Shattered Asylum

Chapter 99

Grayson's POV.

Five years later

The room goes silent the second I step in.

It always does.

Men who once held their heads high around me now lower their eyes. Waiting for my word like dogs starved for scraps. I don't even have to raise my voice. A tilt of my chin, a glance, is enough to make them scramble.

Fear does the rest.

I've earned that fear.

Arnaldo's empire is mine now. Every street, every port, every ounce of blood spilled in this city runs through my hands. They call me many things, the king, the devil, the reaper. I don't care what name sticks. The truth is simpler.

I am untouchable.

But power doesn't fill the hollow. It never has.

I sit at the head of the table, listening to reports I barely hear. Numbers, deals, betrayals... it's all the same. I give orders that decides who lives and who vanishes, and not once does my pulse change. I used to think there would be a rush in this. That I'd feel alive. Instead, it's all just noise.

And when it's over, when the room clears and I'm left in silence, I do the same thing I've done every night for five years.

I reach into my shirt. Fingers curl around the chain.

The necklace is cool against my skin when I pull it free. Silver, delicate, shaped like a wave.

Her wave.

I close my eyes, and the memory slices through me like glass.

We were broken then. Not speaking. Not together. She walked into that little shop on the boardwalk, eyes bright as she pressed her hand against the glass. That necklace caught the light, caught her.

She didn't buy it.

I told myself it didn't matter. That we were finished, that I couldn't care anymore.

But I went back for it. Of course I did.

I've never stopped caring.

The chains digs into my fists as I grip it now, the same way I did in that hospital five years ago, standing outside her room, praying for a miracle that never came.

I chuckle under my breath, but it breaks halfway, cracks into something raw.

I can still see her in my head... hair a mess, wearing my hoodie that was two sizes too big, standing in my kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand like she was about to duel me with it.

She swore she could make pancakes better than me. Pancakes. She barely knew how to boil water. But there she was, flour on her cheek, fire in her eyes, determined to prove me wrong.

The first one came out like raw dough glued to the pan. She cursed under her breath, cheeks pink, and I laughed so hard I thought she'd throw the spoon at me. But she didn't. She just grinned... wide, unbothered, like messing up in front of me didn't scare her at all.

That was Aven, Messy, stubborn, perfect.

The sound that leaves me now isn't laughter. It's closer to a sob, but I bite it down, my throat burning.

I wipe at my face before the tear can fall, but it doesn't matter. No one's here to see. No one ever sees.

They think I don't feel. That I buried love the same way I bury enemies, deep, permanent, without ceremony.

But the truth?

She's the only thing I've never been able to put in the ground.

I tuck the necklace back under my shirt, where it lies against my chest close to the scarred ruin of my heart. The dainty chain is the only softness I allow myself.

I stand, adjust my jacket, and the mask slides back into place. Cold. Sharp. Ruthless.

The door opens and my men glance up, their faces pale when they meet my eyes. They'll never know how close I am to breaking, how much of me still bleeds for her. To them, I am unshakable. The king. The man who cannot be moved.

They're wrong.

I was moved once.

And it destroyed me.

Word count:677