The lights hung low in the restaurant, dim globes that made the glass glint in the shadows. A soft hum of chatter fell over painted lips and powerful eyes, and in the middle of it all sat a table for two.

    Celine took a deep, even breath and lifted her champagne glass, eyes glinting. Wilma mirrored the gesture, and as those black lips curled in a tempting smile, their glasses clinked.

    "To revenge," said Celine, flashing teeth.

    Wilma smiled, and together, they drank, the fizz of alcohol humming through their nerves.

    "To revenge," echoed Wilma.

    Celine ran a finger along the rim of her glass absentmindedly, watching the bubbles rise in the golden spritz.

    "Tell me," said Celine, lifting her gaze. "When it's time, how will you do it?"

    Wilma huffed, swirling her glass. "Are you doubting me?"

    "Trust is hard to come by in our industry," said Celine coyly. She arched a brow, giving Wilma a look that made her shudder. "But I'm not asking if I can trust you, Wilma. I'm asking if you can get the job done."

    "Of course I can."

    Celine smiled, and she sipped at her champagne, tipping her head back. A long silence fell over them, filled by the restaurant's ambience. When she set down her glass, she leaned forward, black nails gracing the table.

    "You're going to get what you want soon," she breathed. "We're going to get what we want." Her gaze was unbreaking. "You, with your brother... and me, with the man who stole my husband."

    Celine lifted her glass up high, and a waiter rushed over, refilling it for her. When he dashed away, Celine smiled and tipped the glass towards Wilma.

    "The end is here," she exhaled. "All we do tonight is celebrate." She waved her glass. "So, please... indulge me."

    Wilma tapped her nails on the table, glancing away in thought. To be honest, she hadn't thought about it much; the exact details of the 'end.' All she knew was that the moment she saw Wilford, she would let him feel everything. Would let him know all the pain he'd caused her, all the years he'd missed.

    When Wilma lifted her gaze, Celine was staring at her, eyes full of deceit.

    "I want to make him hurt," said Wilma, fingers tightening around her glass. "I want to rip his heart out."

    Celine's eyes glittered with opportunity. "How do you plan to do that?"

    "Show myself," said Wilma. "And when I'm done, I'll shoot him and watch as he bleeds out on the ground."

    "I've got an idea," hummed Celine, crossing her legs. The air shifted between them, and Wilma studied Celine's posture, the plotting in her expression. "How much do you know about your brother's recent... romantic pursuits?"

    Wilma scoffed at the question. "He doesn't do romance," she said. "He's the type to fuck any whore on the street."

    Celine's eyes glittered with amusement, and she smirked. "Not until recently," she said.

    Celine pulled out her phone, and after a few swipes, she presented the screen: an image of Wilford and Dark, sitting together, in a dimly-lit cafe. Their bodies close, fingers laced, heads tilted.

    Fury raced up Wilma's spine.

    The two of them, in a perfectly captured kiss, unaware of anything around them.

    Celine set her phone aside and met Wilma's eyes.

    "I'm telling you this, Wilma," said Celine, "because I believe we can use this to our advantage." She held her gaze. "No matter what I've done, Wilford has been hellbent on keeping Mr. Edwards protected. He could have killed him. He could have left him on the streets to die."

    Celine swirled her glass.

"But instead," she said, "your brother has fallen in love with him."

    "I don't believe that."

    Celine chuckled. "Belief or not," she said, "it's useful." Her eyes flicked onto Wilma's, and this time, her gaze was different. Danger poised her eyes, down to the strong curves of her figure.

    "You want to make him hurt," said Celine, voice firm. "You want to make him feel pain."

    Celine leaned forward in her seat, and she set down her glass, eyes alight.

    "So take them both," she breathed, "and kill one in front of the other."

———

"Stay here," Dark breathed, pulling Wilford in close. "With me."

    Wilford smiled, and he kissed Dark softly, his embrace warm, loving.

    "I wasn't planning on leaving," he slurred.

———

"No," said Wilma.

    Celine blinked, and her brows rose. The hum of the restaurant around them seemed to quiet.

"No?"

    "I told you," said Wilma. "I'm going to be the one to kill Wilford. That was our deal."

    "And it still is," said Celine. "You kill Wilford, and I'll—"

    "That's not what I agreed to," said Wilma, shaking her head. "I want Wilford alone. Just me and him. It's how it's supposed to be."

    Celine's expression softened, and she couldn't help but smirk. "Wilma, I'm offering a better alternative—"

    "This is personal, Celine," said Wilma, standing her ground. "I'm killing Wilford the way I want."

    "This is personal for me, too."

    "Then you'll understand when I say no."

    Quiet fell over them, and Celine slowly leaned back in her seat, holding Wilma's gaze. Wilma didn't know it, but no one said no to Celine. No one ever pushed back on her plans.

    Celine considered the woman before her, took a long, easy sip of champagne, and set her glass down on the table.

    Sometimes, people had to learn her laws the hard way.

    "Very well," said Celine. "He's all yours."

    Wilma's shoulders relaxed, and as she closed her eyes in relief, a menacing look swept over Celine's face.

    When a woman desired pain, she would do anything to achieve it.

———

As the last whine of the sirens faded away, Rios, Nikita, Cindy, and Odetta sat in silence.

    The city resumed its pace. Police and EMTs retreated, cars back to their usual paths. Even in the latest of night, the city glimmered with its lights and laughing people like the crash had never happened.

    Cindy was the first to let out her breath.

    "Maybe we can just... wait," she said. "We don't have to tell Celine now, right?"

    Everyone sent her a sour look, and she shrank back, sending them a sheepish grin.

    "Without the tracker, we can't tell if they're alive," said Rios, running a hand over her face. "If they're dead, we're dead. We had one job."

    Nikita's fists clenched at her sides. "We have to tell her."

    "Hold up," said Odetta, brushing aside bullet shells in the backseat. "If they are dead, this is all over. It won't matter if we wait to tell her until morning."

    "But if they're alive..." threw back Nikita.

    Rios lapsed into thought, running her hands over the steering wheel. Unlike the others, Celine had given her further information. The location of the hostage, the way she planned to distract the FBI, down to the orders she'd given Rios to round up the mafia boss and his sweetheart. If they were dead, none of that mattered anymore. But if they were alive, their current state could change things.

    She wished she had Blank's infamous ability for patterns.

    Rios took a deep breath and exhaled, catching the attention of the other women.

    "We'll wait," she said. She met each of their eyes, and together, they shared a nod. "And tell her in the morning."

———

Through the darkness of the penthouse, Mark squinted at the brightness of the phone Blank shoved in his face.

    He had been awake for what felt like hours, his body jolted with instant panic the moment he saw Blank standing before him. Every nerve remembered the pain the man had inflicted on him. The knife, the cuts, the blood, and his words.

    This time, Blank made no move to hurt Mark. That only unnerved him more.

    Because tonight, something felt off.

    Tonight, something felt charged. Raw, violent, unbridled energy—and he worried he would face the wrath of it all.

    "Look," said Blank, snapping him out of his trance. Even the sound of his voice made Mark flinch.

    "I-I don't know what you're trying to—"

    "You're in here, suffering," breathed Blank, waving his phone, "while Mr. Edwards indulges himself."

    Mark refused to look at the photo, instead glaring at Blank with all the hate he could muster.

    "I'm in here suffering," he growled, "because of you. Because of Celine!"

    Blank's expression was unchanging, but his eyes flashed with distaste. This whole time, he'd been trying to convince Mark that Mr. Edwards was the bad guy. Celine's orders, of course. If he had his way, he would continue to torture Mark. Hell, kill him before Dark even had a chance to come and save him, just to see the look on his face.

    Blank carefully inhaled, lowered his phone, and decided to change tactics.

    "How much do you know about Mr. Edwards, Mark?" he droned, bored out of his mind. But by the shift in Mark's eyes, he could see a more personal line of questioning would work.

    "I know everything," spat Mark, twisting in his binds. "So whatever you say about him, I won't believe it. Because I know him."

    "If I told you Mr. Edwards has..." Blank inwardly cringed. "...fallen in love with Warfstache..." He rose a brow. "Would you believe that?"

    Mark opened his mouth to argue, but something caught in his throat. The bodyguard recalled the days Mr. Edwards first learned about Warfstache. The day he searched him up online and blushed, clearly enamored with the sight. And the night of the party, the two of them on the dancefloor, lost in each other's eyes.

    Mark glanced away, faltering. "N... no, I wouldn't," he insisted, shaking his head.

    Blank knelt down slowly, trying to meet Mark's eyes. The bodyguard refused to look at him.

    "Are you sure?" Blank whispered, tilting his head. Here it was. The moment where he could see the foundations of belief shake.

    Blank rested a hand on Mark's foot, and he flinched, eyes snapping onto his.

    "Are you sure?" Blank repeated.

    Mark swallowed, and he turned his head, Adam's apple bobbing. The question clearly distressed him. Blank enjoyed it.

    "Yes," Mark managed out. "O-of course I'm sure."

    Blank dramatically sighed, acting as if he were incredibly disappointed. The kind of sigh that made people fill with dread, waiting for the worst of news.

    Mark wearily glanced at Blank and watched as he pulled out his phone again, swiping to the photo he'd been trying to show. Blank shifted, turned the phone around, and displayed the photo.

    Satisfaction rolled through him at the horror on Mark's face.

    "W-what is this?" demanded Mark, leaning back. "That's—not real."

    Blank shook his head as if distressed himself. He had to admit, he enjoyed putting on an act. Stringing Mark along this way. He continued to swipe through his phone, displaying countless more photos.

    Dark and Wilford on the dance floor. Dark and Wilford going into a hotel together. Dark and Wilford in a restaurant, with the light dim, their bodies close, and lips locked.

    "Look, Mark," said Blank, exhausted from all this talking. He set the phone down. "You say you know Mr. Edwards. But while his life, your life—other people's lives—have been on the line..." He motioned to the phone. "He's been getting his cock wet."

    Mark's face scrunched.

    "He's just like the other billionaires," said Blank. "Privileged, stubborn, and careless. Can't you see? He could care less about you, about anything. All he wants is money, pleasure, and power."

    "T-that's not true," said Mark, shaking his head. His voice shook. "He cares about—about—"

    Me. The word caught in his throat.

    Blank gazed at him evenly, steepling his fingers under his chin. When he leaned forward, Mark leaned back, swallowing.

    "Do you know why Celine is so upset with him?" he breathed.

    Mark slowly shook his head, eyeing the other.

    Blank inwardly smiled.

    "How much have you heard," started Blank, "about Markus Iplier?"

———

As Celine and Wilma left the diner, a ringtone cut through the nightly blare of the city.

    Celine stood on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing at Wilma as she lifted the phone to her ear. It was Blank.

    "It's done," came his voice.

    "I told you not to call until later," said Celine.

    "I haven't heard from Rios."

    Celine's brows furrowed, and when Wilma sent her a look of concern, she waved her hand.

    "What do you mean?" she said. "That's not like her at all. She was supposed to report by nine."

    "She's hiding something," said Blank. "I can feel it."

    Celine hung up, and she called Rios, glaring at the screen. Wilma shifted next to her.

    "What's wrong?" she prodded, searching her face.

    The call answered, and Celine put the phone to her ear, face stern.

    "Rios," said Celine, voice commanding. "You have some explaining to do."

    A silence hung over the line, thick with dread, and by the wavering inhale of Rios's breath through the line, she could tell something didn't go according to plan.

    "Mrs. Larose..." came her voice slowly, strained. "I'm afraid we have some bad news."

...

The end is near... MWAHAHAHA

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo