Only the distant, muffled screams managed to seep through the thick, soundproof walls like the whispers of the damned.
The scent of blood hung heavy, metallic and sharp, clinging to the walls, soaking into the floor. It wasn't just a warning—it was a promise.
Alexander Quinn sat in his usual chair, his silhouette cast in obsidian by the dim overhead light.
He looked almost regal in his stillness, like a monarch presiding over a kingdom of violence.
His tailored black shirt clung to him, sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong forearms dusted in crimson—the kind of red that didn't belong to him.
It never did.
His eyes were fixed—ice-cold, unblinking—on the man in the adjoining room.
Damian Marley.
A traitor. A coward. And worse than either—the man who had dared to lay a hand on Iris.
Alexander's Iris.
She hadn't said much. Barely whispered it, in fact. But it had been enough.
The crack in her voice. The tremble in her hands. The haunted look in her eyes.
Damian didn't know it yet—but he had already signed his death warrant the moment he looked at her.
Now he sat bound to a steel chair, his body mangled and bruised beyond recognition. Sweat and blood mixed in his matted hair, his lip was split, one eye swollen shut. And yet—still defiant. Still breathing.
That wouldn't last much longer.
Alexander stood, the chair scraping gently against the floor. The sound alone made the guards around him stiffen. He adjusted his cuffs with precision and stepped into the chamber like a lion entering a cage it had already claimed.
The air inside was stifling. A mixture of heat, blood, and impending death.
His men stepped aside instantly.
"Out," Alexander said, calm and absolute.
They obeyed without hesitation—like shadows fleeing the coming storm.
Damian forced a smile through cracked lips, his voice hoarse and trembling. "Coming to finish the job yourself, Quinn? Or is this about the girl?"
Alexander didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Instead, he walked over to the wall-mounted cabinet, each movement deliberate, every sound amplified in the unbearable quiet. The clink of metal. The gentle rattle of glass vials. He selected his tools like a conductor choosing instruments for a symphony of agony.
"Funny," Alexander murmured, rolling up his sleeves further, "how men like you always talk the most when they should stay silent."
Then, without warning, his fist slammed into Damian's face—brutal, surgical. Bone cracked. Blood splattered.
And then another.
And another.
Alexander didn't scream. He didn't curse. He moved with terrifying precision—every blow calculated. Every act intentional.
He was surgical. Efficient. Merciless.
A god of wrath in human skin.
He didn't simply inflict pain. He unraveled it—like a maestro dissecting every nerve, every fear, every regret. Electric shocks. Ice baths. Injections of adrenaline just to keep Damian awake for more.
Every time Damian lost consciousness, Alexander brought him back.
Not out of mercy—but punishment.
He would not allow escape. Not even through unconsciousness. Not yet.
"You touched her," Alexander said, his voice low, dangerous. "Even breathing in her direction was too much grace for a man like you."
Damian spat blood, wheezing a broken laugh. "She—she wasn't even yours... You act like she belongs to you."
Alexander's expression didn't flicker.
But the next punch shattered three teeth.
"She belongs to no one," he said coldly. "But she was under my protection. And you... violated that."
The next moment, Damian managed a desperate move—his bloodied fingers, trembling and slick, unclasped one of the bindings. From beneath the seat, a hidden pistol.
Bang!
The shot rang out.
But Alexander had already moved.
The bullet grazed the air where his head had been seconds ago, embedding itself in the wall.
He turned, slow and composed, like he had all the time in the world.
"Poor aim," he said, voice like velvet wrapped around glass. "Even your desperation is pitiful."
He crossed the room in a blink, seized Damian by the throat, and slammed him back into the chair. A syringe appeared in his hand like magic, the liquid inside glowing faintly.
"What is that?" Damian gasped, thrashing.
"Regret," Alexander whispered—and injected it into Damian's neck.
The scream that followed was inhuman. His body convulsed violently as the serum scorched through his veins. Agony burst through every cell in his body.
Alexander didn't blink.
He just watched.
Watched until Damian trembled so hard the chair itself shook beneath him.
"You're not going to die today," Alexander said near his ear. "You're going to live. And remember. Every. Single. Second."
The room fell deathly silent, the faint drip of blood the only sound left lingering in the air. Alexander's gaze hardened, dark and unyielding as steel. He took a slow step forward, voice low but deadly clear
"Nobody touches my woman… and goes scot-free."
Only when Damian collapsed—barely breathing—did Alexander call out.
"Doctor."
He exited the chamber slowly, fingers stained with fresh crimson. A guard rushed forward with a clean shirt.
Marvel arrived moments later, already muttering under his breath. He stopped at the threshold, glancing through the glass at the ruined mess that used to be a man.
"Goddamn," he said. "This isn't surgery. It's... art. In a disturbing, serial-killer kind of way."
Alexander was fastening his new cuffs.
"Save him," he said.
"Why?" Marvel grunted. "He's practically meat at this point."
Alexander looked over his shoulder, voice soft but iron-edged. "Because I said so. I want him to live. I want him to remember."
Marvel sighed dramatically. "You're lucky I'm the best."
Alexander smirked faintly. "No, Marvel. You're lucky I am."
And with that, he walked down the corridor, his pace unhurried, untouchable. The trail of blood behind him wasn't just Damian's—it was a warning. A signature.
Behind him, the room still stank of suffering.
And Damian Marley?
He was alive.
And Alexander would make sure he stayed that way.
For a long, long time.
"If this is a mark, then I'm yours forever branded. Little thief, Iris Olsen—you're mine. Every stolen glance, every breath you take, belongs to me."He muttered