The darkness clung to Adrian like a second skin. The skeletal hand gripping his wrist was impossibly cold, its touch burning with frost. He yanked back, muscles straining, but the fingers tightened, pulling him toward the shadows that writhed across the floor.
"Elara!" His voice was sharp, commanding, the same tone that had bent boardrooms to his will. "Make it stop!"
She didn't move. Her eyes shimmered in the dark, sorrow and resignation mingling in their depths. "I can't," she whispered. "They don't obey me. They never have."
Adrian's fury surged. He was a man who had conquered markets, crushed rivals, and bent the city to his ambition. Yet here, in his own office, he was powerless against something he couldn't even see clearly.
The shadows pulled harder. Adrian staggered, his polished shoes scraping against the floor. He swung his free arm, striking at the air, but his fist met nothing. The skeletal hand remained, relentless.
"Elara!"
Her gown shimmered faintly, as though moonlight clung to her fabric. She stepped closer, her presence calming the chaos for a moment. The whispers softened, the shadows hesitated.
"They want payment," she said softly. "They always want payment."
Adrian's jaw clenched. "Payment? I can give them more than they could ever dream. Money. Power. Anything."
Elara shook her head. "They don't want what you own. They want what you are."
The words struck him harder than the grip on his wrist. Adrian's empire was built on control, on the certainty that everything had a price. But this—this was beyond negotiation.
The skeletal hand released him suddenly, vanishing into the shadows. Adrian stumbled back, his breath ragged, his composure fractured. He straightened quickly, forcing his mask of control back into place.
"This is madness," he said coldly. "I don't believe in curses. I don't believe in ghosts. Whatever game you're playing, it ends now."
Elara's gaze held his, unwavering. "You don't have to believe. They're real whether you accept them or not."
Adrian turned away, pacing to the window. The city lights flickered again, skyscrapers dimming as though the entire metropolis bowed to the unseen. His empire—his fortress of glass and steel—felt fragile under the weight of shadows.
He pressed his palm against the glass, grounding himself in the view. "I built this city," he muttered. "I won't let phantoms tear it down."
Behind him, Elara's voice was quiet, almost tender. "Then you'll have to fight them. And fighting them means fighting yourself."
Adrian spun, fury flashing in his eyes. "What does that mean?"
Elara stepped closer, her presence both haunting and magnetic. "The curse binds to the soul. It feeds on ambition, on desire, on control. The more you cling to power, the stronger they become."
Adrian's breath caught. For the first time, her words pierced the armor he had built around himself.
The whispers rose again, louder, pressing against the walls. Adrian's office trembled, papers scattering, lights flickering. He braced himself, refusing to yield.
"Elara," he said, voice low, dangerous. "If you brought this curse into my world, then you'll help me break it. Or I'll tear it out of you myself."
Her eyes glistened, sorrow deepening. "You can't tear out what was born with me. But you can choose. You can fight beside me… or be consumed."
The shadows surged, skeletal hands clawing at the floor, reaching for Adrian again. He stood tall, defiant, his empire's ruler facing an enemy beyond reason.
And for the first time in his life, Adrian Veyne realized control was slipping from his grasp.
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