Shock.

Surprise.

Confusion.

Expected? Kaizer says no.

None would dare think Luke Oakwood capable of holding a gun point-blank to Amadeo’s head. Especially not him.

Stutters are what Kaizer’s heart speaks, the blanket of disbelief thick and suffocating, covering his rationality a-whole.

Luke Oakwood, someone who’s never an enigma in the bare auburn eyes of Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr., someone who he thinks is the last person to paint his hands red with a snipe of a bullet.

This was not the Luke Oakwood everyone knew of. Not this one.

Kaizer refuses to entertain the thought. His mind shrilled for answers in the thread of events hanging in front of his eyes, but alas, his heart couldn’t bear to see how twisted the threads had gone.

And then, as his eyes met Luke’s, something inside him twisted, painfully.

His gut churned from the punch it had hit.

The Luke he knew of was dead–or worse, had never existed at all.

The question stormed into Kaizer’s mind like a tempest swirling and wrecking the ground. The crack in his voice failed to hide the emotions he was trying to suppress. Why?

“Do you know, Kaizer–do you even have the idea of what has become of Sean?” Luke pressed the gun further to Amadeo, the latter evidently holding his breath. “This man . . . this motherfucker–he’s the reason why Sean–!”

“You did!” Amadeo couldn’t hide his anger from the fragile porcelain face he was making. “You don’t get to rewrite the events!”

Rewrite? Kaizer’s ear twitched. What does he mean by “rewrite?”

None of the two noticed his curiosity–Luke continued to bicker as he dug the gun deep into Amadeo’s head.

“Oh, please, Amadeo Beauséjour Lucas! No one’s rewriting the events–I know what happened, and you can’t lie to me because you’re the reason Sean killed himself! You forced him to kill his only brother, you made him into a madman, and you ordered him to shoot because you just wanted Kaizer for yourself!”

“That’s all lies, Oakwood!” Amadeo immediately bickered back. “I may be into Kaizer but I will not go into heights just to have him!” Fear was consuming his whole flamboyant personality, the color he wore a while ago fading into grey. “Sean called you! Sean told you he killed his brother–Sean told you everything! You! You are the mastermind–I never was!”

Luke stopped for a second . . . his eyes met Kaizer’s. He shook his head before wearing a smirk on his mouth. “What, Woodsworth, you believe Amadeo more than I? Who’s to say who’s lying between us?”

Kaizer remained as cold as a statue. Not a single word came out of his lips. As Luke slowly pushed the trigger, Amadeo’s tears fell. 

“Kaizer, mon chéri, say something! I’m not involved in any of this!” Amadeo pleaded.

On the far side of the rooftop are footsteps fast and heavy. The clacking of the shoes could’ve given those footsteps an identity, but to the three having their own agendas on the bare cloudy afternoon, no one would dare think someone would step in and become an uninvited deus ex machina.

A loud bang broke the impending silence. Kaizer looked at the door. There, a lady in black appeared, with nothing but a pen and a phone.

“Looks like we’re hitting two birds with one stone.” The lady slowly but firmly approaches between the two sides, and out of nowhere, she takes out a wallet, showing Luke and Amadeo a badge. “Zhenya Mikhaylov Petrovitch of the Crown’s Secret Service. Any minute the police are going to step in and arrest you two, I suggest both of you surrender.”

There was one word that made Kaizer turn his head toward her. “Both?”

“Luke. He’s the one who orchestrated everything.” She shifted her eyes toward the poor painter who was close to losing consciousness. “And Amadeo. He’s the puppet.”