I picked up one of his origami creations. A small, choked sob escaped my lips. It wasn't just the grand gestures, the dramatic declarations, that I missed. It was the small, imperfect intimacies. The way he hummed off-key in the shower. The way he organized his books. The way he'd steal the covers in the middle of the night.

I closed my eyes, trying to conjure his face, the sharp angles, the intense gaze, the rare, breathtaking smile. But the image felt hazy, overlaid with the memory of his brokenness, his addiction, the raw pain in his eyes that night. The man I loved, the man I hated, the man I missed – they were all tangled together, an impossible knot of conflicting emotions.

The longing was a physical ache, a hollow space in my chest where he used to be. It was a desperate, irrational yearning for a connection that had been poisoned, for a love that had been twisted and betrayed. And yet, despite everything, it was there. This undeniable, gut-wrenching absence. I wanted to rage at him, to scream at him for what he had done, for what he had become. But all that came was a silent, tearful whisper into the empty room. "Levi... come back." Even knowing it was a foolish, impossible plea.

After hours of wallowing in self-pity, the kind of unrestrained sobbing that felt primal and childish, curled up on Levi's empty bed, the fog of grief began to lift, replaced by a chilling clarity. Fragmented memories surfaced, sharp and insistent.

The constant coolness of his hands, even in the warmest rooms. The subtle but persistent pallor of his skin, a sickly white. The moments of disorientation, the tremors I'd dismissed as exhaustion. All the pieces, the seemingly insignificant details I'd subconsciously registered but never truly processed, clicked into place with a sickening finality. Fuck. It had been there all along, hadn't it? The signs, the subtle warnings, masked by his charm, his manipulations, my own blind affection. The cold hands, the pale skin... they weren't just quirks. They were the tell-tale signs of his addiction, a truth I had so desperately avoided seeing.

I remembered the feel of his hand in mine, the unsettling coolness that always seemed to radiate from him. And then, a specific detail surfaced, unbidden and sickeningly clear: the faint but distinct callous on the middle and pointer finger of his dominant hand. Not the roughness of manual labor, not the calluses of an artist or a craftsman. No. That was the callous of someone repeatedly pressing down the plunger of a syringe. Right? Fuck. I had noticed it. Even on our first night. I'd filed it away, another one of Levi's enigmatic quirks. And his skin... I'd always thought it was just his natural complexion, a sort of aristocratic pallor. Every unanswered question I'd ever had – why his body always felt so chillingly cold to the touch, why his gaze would sometimes drift and unfocus, leaving him momentarily distant – the answer, the ugly, undeniable truth, slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. It had been the addiction. All along.

Let me force my mind to work, to cut through the fog of grief and self-recrimination. Let me think clearly. Clearly. Right from the beginning...

Before the insidious tendrils of love had wrapped themselves around my heart, Levi was an enigma. A captivating puzzle, daring me to solve him. The locked study, a blatant challenge. His distant, unfocused eyes, a fleeting glimpse behind the mask. The magnetic charm and allure that drew everyone in. Even the unnatural pallor of his skin was just another intriguing piece of the puzzle. I even made a silent vow to myself, a confident declaration of my own curiosity and determination, that one day I would breach the fortress of his locked study and uncover the secrets hidden within that complex man. Then... the imperceptible shift occurred. I stumbled, fell headfirst, into the dizzying, all-consuming abyss of love. And in that freefall, the puzzle pieces scattered. I ignored the warning signs, those subtle inconsistencies that now screamed the truth. The desire to solve him, to understand his complexities, vanished, replaced by a naive acceptance. No longer did I try to decipher his moods, to spy on his clandestine activities, to breach the forbidden sanctuary of his study. The intricate dance of learning to bypass the code to that steel-doored room... it all faded into the background noise of infatuation. Shit... the answers had been there all along, hadn't they? Mocking me in their blatant visibility.

The worst part of everything.

Everything.

When I was in love with him, knowing full well he was incapable of love, he was just high.