Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 41: The Mocking Gleam.

Lord Maximus entered the room with a languid gait, heading straight for his seat. He tilted his head back, briefly meeting the ceiling with his gaze. A scoff escaped his lips as he reached for the side table, snatching a cigarette and lighter in a single, practiced motion.

The stick found its place between his lips, his eyes dropping to watch the flame dance at the lighter's tip as he ignited it. Its flickering light cast shadows on his face as sharp, staccato tapping echoed through the room, growing louder and closer. He clenched his jaw, muscles bunching under his skin, and called out in a slow, deliberate drawl, "Martini."

The sound ceased abruptly as the room flooded with light. Rising, Lord Maximus squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Before him stood a figure clad in emerald green, matching heels clicking softly on the floor. She shook her head curtly, a sharp jerk that spoke volumes.

"Expecting company?" Her voice, a gentle murmur, sent a shiver skittering down his spine despite its softness. Lowering the cigarette, he approached with measured steps. "You... how did you find me?" he rasped, a tremor in his breath.

"Maximus," she greeted, extending a hand. The emerald glint of her dress mirrored the amusement dancing in her eyes, which didn't quite reach the corners.

He flinched, the hand holding the cigarette jerking upwards before he smothered the surprise. A shaky hand rose to wipe his mouth, subconscious gesture betraying his unease. His mind raced, calculating her unexpected arrival, gears turning behind narrowed eyes.

The woman stopped, eyes roving over the space with a mocking gleam, clear disdain burning within their depths. "Perhaps your security isn't as impenetrable as you'd like to believe," she murmured, each word dripping with icy derision.

Lord Maximus, a sardonic smile twisting his features, raised a silencing finger to his lips. "Shhh!" His eyes narrowed slightly, taking a long drag from his cigarette, forgotten smoke curling into the air.

"You can't hide forever, Maximus," she continued, voice a low hiss.

Pivoting towards her, his face a mask of conflicting emotions—fury and frustration—his brow furrowed deeper, lips pressing into a thin line. He clenched his jaw tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"Cut the theatrics, Andriana," he rasped, voice tightening as she cut him off mid-sentence.

"Maximus, really..." she began, wry smile tugging at her lips. "Years have passed, and you're still stuck in this melodrama?" A shadow of sadness flitted over her face as she hesitated, hand extending tentatively to bridge the gulf between them.

He reacted with a swift flick of his wrist, hand snapping inches from her face. "Don't you dare, Andriana," he snarled, low growl emanating from deep within his chest. "I could have you drowned in your own blood, right here, right now."

Her eyes slitted to glacial shards, jaw jutting out in a defiant challenge. "Do it, then," she dared, voice a steady hum.

The deep lines of his scowl abruptly softened, eyebrows shooting up in a sharp arch. The cigarette, forgotten between his fingers, dangled precariously, wisp of smoke curling upwards like an unanswered plea. Finally, he asked, voice taut, "What game are you playing at, Andriana?"

"There are no games, Maximus," she countered, hint of exasperation creeping into her tone. "I just... I want you to come home." Cheeks tensed, hint of vulnerability peeking through the stoic visage she had donned.

Lord Maximus smirked, twitch of his lips before he spun away. "There's no home for a man like me," he muttered, voice heavy with bitter truth.

A muscle throbbed in his jaw as he narrowed the distance between them. "Don't rewrite history, Andriana," he rumbled with menace. The Shaque, every brick, every timber, bears the sweat and blood I poured into it."

Teeth gritted, low growl emanating from his chest. "Saintly visions cloud your judgment, Andriana. You see a sinner, but all I see is survival. Choices that stain your soul, maybe. But saints don't get their hands dirty, do they?"

Andriana offered a nod of concession. Long silence stretched between them before she spoke. "This life, Maximus," voice held a crack, eyes remaining still, "it'll carve its own kind of hell for you. You've got a family, blood that binds deeper than any oath. Remember what we built together?"

She stared at him, frown etching on brow that trembled slightly.

"This is my sin, not your salvation. Leave, Andriana." Harsh edge crept into his voice. Words scraped against his corded jaw.

Andriana's eyes welled with tears. "You chase power like a dehydrated man chases a mirage, Lord Maximus. Your hunger for wealth is a bottomless pit, but remember, you can't defy mortality." Voice shook with mixture of anger and sadness.

He scoffed, humorless sound that sent shivers down her spine. Eyes narrowed, dismissing her with cold stare. "Phone chimed, sharp reminder of pressing matters. Your time is up, leave. I've got bigger fish to fry."

"We both know truth you try to bury beneath Butcher's Worm, Lord Maximus." Eyebrows drafted sharp arch, question mark of contempt forming above her eyes.

Took a seat, chilling grin stretching across his face. His voice dropped to low rasp, "anything is possible when you control worm that writhes beneath."

"He won't stop until you're broken, Lord Maximus. Trust me, you don't want to face his wrath." Forced words out, each one tightrope walk across chasm of fear.

He chuckled, sound devoid of warmth. "Little dove," smile hardened into cruel smirk, "perhaps you've forgotten who controls strings. Even death dances to my tune, whatever 'he' is, won't change that." He sank into his chair, room returning to dimly lit state.

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