CHAPTER 123: CHAPTER 123: YOUR STAGE (1)

The door closed behind him with a muted click, and Victor did not look back. If he did, he knew he’d undo his own schedule just to stay, just to see how long Elias’s sharp tongue could hold out against the bond pulling at them both.

Discipline, however, had been carved into his bones long before gods ever bled into him. He crossed the marble hall with leisurely steps, the black silk knot at his throat still holding the warmth of Elias’s hands. By the time the driver opened the car door, Victor’s expression was already shifting, affection cooling into command, and domestic warmth dissolving into a silence that weighed like steel.

Ashwin was waiting inside, pale fingers resting on a neat folder, his monotone already humming as the car pulled away from the gates. "Overnight activity reports from NumenCorp divisions one through five. Discrepancies noted in sector three’s acquisition records. Dissident chatter remains elevated, cross-referenced with known Theobald sympathizers."

Victor took the folder without comment, crimson eyes flicking over the pages with the efficiency of someone who had already memorized them before Ashwin even opened his mouth. The reports weren’t the point. The ritual was. The act of hearing them spoken aloud while he measured the weight of silence between each word.

"Sector three," Victor said at last, his voice low and even, the same dark tone that made entire boardrooms still. "Which contacts?"

Ashwin adjusted his glasses. "Three mid-level managers with ties to the Rhine network. Paper trails suggest siphoning funds. No proof yet. We can erase them cleanly if you wish."

Victor’s mouth curved faintly, though it never reached his eyes. "Not yet. Let them run. Rats are more useful when they believe they’ve escaped the trap."

The city blurred past the tinted windows: steel and glass spires reflecting the morning light, pedestrians moving like scattered ants across avenues that ultimately bore his name. NumenCorp loomed ahead, not just a company but a monument, every contract, every division, every paper stamped with letters that had once belonged to a single god and now belonged to the man who had devoured seven.

Ashwin shifted, tone unchanged as he added, "Public trust indices remain high. The quarterly survey places NumenCorp at ninety-two percent approval in the capital. The stock vote passed without dissent."

"As it should," Victor murmured, flipping a page, his tie falling perfectly into place with the movement. "Paper is power, Ashwin. A signature is worth more than a sermon. As long as the name remains, the world bends."

"Numen is enough," Ashwin agreed flatly, as if reciting scripture.

Victor closed the folder, his gaze falling to the faint reflection of his own crimson eyes in the glass. Elias’s kiss still lingered at the corner of his mouth, too brief to satisfy, too deep to ignore.

Invincible in the world, untouchable in the boardroom, devourer of gods, and yet undone, for the span of a heartbeat, by the press of a single mortal’s lips.

His hand tightened once on the folder, then loosened. "Schedule the Rhine audit for next week," he said evenly. "And have the files prepared for Elias as well. He’ll want to see them."

Ashwin did not blink, though a flicker of something passed across his otherwise blank face. "Of course."

The car turned, sweeping toward the skyscraper that bore the Numen insignia in glass and light. Already, the ground swelled with people, their eyes lifting to the name that had become both empire and deity.

Victor leaned back in his seat, the silk tie at his throat snug where Elias had left it. His mouth curved, faint and dangerous.

—

The car rolled to a stop beneath the awning of NumenCorp’s tower, its glass façade catching the sun in mirrored shards. The doors parted before Victor had even reached them, security bowing their heads in unison, their silence practiced to the point of reverence.

Inside, the building breathed with polished stone and muted light, a cathedral to commerce masquerading as neutrality. Ashwin fell into step at his side, wordless, the folder tucked under one arm.

Waiting at the end of the grand lobby was Samael. Dark hair swept neatly back, dark eyes that missed nothing, and posture honed to precision. He was the same height as Ashwin but carried himself with the assurance of a man used to presiding over entire floors of decision-makers. Today’s suit was midnight wool with a subtle pinstripe, the knot of his tie was flawless, and his cufflinks refined.

"Victor," Samael greeted smoothly, voice rich but measured. No bow, no outward sign of reverence, but the faintest dip of his chin betrayed deference all the same. "The board is already assembled. We’ve held off opening remarks until you arrived."

Victor’s crimson eyes flicked over him, his voice carrying a faint thread of amusement. "You could spare me of it."

Samael’s mouth curved, just slightly. "And deprive the board of their ritual? They wouldn’t know whether to breathe or faint without the weight of your presence."

Ashwin shifted beside them, expression as neutral as glass, but Victor caught the subtle arch of his brow at Samael’s remark.

The elevator doors opened, polished steel reflecting all three of them. Samael stepped in first, pressing the button. "Besides," he added smoothly, "we don’t want you to get rusty now that you’ve... settled."

Victor followed, the faint hum of the machinery filling the pause as the doors slid shut. His crimson eyes flicked to Samael, a faint amusement warming the edges of his voice. "Rust isn’t something I’m prone to."

Samael’s smile widened by a fraction, unbothered. "No, but the board likes their theater. Also, if you leave me alone with these coyotes, I’m going to defect somewhere far away from all this bullshit. They get greedier by the day, and three of them are already feeding scraps to Theobald."

Victor’s gaze lingered on Samael’s reflection in the mirrored steel, his expression smooth, unbothered. "Defect? You’d be bored within a week. Besides..." the faintest curl touched his mouth. "you’re not wrong. They are greedy. They always have been. That’s why I let them think they have teeth."

Samael huffed out a laugh, dry but genuine. "You enjoy this far too much."

"I enjoy watching them reveal themselves," Victor corrected, the words soft but edged. "Every hand they extend toward Theobald is another nail in their own coffins. When the time comes, they’ll hang themselves. All I have to do is watch."

Samael shook his head, his dark eyes gleaming with wry humor. "Comforting. Remind me again why I’m the one who has to sit at the table with them?"

"Because you smile better than I do," Victor said simply, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open onto the executive floor. A hush of anticipation spilled in, assistants straightened, papers were clasped tighter, and the faint scent of fear seemed to ripple down the hall.

Victor glanced once at Samael, his tone smooth, indulgent. "Shall we?"

Samael exhaled as though bracing himself for theater, his mouth curving faintly. "After you, Victor. It’s your stage, I just keep the lights on."