“Come on, Violet, say it,” White repeated insistently. Each repetition seemed to push me closer to the edge. No, I can't trust this man; he's from the same world as me. We're both products of sins and deceit. Sweat trickled down my back as a crash echoed through the building.

“I know you're in here, my precious creation.” That voice—it could only be him. I clenched my fists. I knew he would find me eventually. Damn it. White, unfazed by the sounds or the man's voice, crossed his arms, waiting for a response.

What I wanted to know right now was the truth. No one but him could provide it. I knew it would end poorly, but he's the man who raised me to be this emotionless monster. I took a deep breath to clear my thoughts and faced White directly.

“I’m going to deal with him. Alone,” I declared, my voice steady despite my inner turmoil. White regarded me for a moment and then left the room quietly.

“I’m in here,” I called out. The footsteps that followed soon brought him to the door. It swung open to reveal an old man with an unsettling presence. He exuded an aura of foreboding and menace. His bald head gleamed under the dim light, stark against his thick, heavyset frame. The stick he used to support himself seemed like an extension of his dark essence, each tap on the ground echoing with ominous undertones. His small, piercing eyes were intensely unsettling, boring into one’s soul with chilling, almost supernatural insight. There was a palpable darkness that clung to him, as though beneath his seemingly frail exterior lurked a monster in disguise.

“My precious daughter. We’ve looked everywhere for you,” he began, reaching out to brush my hair.

“Cut the sweet act,” I snapped. “I need to hear it from you.”

“Hear what? What did that man tell you?” he asked, his grip tightening on my hair.

“He told me how you and the ‘Fox’ planned to destroy me… How Maxine, despite her naivety, knew all of this and played along. You wanted to crush me? Is that the truth? I need an answer,” I demanded firmly.

“Let’s flip this, Violet. Why did you trust Maxine from the start? You know how dangerous the ‘Fox’ is. Yet here you are, crying over some nuisance,” he laughed maniacally.

“I’m asking if that’s the truth or a lie. I’m not playing games,” I insisted, removing his hand from my hair.

“So what if it is the truth? Did you really think I never considered the possibility of you betraying me? It’s amusing how this time I’m one step ahead,” he smiled, then ordered, “Tie her up.” His men bound me, and a surge of intense rage washed over me. I wanted to make their lives a living hell, to rip the smiles from their faces and hear their screams. But above all, I despised myself. Dreams only blind people to truths they cannot face. I should have known better. I deserve this suffering; perhaps I should just die. Numbness enveloped my heart.

Then, I watched in horror as he walked over to the fireplace, where embers still glowed dimly from a recent fire. He picked up a metal rod, its tip glowing red-hot, and approached me slowly. My heart raced as he brought the searing metal closer to my injury. The moment it touched my skin, pain shot through my body like wildfire.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his voice devoid of empathy. My insides felt like they were being torn apart, the searing heat consuming me from within.

“Now, Violet, we have no time to dwell on the death of some girl. We’ve got work to do,” he continued, pressing the hot metal against my flesh again, eliciting a scream of pure agony from my throat.

I couldn't muster a response. The pain was unbearable, consuming me entirely. Tears streamed down my face as I lay there, silent, my thoughts spiraling into darkness. Maybe this is what I deserve, I thought, feeling a deep, numbing despair settle over me. Maybe it’s time to just give up… I wanted to speak, to tell him I wouldn’t work for him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I sobbed quietly, my body trembling, lost in the hopelessness of it all.

“Well, look at that, Violet. The emotionless Violet is shedding real tears,” he said with disbelief.

Suddenly, White entered the room. “Yikes, that will surely leave a scar,” he said with a grimace, his eyes scanning the scene with a mix of pity and disgust.

“Kill him,” the old man ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

White didn’t move. “Kill me? Why would you?” he said, placing a thoughtful hand on his chin. “It seems you have something that belongs to me here.” He tilted his head, a calculating glint in his eyes.

“Yours? I recall that Violet is mine already,” the old man said, eyeing White with a mix of contempt and amusement. “You think I’ll just let you take her because of your charm or something?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” White said, leaning closer and brushing his fingers gently against my face. His voice, though laced with a semblance of concern, did little to ease the searing pain that had engulfed me.

I lay on the ground, my body trembling with agony, and couldn’t muster a response. My gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, my eyes glazed over. The pain had become a dull roar, almost numbing me to everything else.

White's fingers lifted my chin gently, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You still with me?” he asked, his tone edged with a cruel curiosity.

Despite my inner turmoil and the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by pain, my only desire was to see the old man dead. I focused on White's face with great effort, my eyes filled with silent desperation.

“If you want anything from me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “make sure that man suffers. Show him hell for what he’s done.” My plea was a final, fragile thread of defiance amidst the darkness closing in around me.

White’s eyes sparkled with interest as he regarded my weakened state. “I see you’re still holding on to some fire,” he said with a hint of admiration. Lifting himself, he continued, “But there are too many people here; it’ll be a hassle if it gets bloody.” He picked me up and winked. “Things are about to get dramatic.”

He carried me out of the room and approached the open balcony doors. The night air was thick and humid, and the distant city lights glimmered beneath us. White stepped through the shattered glass and leaped from the balcony. As we descended, the echoes of our fall reverberated off the surrounding buildings, and the cobblestone street below loomed closer. We landed with a jarring thud, but White quickly adjusted, running through the chaos of the night. The bustling crowd, unaware of our dramatic exit, continued its usual rhythm as we wove through the throngs of people.

We darted into a dark alley, the narrow passageways lit only by flickering street lamps. The alley was grim and forsaken, with discarded refuse and the occasional stray cat slinking through the shadows. The walls were coated in grime, and the sound of dripping water added to the somber ambiance. As we reached an old, dilapidated building, the creaking floorboards and the smell of mildew greeted us. White set me down, his face serious, and gestured to a shadowy figure waiting in the corner. “You know what to do,” he instructed the mysterious woman. As she approached with a handkerchief, I felt a wave of drowsiness overcoming me, my vision blurring as the drug took hold.