Adrian Veyne had never feared silence before. Silence was power—it meant his rivals had been crushed, his boardroom obeyed, his empire secure. But now, silence pressed against him like a weight, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls.
Elara sat at the edge of the penthouse's long leather sofa, her gown spilling across the floor like spilled moonlight. She looked fragile, but her stillness carried something heavier than fragility. Adrian poured himself another drink, though his hand trembled slightly as he set the glass down.
"You said they want payment," he began, his voice low, deliberate. "Explain."
Elara's eyes lifted, dark and steady. "Generations ago, my family made a vow. A promise to the spirits that protected us. But promises are fragile things. My ancestor broke it, and the spirits claimed us. Every bride in my bloodline carries them. Every groom inherits them."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Then why me? Why now?"
Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because you signed. You treat contracts like weapons, Mr. Veyne. But this one… this one signed you."
Adrian rose, pacing across the room. His reflection followed him in the glass, but behind Elara's reflection, the faceless figures pressed closer, their mouths open in silent hunger. He forced himself not to look.
"I don't believe in debts I didn't make," he said sharply. "If your family broke a promise, that's their burden. Not mine."
Elara's voice was soft, but it cut through him. "You married me. Their burden is now yours."
The words struck like a blade. Adrian turned, fury flashing in his eyes. "Then tell me what they want. Tell me how to end this."
Elara lowered her gaze. "They want what was promised. A life. A soul. A sacrifice."
Adrian's breath caught. He had sacrificed many things for his empire—time, loyalty, even love—but never himself. Never his soul.
The lights flickered. The chandelier's shards on the floor trembled, chiming faintly. Adrian's penthouse seemed to breathe, shadows stretching across the walls.
Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "They'll take it from you piece by piece. Your empire. Your control. Your life. Unless you bargain."
Adrian's fists clenched. "Then I'll bargain. I'll give them whatever they want. Money. Power. Anything."
Elara shook her head slowly. "They don't want what you own. They want what you are."
The words hung in the air, heavy, final. Adrian felt the weight of them pressing against his chest.
The whispers rose again, threading through the silence. This time, they spoke clearly, their voices overlapping, echoing: Adrian Veyne. Adrian Veyne.
Adrian turned sharply, scanning the room. The shadows pressed against the glass walls, faceless figures clawing to break through. His empire glittered beyond, but it felt fragile, as though the city itself trembled under their hunger.
He faced Elara, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. "Then tell me how to bargain."
Her eyes lifted, sorrow glistening. "You don't bargain with ghosts, Adrian. You surrender."
The glass wall cracked, a jagged line splitting the skyline's reflection. Adrian staggered back, his breath ragged.
And for the first time in his life, Adrian Veyne realized the empire he built might not save him.
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