In a world where wealth reigns supreme, Victor Sinclair is a ruthless billionaire known for his cunning business tactics and insatiable thirst for control. Behind his polished facade lies a sadistic nature, reveling in the manipulation of those bene...
Victor never enjoyed socializing much; he preferred to be alone. He was also not particularly interested in interacting with women, engaging with them mainly on a sexual level rather than romantically-except for Liza, who was different.
Victor always wanted to change his surname from Sinclair to his mother's maiden name, Ashford. However, he knew he couldn't, as his father wanted him to have a son to carry on the Sinclair bloodline. For Victor, though, he longed to break the generational curse in his own way. "I'll do it my way," he thought to himself with a smirk.
Victor walked down the halls when he noticed the portrait of his mother. Seeing it brought tears to his eyes. "I wish my dad had died instead of you," he whispered. A smirk crossed his face as he added, "But I know that will happen by my own hands."
He continued on, entering his office and signing some papers. Suddenly, his phone rang-it was his friend, Jameson Miller. Victor answered, "Hello, James."
"Victor, my friend!" James slurred, clearly intoxicated. "Are you drunk?" Victor asked, concerned.
"Hmm, ignore that," James replied. "I heard from our friends that you bought a bar. An expensive one, I must say. I'm interested in going there. Are there women there?"
"Yes, young ones," Victor responded with a hint of amusement.
"Good," James said, his voice still unstead
Victor put the phone down and began to remember his past. As he walked through the halls, he entered his gun room, took out a firearm, and started shooting in every direction, neglecting to wear ear protection. He was so accustomed to the sound of triggers and bullets that it didn't bother him.
With each pull of the trigger, memories flooded back-his father's chilling words echoed in his mind: "I would kill my own blood for the sake of power. You'd better act right, or you'll be the only one standing, with no one to help you but yourself."
The weight of those words pressed heavily on Victor as he fired, a mixture of rage and determination coursing through him. He knew he had to embrace that darkness if he wanted to survive.
After that, Victor pondered aloud, "Am I destined to repeat this family curse, or can I break free?"
He sighed, leaning against the wall as he sat on the floor, the unloaded gun resting heavily in his hands. "I enjoy the pain," he admitted, "but I won't let it define me."
Breathing heavily, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I refuse to be a puppet in my father's game."
In his mind, he could almost hear his father's mocking voice. "You really think you can change the rules? Power doesn't change hands without bloodshed."
Victor clenched his jaw, determination flaring in his eyes. "I'll rewrite the playbook. I won't sacrifice my soul for power... but I wouldn't mind sacrificing some of it for the right cause."
He paused, envisioning a future free of his father's shadow. "I'll build something real-something worth fighting for. Not like you."
As Victor continue to spoke to himself, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. But instead of his own face, he saw a darker version of himself, smirking menacingly. A chill ran down his spine, a mix of anger and fear washing over him.
"Who are you?" he hissed, his heart racing.
The reflection only grinned wider, embodying everything Victor feared becoming. In a moment of rage, he loaded the gun and aimed it at the mirror. With a deafening bang, he pulled the trigger, shattering the glass into a million pieces.
He stood there, breathing heavily, knowing what he had seen was not just a trick of the light. "You won't take me down," he vowed, the remnants of the mirror scattered around him like fragments of his shattered psyche. "I'm not you."
"I hate being controlled by my own emotions," Victor cried, frustration and anger surging within him. "I should be the one in control!" He held his head with both hands, desperate to silence the intrusive thoughts and voices echoing in his mind.
But then he realized he needed to release the pressure. Standing up, he dropped the gun and opened the door, heading toward his underground torture room. As he walked, he encountered a maid.
"Ahh, sir! Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched on her face.
"Yes, I'm fine. Go to my gun room and clean up the mess I made. Got it?" he snapped, his anger spilling over.
"Okay, sir. I'm sorry," she replied, her voice trembling.
"Good," he said curtly, dismissing her as he made his way to the torture room, flanked by two of his guards.
The heaviness in his chest grew as he prepared to face whatever darkness awaited him there.
As Victor walked down the dungeon corridor, the light faded, growing darker with each step. He arrived and called for the individuals, waiting for thirty minutes.
“Sir, they’re here,” said Dave, his bodyguard.
“Good,” Victor replied as five men entered. “Now, you know our promise,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.
“Yes, our promise is to endure some torture for about an hour and suffer the pain, right?” one of them said nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“Yes,” Victor said, his piercing eyes fixed on them, intensifying the atmosphere of dread.
Victor pulled out a whip, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Get down and expose yourselves!" he commanded, his voice echoing in the chamber.
The five men hesitated before reluctantly removing their shirts and kneeling, their backs bare before him.
"Now, don't even think about screaming, or else you'll want people to hear you up the hall!" he yelled, his tone leaving no room for defiance.
"Okay, sir," they all murmured in unison, fear evident in their voices.
"Ben and Dave, close the door. Dave, guard the outside. Ben, stay here-I want you to enjoy this, whether you like it or not," Victor said, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.
"Yes, sir," Ben replied, a mixture of excitement and apprehension in his voice, while Dave stepped outside to ensure that no one would know what was happening in the depths below.
That's when the sound of the whip cracked sharply through the air, echoing down the halls, a chilling reminder of the darkness within these walls.
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