“Before the mansion burned, Pulla,” he stated, “I placed firefighters strategically around the perimeter. I had already instructed my people to ensure the swift and discreet evacuation of all servants and other non-essential parties. It was only the group of nobles inside who experienced the consequences of their actions. My informant within confirmed their timely departure before the flames even truly took hold. They are, I assure you, quite unharmed, albeit perhaps a little… shaken by the evening’s events.”

My hand froze on the door handle, the cold metal suddenly feeling like a live wire. I didn't dare turn around.

"So..." I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper, thick with disbelief and a dawning horror. "You orchestrated this? The fire... the destruction... it wasn't some uncontrolled rage? You deliberately set it up... to what? See my reaction? To test my loyalty? To prove some twisted point about the consequences of threatening you?"

A low chuckle echoed from behind me, devoid of any real amusement. "Test your loyalty, Pulla? My dear, your loyalty is... assumed. Inevitable."

He paused, and I could almost feel his gaze on the back of my head. "No, my dear. It was... a demonstration. A visual aid, if you will. To illustrate the lengths I am willing to go to ensure your continued well-being. And perhaps," his voice took on a silken, almost seductive quality, "to gauge the depth of your... empathy. It's fascinating, is it not? The value you place on lives that sought to extinguish yours."

He took a slow step closer, and I could hear the soft rustle of his clothing. "And your reaction, Pulla... it is... illuminating. Perhaps even... endearing."

My blood ran cold, and a shiver traced its way down my spine. I finally forced myself to turn, slowly, my gaze locking with Levi's. His expression was serene, almost… pleased.

"A demonstration?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "You… you risked all those lives, not to protect me, but to… show me something? To gauge my empathy? You turned a massacre into a twisted performance for my benefit?"

Levi's serene expression didn't waver. "Risked, Pulla? Such a dramatic term. Calculated, perhaps. Measured. I assured their safety, did I not? They experienced a bit of… excitement, a reminder of the consequences of their actions. And you, my dear, witnessed the extent of my devotion. A small price for such a valuable lesson."

He took another step, closing the distance between us. "You see, Pulla, I want you to understand. Deeply. That your safety is paramount to me. That I will move mountains, or indeed, orchestrate… demonstrations to ensure it. Your empathy is a charming quality, one I appreciate. But it should not extend to those who would harm you."

"My empathy," I repeated, the word laced with a bitter irony. "You think this is about my empathy, Levi? This isn't about feeling sorry for people who attacked me. You talk about a 'small price' for a 'valuable lesson'? Those were human lives, Levi, manipulated and terrorized for your twisted sense of… devotion?"

Levi's serene facade finally cracked, a flicker of annoyance and something akin to wounded pride flashing in his eyes. "Amidst all of this… even after I meticulously detail how I ensured the safety of those… attackers… you still cling to this misguided outrage? What is it you seek from me, Pulla? Do you expect me to suddenly become a stammering, guilt-ridden boy, begging for your forgiveness? You are an intelligent man. You know such a display is not within my nature, nor would it serve any purpose."

"Forgiveness?" I scoffed, the sound hollow and devoid of any humor. "Levi, this isn't about forgiveness. It's about the fundamental chasm between how you see the world and how any sane person does. You think your 'meticulous detailing' somehow absolves you? It only highlights the cold, calculating nature of your control."

Levi's voice remained level. "Indeed, Pulla. My control extends to anticipating your predictable emotional response. I knew you would fixate on the fate of those who threatened you, issue ultimatums based on your misplaced empathy. Therefore, that same control ensured their continued, albeit slightly singed, existence. Make no mistake, the impulse to obliterate them, to scatter their remains as a grim testament to their transgression against you… that thought was certainly present. To cleanse the very ground where your blood might have fallen."

He paused, his gaze intense. "But I refrained. Because I anticipated your… sensibilities. I merely leveled their house, a mirror of the violation they inflicted upon our own. Control, Pulla. It is the foundation of our stability."

“So, their lives were spared not out of any sense of morality, but as a calculated move in your ongoing manipulation. Noted. You destroyed their home, terrorized them, and all to manage my 'emotional response.' Your control is absolute, and utterly terrifying.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Levi's lips, a chilling acknowledgment of my understanding. "Precisely, Pulla. You grasp the intricacies of our dynamic with remarkable speed. Morality is… subjective. A rather fluid concept, often dictated by sentimentality. Control, however, is tangible. It is the framework upon which we build our… enduring partnership."

He took another step closer. "Terror? Perhaps a momentary discomfort. A necessary catalyst for understanding. As for manipulation… is it truly manipulation when it serves to maintain equilibrium? To ensure your continued safety and, by extension, our shared stability? Think of it as… proactive management of potential conflict."

He reached out, his fingers trailing lightly across my cheek, the cool touch sending a shiver down my spine. "You see, Pulla, I understand you. Your… sensitivities. And I accommodate them. Is that not a testament to my… care?"

“Maybe, maybe not. All I want is just now go to sleep. Talking to you is like talking to abyss.”

"Sleep," he echoed, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. He looked around the penthouse, the remnants of my outburst. "Yes. Perhaps… perhaps rest is what we both need."

He took a step back, creating a small but noticeable distance between us. The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, replaced by a strange, almost weary resignation. "Go then, Pulla. Sleep. We can… revisit this… in the morning. When matters are… clearer."

He gestured vaguely towards the direction of the bedroom, his usual commanding tone muted. It was an unexpected concession, a temporary truce in the tense standoff.

...

A week stretched between us, an unnerving vacuum where Levi's constant presence had been. It was a strange kind of freedom, this absence of his watchful gaze. I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, half-expecting him to materialize, his serene yet terrifying smile in place.

Sleep offered little respite, my dreams haunted by flames and Levi's chillingly calm pronouncements.

During that week, I felt like a ghost in my own life. The routines he had imposed felt meaningless. I ate little, the food tasting like ash in my mouth. I wandered the rooms, touching objects he had chosen, each one now a reminder of his control.

The burning question that gnawed at me was: what was he doing? Was he plotting his next move? Or was he simply allowing this silence to stretch, a new form of psychological manipulation? The uncertainty was a suffocating weight, almost as oppressive as his constant presence.

During the week, something actually expected happened. I needed to release a public statement about the shooting. I got a text message from Holden, about how an interview will be visiting the penthouse for a direct statement. Even without being here, Levi was in control.

And I didn’t have the means of declining him, I was still bound to him by our contract.

...

A make-up artist, two cameras, and some crew members entered the house after a thorough search from the bodyguards. The cameras were in the living room, completely taking the view of the penthouse, the city view beneath us. I sat on a chair, wore daily clothes to appear vulnerable. And the show, the acting; the damsel in distress started.

"Standing before you today is not the character you see on screen. Today, I am simply Raphael, a common man, an immigrant who chose this country as his home, drawn by its promise of fairness and opportunity. Like many of you, I placed my faith in the fundamental principle that here, everyone is equal under the law. The recent attack against me has shaken that belief to its core."

I paused, forcing a slight tremor into my voice, my gaze downcast for a moment before meeting the camera again, my expression earnest.

"I came here with nothing but hope and a dream. I worked hard, built a life, and believed in the justice system that should protect us all, regardless of our background or status. To now face the possibility that the perpetrators of this violent act might evade accountability due to… well, due to certain long-standing traditions and protections afforded to some… it is deeply disheartening. It leaves me feeling not only vulnerable but also profoundly disappointed in the very ideals I once held so dear."

I looked directly into the lens, trying to convey a sense of sincerity and vulnerability.

"This isn't just about me. If the laws of our land can be circumvented, if certain individuals are considered… above… the consequences of their actions, what does that say about the safety and security of every common citizen? We must ensure that justice is blind, that accountability is universal. No one, regardless of title or privilege – no matter how deeply ingrained in our history – should stand outside the reach of the law. My hope is that my experience can shed light on these inequalities and inspire us to ensure a truly just system for all."

I held the gaze for a moment longer, hoping that some flicker of my true feelings, my fear and my desperate desire for freedom, might somehow reach those watching beyond the lens. The rest was up to them.

The heavy silence that descended after the interview crew departed felt more oppressive than any noise. Just me and the two silent sentinels Levi had left as constant reminders. The past week replayed in my mind, a distorted film reel of fire and fury, punctuated by an unsettling calm.

Levi's actions were monstrous, that much was undeniable. The image of the burning mansion, the sheer scale of potential destruction, was seared into my memory. And yet… he had stopped. He had orchestrated not just the inferno, but also the meticulous evacuation. A level of control so precise it was chilling.

My thoughts were a tangled mess. Was I supposed to be grateful? Grateful that he had the capacity for mass murder but chose… not to? Was his restraint a sign of some twisted form of care, or simply a calculated move to avoid unnecessary complications?

The careful construction of the arson was terrifying enough. But the careful construction of the evacuation… that spoke of an even deeper level of control, a puppeteer meticulously managing every string. Which was the greater horror?

One scenario painted him as a force of unrestrained destruction, the other as a god-like figure capable of life and death on a whim.

At the evening, the week-awaited truce ended and Levi came to the penthouse. He was there, in the hallway, silently and patiently waiting. I was sitting on the ridiculously long couch, waiting for him to say something.

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There was no anger, no frustration on his face. His usual, calm and serene demeanor.

"Good evening, Raphael," he said, his voice the familiar, smooth timbre that always sent a shiver down my spine. "Your statement was truly moving." There was a hint of something I couldn't quite decipher in his tone – perhaps approval, perhaps something darker.

I met his gaze, the bitterness rising in my throat. "Yeah," I replied, my voice flat. "Performance of a lifetime, isn't it?"

A faint smile touched the corners of Levi's lips, a subtle acknowledgment of my defiance. "Indeed. You possess a remarkable talent for conveying precisely the desired sentiment." He paused, his gaze still lingering on my shoulder. "The public seems quite sympathetic. Precisely as we anticipated."

He finally moved towards the seating area, settling into the armchair opposite the ridiculously long couch where I sat. His movements were fluid and graceful, every gesture exuding an effortless control.

"The narrative is taking hold, Raphael," he continued, his tone conversational, almost casual. "The focus is on justice, on the antiquated systems that might impede it. Your… personal experience has become a powerful catalyst for public discourse. A most effective tool."

I shifted on the couch, the plush velvet doing little to ease the knot of tension in my stomach. "So, you got what you wanted, didn't you? Those 'pesky nobles' dared to lay a hand on you. Now you have the means to do anything you want."

Levi's serene facade remained unblemished. "If you believe my actions are driven by mere personal vendetta, Raphael, you underestimate the scope of my vision. While your injury did, admittedly, accelerate certain timelines, the ultimate objective remains unchanged: the dissolution of a parasitic nobility. Consider this: I possess the resources, the influence, the inclination to dismantle their entire world in a far more visceral, immediate fashion. A swift, brutal excision. But no." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Years, Raphael, years I have invested in cultivating an image of benevolence, of fairness, of a man deeply invested in the welfare of this nation. Their end will not be a messy, self-indulgent bloodbath. It will be a carefully orchestrated dismantling, framed as the dawn of a new era of equality. They will not simply die; they will fade into irrelevance, their privileges revoked, their histories rewritten, their very names eventually whispered only as relics of an obsolete past. They will be utterly, irrevocably forgotten, not because of a petty desire for revenge, but because this country deserves a clean slate."

"Yeah," I said, the word laced with a cynicism that felt like a second skin. "The necessary evil, right? That's how you justify it to yourself. The ends justify the means, and you're just the unfortunate soul burdened with making the tough, bloody choices."

Levi's gaze held mine, unwavering. "If 'necessary evil' is the prism through which you choose to perceive my actions, Raphael, then I cannot dissuade you. Your perspective is your own." He paused, a subtle shift in his tone, a hint of something that might have been conviction. "But consider this: to me, and I believe to countless others – the disenfranchised, the exploited, even to many noble women trapped in loveless marriages and noble children suffocating under the weight of archaic expectations now reaching adulthood – I am simply choosing the lesser evil. A painful but ultimately necessary surgery to excise a diseased organ from the body politic, preventing a far more agonizing and widespread decay."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Lesser evil? You're talking about erasing an entire class of people. How is that 'lesser' than… what? Than letting them continue their 'archaic expectations'?" I gestured vaguely, the words catching in my throat. "You're playing God, deciding who deserves to exist and who deserves to be forgotten."

Levi's expression remained serene, almost pitying. "The wheels of progress, Raphael, often require the sacrifice of the obsolete. Their continued existence is a drag on this nation's potential, a breeding ground for inequality and injustice, sickness. And as for playing God…" He paused, his gaze intense. "Someone has to be willing to make the difficult choices for the greater good. If not me, then who?"

He rose from his couch, his movements fluid and purposeful. "Consider this, Raphael. You, a commoner, an immigrant, now have a platform, a voice that resonates with the people. Would that have been possible under the stifling weight of the old order? You are a beneficiary of the very change I am enacting, whether you recognize it or not."

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "Join me, Raphael. Be more than just a pawn in this game. Be a symbol of the new era, a testament to the possibilities that arise when the old ways are swept aside. Choose the future, not the past."

Join him? Become a symbol of his new order? The idea was both seductive and repulsive. Seductive because it offered a kind of power, a significance I had never possessed. Repulsive because it meant aligning myself with his ruthless methods, his chilling disregard for individual lives in pursuit of his grand vision.

"And what happens to those who don't fit into your 'greater good,' Levi?" I asked, my voice low and wary. "Those who resist being erased? Will they simply become more 'necessary sacrifices'?"

A shadow flickered across Levi's serene features, a brief glimpse of the steel beneath the surface. "Resistance is… inefficient. Those who cling too tightly to the past will find themselves swept away by the tide of progress. It is a matter of historical inevitability."

He took another step closer, his presence radiating an almost magnetic intensity. "But you, Raphael… you have the potential to be more than just a survivor. You can be a leader, a beacon of change. Embrace this opportunity. Help me build a better future, one where merit and ability, not antiquated titles, determine a person's worth."

His hand reached out, not to touch me this time, but hovering in the space between us, an unspoken invitation. "Choose wisely, Raphael. The old world is dying. The new one is waiting to be born. Which side will you be on?"

Slowly, hesitantly, I reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm, reassuring in a way that was both unsettling and strangely comforting.

A genuine smile, the first truly unguarded one I had seen on his face, spread across Levi's features. It was a smile that held a hint of triumph, but also something that felt… almost like camaraderie.

"Levi," I began, my voice thick with a desperate plea, the words tumbling out before I could fully consider their impact. "I have one request. Just one, please. Please… stop. Stop acting like this… tyrant. This… whatever you call yourself."

My grip tightened on his hand. "I can't teach you empathy, Levi. I can't force you to feel compassion or love, to understand the sanctity of life. I promised you I would try to understand you, to be there for you… but you're making it so hard. So fucking hard." My voice cracked with emotion. "No more of this vengeful, wrathful god act. No more of being a genocidal maniac who toys with people's lives, who decides who gets sick, who can have children. Please, Levi. Please. If we're going to do this… if we're going to build this new world you talk about… please, please do things right this time."

Levi's smile faded, replaced by a complex expression I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't anger, not initially. It was more akin to a profound sadness, a weariness that seemed to settle over his features. He didn't immediately pull his hand away, but his grip loosened slightly.

"Raphael," he said, his voice softer now, the commanding edge momentarily absent. "Do you truly believe that my actions are born of malice? That I find pleasure in… what you described?" He looked down at our joined hands, then back up at me, his gaze searching.

"You see the grand scale, the sweeping changes, and you interpret them through the lens of individual suffering. But I assure you, my intent is not cruelty. It is… efficiency. A necessary pruning to allow the garden to flourish."

He paused, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "And as for the things you mentioned… the medication, the… other measures… they were strategic. Calculated to minimize long-term suffering, to prevent the continuation of… undesirable traits within the new order."

He finally withdrew his hand, taking a small step back. The distance felt significant. "You ask me to stop being who I am, Raphael. To deny the very nature of what I believe is necessary. Can you truly ask that of me? After everything I have shown you, everything I have done… for what I believe is a better future?"

His gaze held a plea of its own, a desperate yearning for understanding, even if it was couched in his own twisted logic. "Can you not see, Raphael, that this is me doing things right?"

"Levi," I said, my voice softer now, laced with a weary desperation. "I know you have the power to simply slaughter them all. I've seen enough to understand that. And I also know… you wouldn't even derive pleasure from it. To you, they are less. I understand that twisted logic. Chasing them down, cornering them, making them beg… that, in your mind, is your form of mercy. I get it. And I know a revolution will be bloody. But please… for the last time, I'm asking you, I'm begging you…"

My voice wavered, the plea catching in my throat. "Can't we… can't we try to build this new world without becoming the very thing we're fighting against? Can't there be… some measure of humanity in this? Some restraint? Please, Levi. Just… please."

He seemed to consider my words, the raw desperation in my voice perhaps finally registering on some level.

"Politics," he echoed. He took a slow breath, his gaze drifting away from mine for a moment, as if looking into a future only he could see. "From this point forward… direct confrontation, widespread… unpleasantness… is no longer the optimal strategy. The groundwork has been laid. Public sentiment is shifting. Now… now it is about influence. About navigating the political landscape. About ensuring the bill for the dissolution of nobility passes."

He took another step closer, a hint of his earlier persuasive tone returning. "Your role in this, Raphael, becomes even more crucial. Your voice, your story… they hold sway. We will channel that influence, carefully, strategically. We will work within the system, manipulating its levers, swaying opinions, forging alliances."

He offered a small, almost conciliatory smile. "You see, Raphael? The scalpel is often more effective than the axe."

A fragile seed of hope began to sprout in the barren landscape of my fear.

I watched his face intently, searching for any flicker of deceit beneath the carefully constructed pragmatism. Could I actually believe him? Could this be a genuine shift, or just another calculated maneuver in his intricate game?

"Politics, Levi?" I pressed, needing to hear the words solidify into a tangible commitment. "You're really going to try and work within the system? Navigate laws, build consensus… instead of just burning it all down?"

"Indeed, Raphael. This was always the intended trajectory. Aside from the… unexpected complication of Lady Elira’s unwanted pregnancy, the noble houses are already facing a slow, inevitable decline. Their archaic laws prevent them from marrying outside their insular circles and bar the legitimization of any offspring born outside those unions, effectively creating a generational dead end. However," his tone hardened slightly, "their continued immunity from the very laws they often flout remains a significant obstacle.

"But fear not, my dear Pulla. My plans are meticulous, my timeline precise. The coming year will see us immersed in a carefully curated social whirlwind – charity galas, influential soirees, countless opportunities to sway opinions and forge strategic alliances. We, Raphael. You and I. I will embody the narrative of the son who defied his own lineage, a beacon of progress and reform. And you… you will be the radiant light that guides the people towards a brighter future, a symbol of the justice they so desperately crave."

"You better promise me, Levi. The only shit you pull from now on is the fake smiles you plaster on for the cameras and maybe, maybe, scaring people with your carefully chosen words. No more 'demonstrations.' No more orchestrating fates. Just politics. Understand?"

A shiver traced its way down my spine as Levi's predatory smile returned, a chillingly familiar expression that spoke volumes. He knew. He knew that despite everything, a part of me was still tethered to him, or perhaps just to the hope of a better future, however twisted the path.

He knelt before me, a gesture that felt both theatrical and strangely sincere. His lips brushed against the signet ring I wore, a symbol of a bond I both cherished and desperately wanted to break.

"Promise?" he murmured, his voice a low caress. "By the authority vested in me by my birth, an authority I will wield to end all authority based on birth, I vow."

A sliver of doubt still lingered within me, a nagging voice whispering about the true nature of his promises. But the sheer force of his conviction, the almost messianic glint in his eyes as he spoke of reshaping the world, was undeniably compelling.

He rose slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. The predatory edge had softened, replaced by a different kind of intensity, a raw hunger that mirrored the turmoil within me. The lines between captor and captive, manipulator and manipulated, blurred in the face of this undeniable pull.

Amidst the power plays, the manipulation, the chilling pronouncements of a world reshaped by his will, a shameful truth clawed its way to the surface. I was drawn to him. Still. Perhaps it was the very danger he exuded, the lethal unpredictability that kept me teetering on the edge. I was a hypocrite, railing against his tyranny while my body betrayed my convictions, yearning for his touch. A pig, wallowing in desires.

He knew it, too. He knew the look in my eyes, my flushed face.

"Pulla?" he murmured, his voice a low, suggestive caress. "Did my little 'vow' inspire… other ideas? My, my." A sardonic smile played on his face.

“Yeah. I am a fucking hypocrite. I hate this.”

"Hypocrisy, my dear Raphael, is a most human trait. A testament to the delightful inconsistencies of the heart and the body." He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, his touch sending a familiar shiver through me despite my self-loathing.

"Hate it all you like," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But your body speaks a different language, does it not? A language we both understand quite well." His thumb brushed lightly across my lips, a silent invitation that both repulsed and tantalized.

Damn. Damn him. Damn him for being attractive, damn him for his way with words. Damn him for his seductive, charming nature.