"I want one of you," Alex said, voice steady and cold as steel, "to kill one of the women. Your choice. But if neither of you does it…" He let the words dangle in the thick, suffocating silence, each syllable curling like smoke in the air. Then, with a chilling finality, he added, "Well, you already know I don't bluff."
He delivered the statement with the same dispassionate ease one might use to discuss the weather, showing no regard for the shock and anguish bleeding across their faces.
There was no flicker of remorse, no hint of hesitation—just a man cloaked in authority and unshakable ruthlessness.
Tryson felt something inside him rupture.
The moment the words left Alex's lips, a surge of raw emotion coursed through him—rage, betrayal, fear, all crashing together in a chaos he could barely contain.
His fingers instinctively clenched tighter around the cool metal of the gun in his hand, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier, more real.
