I knew, of course, that he held vast tracts of land, including the high peaks where the Aether Bloom thrived. But transferring them to me? Every single one? Why would he do something so… monumental? So utterly unexpected? Was this some grand, sweeping gesture, Levi being dramatic again? My mind raced, trying to decipher the logic, the reasoning, behind such an extraordinary act. This was beyond a congratulatory text. This was… something else entirely.

The mountains? The sheer scale of it was incomprehensible. What was I supposed to do with mountains? Hike them? Sell them? My mind struggled to grasp the implications.

As I frantically scrolled through more emails, the hushed conversations around me intensified, coalescing into a stunned murmur. Then I heard it clearly, spoken with a reverence: "The Saint of Ascaria... donated every single penny..."

My blood ran cold.

Levi? The Levi? The man who meticulously tracked his investments, who negotiated billions worth of deals before breakfast? Donated everything?

I looked up, my gaze snapping to the nearest news screen. There he was, his familiar, sharp features softened by an uncharacteristic serenity. The headline screamed across the screen in bold script: Saint of Ascaria, Levi Blake, Empties Coffers for Charity. Below it, scrolling text detailed the staggering sum, enough to reshape the very landscape of Ascarian philanthropy.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

The whispers, the awestruck glances, the palpable shock in the air – it all clicked into place with a sickening thud. They weren't about a newly minted actor. They were about a saint divesting himself of his earthly possessions.

But why? Why would he do this? Why now? The mountains… the sudden transfer… it felt like a piece of a puzzle I couldn't even begin to assemble. A terrifying, bewildering puzzle.

A wave of nausea crashed over me, the weight of the award in my carry-on suddenly feeling like a leaden anchor. Shit… Shit… Shit…

Think, Raphael, think. Force your brain to connect the dots, to make sense of the senseless. His serenity. That unnerving calm that had settled over him before I left. The almost beatific smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes. It had been… different. Not his usual controlled contentment, but something else entirely. Something… final.

The pieces slammed together with brutal clarity. The mountains. The staggering donation, a final act of clearing his earthly ties. The unsettling happiness, the peace of someone who had made a decision. An irreversible decision.

He's going to kill himself.

Levi.

The world tilted, the sounds of the bustling airport fading into a muffled roar. My breath hitched, a strangled sob rising in my throat. No. No, it couldn't be. Not Levi. Not my infuriating, brilliant, bizarre Levi.

The mountains… they weren't a gift. They were a goodbye.

The blood ran cold in my veins, each memory a fresh stab of icy dread. He was already suicidal. Months. It had been lurking beneath the surface, a dark current beneath his sharp wit and controlled demeanor. Since that day in the noble cemetery.

Then the words: "prolonging the inevitable." And the crushed fingers. The casual explanation of endorphins, masking a desperate act of self-harm.

Shit. Shit. He wasn't just thinking about it. He was planning it. He was already gone, in his mind.

He was going to kill himself. Levi. The thought clawed at my throat, a strangled sob I couldn't release. Maybe he already did it. The vast, empty silence of the mountains… maybe he was there now, the cold wind whispering his final farewell. Maybe I was too late. Maybe the serene calm I'd mistaken for happiness was the peace of someone who had already said goodbye. Maybe… maybe he was already gone.

No… No… Panic threatened to consume me, a suffocating wave of despair. But I fought it back, a desperate, primal urge to cling to any sliver of hope. Not the mountains. It was too… obvious. Too simple for Levi's intricate mind. He wouldn't choose such a pedestrian end.

Think, Raphael, think. Where did he retreat? Where did he vanish when the weight of the world pressed down on him? He sought control, containment.

His study.

The room with the steel-reinforced door, the two perpetually watchful security cameras flanking its entrance. A place I had never once crossed the threshold of. I'd only glimpsed the interior once, a fleeting moment when the door had been briefly ajar – walls lined with towering bookshelves, boxes of documents, the glow of multiple monitors. And the lock. A heavy-duty keypad with six unforgiving digits. A code he had never, in all our time together, shared. That was where he would go.

A cold certainty gripped me. I had to get back. Now.

Ignoring the startled shouts of the other passengers, I surged towards the exit. I burst out onto the busy road, waving frantically, heedless of the screeching tires and angry horns. The first taxi screeched to a halt, the driver’s face a mask of annoyance, but I didn’t care. I threw myself into the backseat.

I barked the address, my voice tight with a fear that clawed at my throat.

The driver, clearly unnerved by my frantic state, sped off. The city blurred past the windows, each passing moment an agonizing delay. Our secluded sanctuary nestled deep within the woods. The house we’d always jokingly referred to as a villain’s lair, with its imposing stone walls and watchful stillness. Now, the joke felt sickeningly real. It wasn't a lair of power; it was a potential tomb.

No… I couldn’t do this alone. I needed someone. Someone who understood Levi. Not Finn, with his gentle empathy and soothing words. I needed steel to cut through steel. Someone sharp. Someone strong. Someone who knew the labyrinth of Levi’s mind before I had even stumbled into his life.

Julia.

His cousin. His ex-wife. She had her own reasons to despise him, but she also knew him in a way I never could.

My fingers flew across the screen, composing a desperate text. “Come to our house. Levi is in danger.”

Her reply was instantaneous, brutal: “Good. Don’t bother me with him.”

Rage, hot and desperate, flared within me. “Shut the fuck up and come to the house, Julia. Now. I am begging you. Please. This isn’t some petty squabble. His life is on the line.”

My knuckles were white as I gripped my phone, the taxi speeding through the twilight. Her callousness was a punch to the gut, but I couldn't afford to engage in her twisted logic.

"World will be a better place."

Rage, raw and primal, surged through me again. "Fuck you, Julia," I texted back, my thumbs hammering the screen. "Come to the house. Immediately. If you ever had a shred of humanity in that frozen heart of yours, you will get your ass over here now."

"Only for you doggy. Not for that old wolf. But fine. I’m coming."

A sliver of grim relief pierced through the terror. Her twisted affection for me, her spite for Levi – it was enough.

"Thank you, Julia," I texted back, the words feeling inadequate against the crushing weight of the situation. "Hurry."

Julia was coming. It was a fragile thread of hope in the suffocating darkness. But would she be fast enough? Would either of us? The image of that steel door loomed in my mind, a silent, impenetrable barrier.

The taxi screeched to a halt in the gravel driveway, the abrupt stop mirroring the frantic lurch in my stomach. I fumbled with the door handle, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated with a tremor that ran deep to the bone. It took a full, agonizing minute to wrestle the heavy front door open.

I stumbled inside, my voice a raw, desperate cry that echoed through the silent house. "Levi! Levi!" My gaze snagged on his study. The steel door, usually a fortress of impenetrable security, was ajar. A sliver of darkness beckoned from within.

My legs were lead, but adrenaline surged through me, propelling me towards the stairs. I lunged upwards, taking the steps two at a time, my breath catching in my throat.

And then I saw him.

He was kneeling on the cold stone floor, his body slumped forward, defeated. The air in the room was thick with a chilling stillness. There was a knife in his hand. The sharp edge pressed against the pale skin of his neck. His head was bowed, his dark hair obscuring his face. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were vacant, devoid of any spark of recognition, any flicker of life. Dark, bruised circles...

A strangled cry tore from my throat. Without thinking, without hesitation, I launched myself across the room. My hand shot out, connecting with his wrist in a jarring impact. The knife clattered across the stone floor, skittering into the shadows.

My lungs burned with the effort of the lunge, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I forced myself to take a shuddering breath, trying to anchor myself in the present. But my gaze was drawn to the interior of the study. This forbidden sanctuary.

It was exactly as I had glimpsed it that one fleeting time. Stacks upon stacks of cardboard boxes, overflowing with meticulously labeled evidence files and thick legal documents. Towering bookshelves lined the walls. A large table dominated the center of the room, cluttered with papers and illuminated by the cold glow of two large monitors.

And then I saw it. Tucked away in a shadowed corner, almost hidden behind a stack of ledgers, was a small, unassuming fridge. Not the kind you'd find in a kitchen for leftovers and drinks. This was a compact, medical-grade refrigerator. The kind of fridge used for storing… pharmaceuticals.

Drugs.

A raw, guttural anger clawed its way up my throat, eclipsing the lingering fear. This bastard. This calculating, manipulative asshole. A drug addict. All along. It clicked into place with a sickening finality, each seemingly innocuous memory now tainted with this horrifying revelation.

Our first night. The hesitant intimacy, the unfamiliarity. He had pressed my head down into the pillow, a seemingly tender gesture, but his voice had held a strange, strained quality as he'd specifically said, "There are… things you shouldn't see." What had I almost seen then? A track mark? A needle?

The recurring injury on his ankles. The bruises he’d dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, a vague explanation of an old sports injury flaring up again. Lies. All lies. They hadn't been from some forgotten game; they were the telltale signs of repeated injections.

This bastard. This cold, calculating son of a bitch. He had built this entire life with me on a foundation of deceit.

That was why. That was why this study was his forbidden sanctuary. Not a haven of intellectual pursuits, but his private shooting gallery. The place where he retreated to chase his demons, to inject his poison, to hide his addiction from the one person who had foolishly believed in his facade. The steel door wasn't to keep the world out; it was to keep me out. To keep me from seeing the truth. The disgusting, horrifying truth.

A seismic rage, unlike anything I had ever experienced, ripped through me. My life, our life, felt like a lie. Months of trust, of intimacy, of believing in the man I loved, all reduced to this pathetic, strung-out addict kneeling before me.

I gripped his chin, my fingers digging into the sharp angles of his jaw, forcing his vacant gaze to meet mine. "Do you love me?" The question was a raw snarl, laced with a desperate need for some semblance of truth in this mountain of deceit.

His eyes flickered, confusion warring with the lingering haze of whatever had driven him to the brink. "I… I don't know," he mumbled, the words slurred and distant.

"Good enough," I spat, the anger a cold, hard knot in my chest. "Now. Clench your teeth. Real tight. Because I don't want you chewing on your tongue."

Bewilderment clouded his already unfocused eyes. "W-What?"

Without another word, without a shred of hesitation, I drew back my fist and unleashed all the fury, all the betrayal, all the crushing weight of his deception in a single, brutal punch. It connected with his jaw, the force of it rocking his head back.

"You calloused bastard!" Each word was punctuated by the brutal impact of my fist against his flesh. Another punch landed, fueled by the image of his lying eyes, his dismissive hand waving away my concerns. "You manipulative asshole!" Another blow, this one landing harder, driven by the memory of his carefully constructed charm, the way he had woven his lies into the fabric of our intimacy. "All this time," my voice cracked, raw with pain and fury, another punch connecting with sickening force, "when I thought we were building something real, something honest…" My control finally shattered, the next blow fueled by the crushing weight of his betrayal. "…you were just HIGH!"

He crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. I didn't hesitate, didn't let a flicker of pity stay my hand. My foot lashed out, connecting with a sickening thud against his stomach.

"You disgusting piece of shit!" Each word was a venomous spray, each syllable accompanied by a fresh wave of fury. My foot connected again. "Everything was bliss for you, wasn't it? While I was pouring my heart out, trying to understand your darkness, trying to connect with the real you, you were here, in this filthy little den, shooting yourself up with your poison, weren't you?" My boot slammed into his ribs.

"You son of a bitch!" Another kick, harder this time, fueled by the memory of his carefully constructed lies. "How dare you? After everything I've done for you… How DARE you!" My foot landed again. "What about the times you locked yourself away in here for days? The times you were distant, unreachable? You weren't battling demons, were you? You were just getting high, weren't you?" My boot connected with his stomach again, the force of it driving the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp.

His face was a grotesque mask of swelling flesh, a crimson bloom blossoming on his split lips. He lay curled on the cold stone, a broken, pathetic figure.

And then, another horrifying clarity pierced through the blinding rage.

Sugar.

His almost childlike obsession with it, the way he craved it, the sheer volume he consumed. It wasn't just a quirky indulgence. It was a substitute. A pathetic, legal stand-in for the real poison.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"That's the actual reason, isn't it?" I snarled, my voice thick with disgust. "Isn't it? All that bloody sugar! Because your body, after years of being flooded with that filth, got used to the constant high. Sugar was just another fix for you, wasn't it?" My foot lashed out, connecting with his ribs with a sickening crack.

"Do you see what you are now, Levi?" My voice was raw, laced with a venom I never knew I possessed. I gestured down at his broken form with a contemptuous wave of my hand. "Under all that aristocratic bullshit, all that tailored charm, all that intellectual superiority… just a fucking junkie. A pathetic, lying addict."

A choked sob escaped me, a sound that was half rage, half heartbroken realization. "Ah… you manipulative bastard. That's why you're also obsessed with the Aether Bloom, isn't it? That mystical, precious flower. You told me before. You said that flower was a hundred times stronger than poppy seed as an opioid. You knew, didn't you? You knew exactly what you were talking about." My foot connected with his ribs again.

"You synthesized your own drugs, didn't you?" My voice was a low, furious hiss. "All those late nights in your precious study, all that 'work' you claimed to be doing. You were in here, your personal laboratory, meticulously brewing your own poison. Buying street junk? Oh no, that's far too beneath the esteemed Levi Blake. He's meticulous. He's precise. He cooked his own fix, didn't he? With the Aether Bloom!" My boot slammed into his side again, the impact echoing.

The front door crashed open, the sound echoing through the tense silence that had fallen after my last brutal kick. Julia stood silhouetted in the doorway, her sharp eyes taking in the chaotic scene – Levi crumpled on the floor, myself heaving with rage.

"Wow," she drawled, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "What the fuck is going on, Raphael?"

A bitter, almost hysterical laugh escaped my lips. "Ah, hello, Julia. Lovely of you to join the party. Did you know your esteemed ex-husband, your beloved cousin, was a fucking JUNKIE?" My foot lashed out again, connecting with Levi's ribs with a sickening thud.

"That pathetic bastard," Julia spat, her voice laced with a venom that mirrored my own. "No, I didn't know. Serves him right, the hypocritical asshole. Remind me to have a very pointed conversation with Cybil about her excellent matchmaking skills."

"Ah, yes. Cybil," I echoed, a cruel satisfaction twisting my lips. "I should definitely inform my dear mother-in-law that her precious son has been a drug addict for fucking years!" My foot lashed out, another kick connecting with Levi's ribs.

"Okay, doggy, calm down before you actually kill him," Julia said, her voice sharp. She moved swiftly, her strong hands gripping my arms. "Tell me, Raphael, what does one typically do with junkies, other than using them as a punching bag?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the raging storm inside me. "Rehab," I choked out. "We need to take him to a rehab." I glanced down at Levi's still form, a flicker of something other than pure hatred – perhaps a twisted sense of responsibility – surfacing. "He's not responding now, but he'll come out of this haze eventually. You know what, Julia? I have a great idea. Perfectly fitting for an asshole like him. You stay here. Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit before I decide whether strangulation is too good for him." I wrenched my arms free from her grasp and stalked out of the study, heading for Levi's ordered bedroom.

Where was it? That rope. The thick, black one we used… for that. It was strong, unbreakable. I stormed into Levi’s bedroom, my eyes scanning the leather bag tucked away in the corner of his wardrobe. Yes. There it was. I snatched it and marched back to the study.

Julia was observing Levi with a detached amusement, her expression a mixture of disgust and a perverse satisfaction. "Fucking monster," she spat, echoing my earlier sentiment. Levi, meanwhile, remained lost in the oblivion of his drug-induced haze. His breathing was shallow, his body still and limp. His face was a grotesque tapestry of purple and blue, his lips swollen and crusted with blood.

I knelt beside him, the rope heavy in my grasp. "This bastard is stronger than the two of us combined when he's… himself," I said, my voice grim. "I'm going to tie him up. Then we can… deposit him in your car's trunk, Julia."

A predatory smile stretched across Julia's lips. "Ah, my trunk? Perfectly fitting for a rabid dog like him. I rather like that idea, Raphael. Go on. Do your thing."

I worked quickly and efficiently, fueled by a cold, focused anger. The thick black rope bit into Levi's wrists, binding his arms tightly against his chest. Then I moved to his legs, securing his knees and ankles together, rendering him immobile. "He's probably too out of it to make much noise," I muttered, more to myself than to Julia, "but I'm not sure I can stomach hearing his voice right now. So, yeah. Gag it is." I rummaged through the leather bag again, finding a strip of soft leather we sometimes used… for other purposes.

"Good. The less he can speak, the less opportunity he has to try and weasel his way out of this. Though, frankly, I doubt he'll be charming anyone in his current shade of purple." Julia watched with a detached satisfaction as I secured the gag. "Now, let's get this pathetic excuse for a man into my trunk. The sooner he's out of this house, the better."

The dead weight of Levi was substantial, his limp form resisting our efforts to maneuver him down the staircase. Julia took the brunt of his upper body, her muscles straining beneath the effort, while I struggled with his legs, my grip slipping on his expensive but now thoroughly disheveled trousers.

"Bastard..." I grunted, my breath coming in ragged gasps as we navigated the last few steps. "Even unconscious, he's making us carry his noble ass. The entitled prick." He was heavier than he looked.

"Carrying his ass like a sack of turd," Julia grunted, her face flushed with exertion. "Couldn't he have just developed a refined addiction to expensive cigars, like a civilized fallen noble? No, we get the dead weight edition. Honestly, the indignity of it all."

We wrestled Levi's limp form into the trunk of Julia's ridiculously oversized SUV, his bound limbs flopping like a discarded puppet. The metallic thud as the trunk slammed shut echoed the finality of our decision. Julia gunned the engine, tires spitting gravel as we sped towards the capital and whatever grim rehab facility awaited its most unwilling resident.

The fury still simmered beneath my skin, a bitter aftertaste to the adrenaline. But beneath it, a fragile tendril of relief. He was alive. Beaten to shit, trussed up like a prize hog in a car boot, but alive.

"I fucking wailed on him, Julia," I confessed, my voice rough. "I really lost it. Punched him like he stole my last breath. Kicked him… I think I might have cracked a few ribs… Shit."

"Consider it divine fucking intervention," Julia snapped, her eyes fixed on the road. "That self-righteous prick had it coming for years. A few bruises and maybe some busted ribs are a goddamn picnic compared to the mountain of shit he's pulled."

"Yeah… I guess you're right," I mumbled, staring out at the blur of city lights. "Still… seeing him like that… I just saw red for a while there. You showed up just in the nick of time, you know?"

"Don't go soft on me now, Raphael," Julia said, her voice sharp. "That bastard almost checked out on your watch. You think he would have hesitated to leave you a sobbing mess? He was ready to ghost you, permanently. A few lumps and bruises are a goddamn love tap compared to that."

She took a sharp turn, the tires protesting with a squeal. "Besides," she continued, a hint of something almost like concern softening her harsh tone, "you were defending yourself. In a very… theatrical way, granted. But justified. The man was living a lie, and you were the one living it with him."

A sigh escaped me, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "I know, I know you're right. It's just… seeing him so broken. So… pathetic."

"Pathetic is what he chose to be, Raphael," Julia retorted, her gaze unwavering on the road. "You did what you had to do. Now, focus on getting him somewhere he can't hurt himself – or you – anymore."

The city lights blurred past, the silence in the car punctuated only by the hum of the engine and Julia's occasional sharp instructions to other drivers. My anger had subsided, replaced by a weary exhaustion and a profound sense of betrayal. The victory lap had ended, not with champagne and accolades, but with a gagged and bound addict in the trunk of Julia's car.

"You know what festers in me, Julia? What makes my stomach churn even more than the thought of his addiction?" My voice was low, thick with a fresh wave of bitter understanding. "He was so goddamn sure of himself. The grand gesture of donating every single coin, the theatrical handing over of the mountains – a saintly farewell performance. But… the door, Julia. He left his study door ajar. That door has two deadbolt locks. They engage automatically. Underneath all that supposed finality, a part of that manipulative bastard wanted us to find him. He orchestrated the whole damn thing, even his near-death. He manipulated us… again… with his fucking suicide attempt. The arrogant prick. The damned devil..." My hands clenched into fists, the image of his serene, almost expectant face before I'd lunged at him burning in my mind.

"You're right, doggy. That self-serving son of a bitch. Even in trying to off himself, he had to be the center of attention, the tragic martyr. Leaving the door ajar… a breadcrumb trail for his dramatic rescue. The gall of that man… The donations, predictable as sunrise for someone like him. His empire practically prints money while he sleeps. But the mountains…" Julia's brow furrowed, her gaze thoughtful. "That's another beast entirely. Why would he give you that?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.

Then it hit me, a cold, sickening wave of realization.

"Shit…" I whispered, the tears welling again, this time not just from anger, but from a twisted understanding. "Donating money, that's not the same as giving away your whole goddamn company, is it?" I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat almost choking me. "He left the administration of his company to Holden and Annie. Smart move, they're capable. But his biggest revenue… it comes from those mountains, Julia. From the Aether Bloom. Which means…" My voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. "He basically left me his biggest fucking money-maker. He ensured both me… and his company… would stay afloat… even after he was gone. The manipulative bastard… The calculating piece of shit…" I choked out, the sobs wracking my body now, a mixture of grief, rage, and a horrifying, twisted gratitude.

Julia's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. "I told you before, Raphael. I bear a permanent reminder of that man's capacity for pain." She flexed her left hand, the deep scar on her ring finger catching the light. "A self-inflicted wound, a constant reminder never to let myself be bothered by him again. That bastard… he always has to be ten steps ahead, manipulating every situation to his advantage.

"We're taking him to rehab, yes. But addiction, especially one that's likely been festering for years, coupled with a suicide attempt… this isn't a goddamn walk in the park. They'll flush his system, and he'll go through withdrawal. And trust me, Raphael, it will be ugly. Terrifyingly ugly. And you know his penchant for chaos, his twisted fascination with terror. He'll be a hundred times worse when he's lost both his drugs and his wealth, his precious control.

"So… you need to make a decision, Raphael. We can chuck him into some fancy rehab for what? Two months? Three, if we're lucky? Then what? If you choose to stay with him… then frankly, I don't know what to say to you. You'll be tethered to a volatile, resentful addict with nothing left to lose. Think long and hard about what kind of hell you're willing to walk into."

I stared out at the distant, majestic silhouette of the mountain range, an absurd inheritance that now belonged to me.

"The truth is, if a part of me truly wanted to be free of him… I wouldn't be dragging his sorry ass to rehab. A slightly larger dose in that study, and he probably would have overdosed. It would have fit his self-aggrandizing narrative perfectly, wouldn't it? 'The Saint,' donating everything and then tragically succumbing to his demons. One last saintly gesture, leaving us mortals with his profound gratitude.

"If this had happened even a few months ago, when my own head was a mess, I probably would have vanished. Skipped the cities, just run until I couldn't run anymore. But I won't. Not because I feel obligated to him, not because he's somehow still controlling me. But because I finally realize something. I have friends, Julia. I'm not alone in this goddamn mess. I have you, who understands exactly what a monumental piece of shit he can be. And Finn, and Maya, even that bizarre Cassiel of his. So… no. I'm not abandoning him to this. But I'll be damned if I'm visiting him in that rehab anytime soon. I won a fucking award, Julia. A real, actual award. I need to throw a party. And you know what? We can make it a double celebration. A party for my win… and a party for Levi Blake finally facing his fucking demons and hopefully, finally getting clean."

"Ah, that's my doggy," Julia said, a predatory grin spreading across her face. "If you ever need another hand to rearrange his sorry face, you know who to call. A party sounds marvelous. You earned that damn award, Raphael. Don't you worry your pretty little head, we'll make it loud enough for his calculating ass to hear the joyous cacophony all the way from his padded cell."

I snorted, a sliver of my earlier anger resurfacing. "Ah, shit. You know he's going to lie, cheat, and manipulate every single person in that place, Julia. He'll find some pathetic sob story to worm his way out."

"Ah," Julia countered, a knowing glint in her eyes. "You're half right, and half gloriously wrong. Which rehab in this nation would dare let the beloved Saint of Ascaria succumb to something as 'common' as addiction? The public would have their heads on pikes. And trust me, I will personally ensure that every single staff member in that facility knows exactly what a manipulative bastard he truly is. Don't you worry your award-winning self. He's not going anywhere anytime soon."

The rehab facility loomed before us, a secluded complex nestled in the foothills near the very mountains Levi had so dramatically bequeathed to me.

We popped the trunk, the sudden influx of air seeming to rouse Levi further from his drug-induced stupor. His eyes snapped open, wide and frantic, darting between Julia and me. He was still clearly disoriented, his muffled attempts to speak behind the gag a series of unintelligible grunts.

Julia leaned into the trunk, her face inches from his. "Hi, you fucking asshole. Don't even think about us taking that gag off. Neither of us has the slightest inclination to listen to your pathetic excuses. Now, welcome to your new life, you self-pitying prick. And one more thing, you disgusting piece of shit: I will personally ensure every single soul in this facility knows exactly what a goddamn monster you are. There will be no weaseling your way out of this one."

I stepped closer, my own anger still simmering. "Thanks for the assist, Julia. Also, just a little heads-up, Levi, you self-proclaimed saint: you donated every single coin you had. You literally own nothing but the clothes on your back, which, last I checked, are currently covered in your own vomit. So, who exactly should be footing the bill for your luxurious detox, hmm?"

Julia's eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Oh! Oh, I've got it. I'll pay. That way, maybe, just maybe, this entitled asshole will finally understand the concept of 'owing someone'."

"Brilliant idea, Julia," I agreed, a cruel satisfaction blossoming in my chest. I leaned into the trunk, my gaze locking with Levi's eyes. "Also, you manipulative bastard, don't expect any tearful bedside vigils from me. I am not visiting you in this hellhole. And tonight? Tonight, we're throwing a party at our house. A double celebration: for my award, which you almost made me forget I even won, and for your glorious journey to sobriety, you fucking junkie. Now, let's call the nice people at the rehab before I lose my temper and introduce your face to the underside of this trunk."

I fished my phone out of my pocket, my fingers still trembling slightly despite the surge of grim satisfaction. Julia leaned against the open trunk, watching Levi's increasingly frantic eye movements with a detached amusement.

"You know," she said, her voice thoughtful, "for a man who built his entire empire on calculated moves, he looks remarkably…uncalculated right now."

I snorted, finally finding the number and tapping it. "Well, his calculations didn't account for me finally losing my shit and having a cousin-ex-wife with a penchant for trunk space."

The rehab facility's receptionist answered with a soothing tone that felt jarringly out of place. "Yes, we have a… client… we'd like to admit. Unexpectedly. He's… not entirely cooperative at the moment." I glanced at Levi, whose muffled grunts had escalated into desperate whimpers. "And he's… currently secured for transport."

Julia raised an eyebrow. "Secured? You make it sound like he's a particularly unruly piece of luggage."

I ignored her, focusing on the receptionist's increasingly flustered responses. "Yes, Blake. Levi Blake. You might have heard of him." A beat of silence on the other end. "Yes, that Levi Blake. And yes, he's… experiencing some… substance-related issues." I could practically feel the receptionist's composure cracking over the phone. "We'll be there in ten minutes. And I strongly suggest you have some… assistance… ready to receive him."

"Well," Julia said, pushing herself off the trunk. "That was… efficient. Ten minutes to deliver Ascaria's fallen saint to his purgatory. Shall we?"

I nodded, a weary sigh escaping me. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind a hollow ache. The party still felt like a distant, almost surreal concept. But it was something to hold onto, a beacon of my own life midst the wreckage of Levi's.

We closed the trunk with a final, resounding thud, silencing Levi's muffled protests. He was out of our hands now. His fate, for the foreseeable future, belonged to the professionals. Ours, however, was a party to plan. And for the first time in a long time, despite the lingering bitterness and the weight of what had transpired, a small flicker of genuine anticipation sparked within me. It was time to celebrate my win. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to start truly living for myself again.

The drive to the rehab facility was short but filled with a tense silence. The setting sun cast long shadows across the winding road, painting the rugged landscape in hues of orange and purple. I stared out the window, the image of Levi's panicked face in the trunk still vivid in my mind. A strange mix of anger, relief, and a lingering unease churned within me.

As we pulled into the gated entrance of the facility, two attendants were already waiting, their expressions a mixture of calm and thinly veiled curiosity. Julia popped the trunk with a flourish.

"Our… VIP guest has arrived," she announced, gesturing to the muffled sounds emanating from within.

The attendants exchanged a look before cautiously approaching the vehicle. As they opened the trunk, Levi's wide eyes met theirs. His gagged attempts to communicate were met with firm but gentle hands guiding him out. He struggled briefly, his bound limbs awkward and ineffective.

"He's… a bit distressed," I explained to one of the attendants, trying to sound more composed than I felt. "And he has… a history of not being entirely forthcoming."

Julia stepped forward, her voice carrying a clear warning. "He's a master manipulator. Don't believe a single word that comes out of his mouth once you ungag him. And he has a significant… substance abuse issue. Handle with extreme caution."

...

"Don't worry about the alcohol situation," I told Julia, a grim smile touching my lips. "We have Levi's bottomless reserves of ridiculously expensive vintage whatever. The bastard can unknowingly fund his own 'celebration' of sobriety." I pulled out my phone. "And I'm calling Finn. He needs to know about this glorious dumpster fire. Levi will be out of commission for weeks, maybe months. Someone level-headed needs to be in the loop."

I quickly dialed Finn's number, explaining the bare bones of the situation, the words tumbling out in a rush of adrenaline and residual anger. True to his nature, Finn was immediately concerned and promised to be over as soon as humanly possible. Thirty minutes later, his knock echoed through the hallway. In the interim, Julia and I had descended upon Levi's bar like vultures, pulling out bottles of potent-looking liquids, and Julia had already orchestrated a massive food delivery with her usual take-no-prisoners efficiency.