The room was dimly lit, heavy with the scent of aged whiskey and faint cigar smoke. Adrian Cole sat at the polished mahogany desk in his private study, his fingers drumming lightly on the surface. His jaw was clenched, his thoughts clouded by a storm that had been brewing for weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of Ryan and Hazel—her smile, her laughter—his most cherished things slipping away from him.
The betrayal stung deeper than he cared to admit.
He had been raised with the finest privileges, surrounded by luxury and power. But Adrian was never one for playing by the rules, especially when he was thwarted. And this time, Hazel and Ryan had crossed a line that Adrian couldn't tolerate. They had humiliated him—brought him to the brink of ruin. And now, revenge was the only thing that consumed him.
He pulled open the drawer of his desk, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his phone. His pulse quickened as he dialed a number—a number he'd hoped he would never need to use.
"Father," Adrian's voice was sharp, controlled, though underneath it all, a simmering rage clung to every word.
Adrian's father, a formidable man in his own right, answered after the third ring. His voice was low, roughened by years of hard decisions. "What is it, Adrian?"
"I need something," Adrian said, his tone measured, but there was a dangerous undercurrent. "I need you to get me a number. A number of someone who can help with… a problem I've been dealing with."
There was a pause on the other end. His father was silent for a moment, but Adrian knew better than to expect anything other than a strategic question.
"A problem? What kind of problem?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair, staring out of the grand window that overlooked the city below. The lights twinkled, a stark contrast to the darkness swirling inside him. "Ryan Ashworth. And Hazel Hargrove."
His father let out a low breath, the kind of breath a man gives when he knows the gravity of the situation. "You know, Adrian, these are not the kinds of problems you solve with petty games. These are people—who have nothing to do with you, who have been treated like pawns."
Adrian's eyes hardened as he stared at the city lights, watching them blur together in the night. "They think they can escape me," Adrian spat, his fingers gripping the armrests of the chair. "But they crossed me. She chose him over me. That's unforgivable."
There was another pause, longer this time, and Adrian could hear the sound of his father breathing deeply on the other side of the line.
"Adrian," his father began slowly, his voice calm but carrying a weight of unspoken authority, "you know the North Fangs. They can help you. But you're asking for a price. I need you to understand the consequences of your actions. Revenge never stays silent."
Adrian's eyes narrowed as the anger bubbled under his skin. "I understand. But that's not my concern right now. I need them gone. Both of them. I need Ryan out of the picture, and I need Hazel to pay for making me look weak."
A flicker of concern crossed his father's voice, but it quickly disappeared. "Fine. I'll get you the number. But you're on your own with this. You take responsibility for what happens next."
"Just get me the number. I'll take care of the rest."
Without another word, Adrian hung up the phone. He couldn't sit still anymore. His mind raced with possibilities—dark thoughts that would drag him deeper into the abyss. He had always been one to thrive in the shadows, but now, the shadows were the only place where he could see clearly. The only place where he could feel in control again.
Hours later, Adrian sat in the same study, his fingers now tightly gripping the phone in his hand. His father's trusted contact had delivered the number: "Johnny Rayburn," the name read. A man with no face, no past—just an enforcer for the North Fangs, a notorious gang with a reputation that sent chills through the darkest corners of the city.
Adrian dialed the number.
The line rang once, then twice, before it was answered.
"Johnny Rayburn." Fang gang leader right hand man
Adrian's voice was steady but laced with venom. "I need a job done. Two people—Ryan Ashworth and Hazel Hargrove."
Johnny's voice was gruff, uninterested. "What's the job?"
Adrian leaned forward, his hands now trembling with anticipation. "I want Ryan Ashworth gone. I want him out of the picture—permanently. And as for Hazel…" His voice dropped low, his lips curling into a dark smirk. "She needs to be… taken. Kidnapped. Used to send a message."
There was a pause on the line. Adrian's heart beat faster, his pulse thrumming with adrenaline. Finally, Johnny spoke.
"You want me to kill him and take her. That's what you're saying, right?"
"Yes." Adrian's voice was ice-cold. "And I want it done clean. No loose ends. You make it happen, or I'll make sure you regret it."
Johnny didn't respond immediately, and Adrian could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind. "You'll have what you want. But there's a price. And trust me, Adrian, it's not cheap."
"I don't care about the price. Just get it done."
Adrian ended the call with a finality that reverberated in the empty room. His body was alive with tension. He had made the deal. He had crossed a line that he could never take back.
But the satisfaction that followed was hollow—empty. In that moment, Adrian understood something crucial: revenge would never fill the hole in his heart, but it would give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was the one pulling the strings.
The following days were a blur. Adrian couldn't sit still, couldn't focus on anything but the plan. He didn't sleep much. Instead, he spent his nights staring at the city lights from his study, plotting, imagining how everything would fall into place. His father's words rang in his ears—revenge never stays silent—but the thrill of power drowned out all caution.
He wouldn't stop until Ryan Ashworth and Hazel Hargrove were nothing more than memories.
Adrian didn't care about the cost anymore. The price of blood—his blood, their blood—was insignificant compared to the taste of victory. Revenge wasn't just something he wanted now—it was something he needed. And soon, everything would be within his grasp.