His left hand slammed down onto the papers, and Tesmee's eyes immediately flicked to the ring on his finger.
The sight of it hit her like a sharp gust of wind, her breath catching in her chest. For a moment, her expression wavered—surprise, anger, something deeper—but she quickly masked it, though the flicker in her eyes didn't escape Tyric's notice. His gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with suspicion.
She paused, forcing herself to steady her breath. Her stomach churned, the discomfort swirling within her, but she couldn't let it show. "Nothing," she snapped a little too quickly, her voice betraying her. She took a deliberate breath, her lips curling into a tight smile. "As I was saying, I hope this partnership benefits us both. I've gone through the terms. Honestly, it's better than I expected."
Tyric didn't respond immediately. His eyes lingered on her for just a beat too long, his unreadable expression making it clear he was still processing the subtle shift in the air. "I'm glad," he murmured, his voice low and velvety. "The Michaelsons and the Volkovs have been more than just allies for a long time…" He trailed off, his words hanging heavily between them, making Tesmee's pulse quicken.
Her eyes fixed on him, her mind racing. The ring. The name etched into the metal—Elizabeth. Elizabeth. It felt like a slap to the face, a reminder of something Tesmee wanted to forget. Her thoughts spun out of control, frustration burning in her veins.
Taking a deep breath, Tesmee forced her mind back to the conversation. "How so?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "How have the Michaelsons and Volkovs been more than just allies?"
Tyric's gaze seemed to pierce through her, his eyes dark and assessing. He saw the shift, but said nothing as he began to recount the historical ties between their families. Tesmee, however, couldn't focus. Her mind was consumed by the ring, by her. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words.
But then, Tesmee's voice broke through the noise in her mind, her words sharp and deliberate. "We've managed to honor our parents' legacies. And now… now it's on us. To take their dreams further. For us, for our families, for our organizations."
Her words landed heavy, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. Tyric's gaze flickered, locking onto hers with a deep intensity as he nodded, his expression a perfect mask of contemplation.
The tension between them thickened as the conversation shifted to more personal matters. Tyric's voice was steady as he spoke, but there was a depth in his tone that Tesmee couldn't ignore. "I'm sure Eric would like to meet you someday. It would make him happy."
A flicker of something darker crossed his face, quickly masked by a cool, detached exterior. "He was devastated when we got the news about the Michaelsons. The massacre. The loss." His voice dropped an octave, filled with unspoken pain. Tesmee's heart clenched at the reminder, the ghost of that night haunting them both.
Her eyes locked on his, pain swirling in her chest. "That night…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It was a nightmare. I still don't know how I survived it."
The words came out before she could stop them, raw and jagged. Her gaze dropped, fingers trembling as she reached for her drink. She could feel the weight of the memories pressing on her chest, suffocating her. But she couldn't let him see that. Not now. Not here.
Tyric's voice softened, heavy with empathy. "What really happened, Tesmee?" he asked, his words laced with a curiosity that was edged with something else—something deeper, more personal.
Tesmee's laughter came out bitter, sharp, and she drained the rest of her glass, slamming it down on the table. "Let me tell you a story," she said, her voice low and cold.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes distant as she relived the horror of that night. "I was at my grandmother's, out of the city. I was just a kid, only four years old. My father's men came to get me, said it was time to head back home. I didn't know it then, but that was the last time I'd see my family intact."
Her eyes glazed over as she spoke, each word feeling like a heavy weight pressing on her chest. "When we got back, the gates were open, the alarm blaring. I saw the bodies. My father's men—dead. I tried to run inside, but one of them held me back. We waited while they checked the house. Ten minutes passed, and when they came back… they told me everything was gone."
Her voice cracked as the memory tore through her. "They were all dead, Tyric. Everyone. My father, my mother, my brothers. Gone."
She paused, her breath ragged as she fought to maintain control. "I was taken back to my grandparents' place, but it was too late. They were dead, too. My life... it ended that night."
The words came out like a dam breaking, but no matter how hard she tried, they couldn't wash away the pain.
"None of it makes sense. I don't know why I'm still here, why I survived, why I'm the one who has to carry this weight. But I do. And I'm not going to let anyone take what's mine, Tyric."
Her voice was a sharp whisper, her eyes locking onto his with fire. "And if you think for a second that this partnership will stop me from taking what's mine, you're wrong."
Tyric's expression was unreadable, but the tension between them crackled like an electric storm. He stood up, moving closer, his presence overwhelming. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch surprisingly gentle, despite the storm of emotions in the room.
"You're a strong woman, Tesmee," he said, his voice low and sincere. "What you've been through... few could survive it. But you've come out the other side, stronger. That's something rare."
Tesmee's eyes held his, unflinching. "I'm the beginning of the end," she whispered. "I'll finish what the Hales started and what my father couldn't finish."
His gaze softened, something like respect flickering in his eyes. He stood and moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch solid and reassuring. "You don't have to do this alone."
Tesmee met his eyes. She didn't speak. Her body, her mind, her very soul screamed for a different path. One of vengeance. One of power.
Tyric pulled back and returned to his seat. He studied her carefully. "We've already begun handling some things. You're not the only one with a stake in this game."
She didn't blink. "What happens if I refuse?" Her words were almost playful, but they carried a sharp edge.
Tyric's expression shifted, unreadable again. He didn't flinch. "I didn't ask for your permission. But we're already acting. The Hales are already in our sights."
Tesmee leaned forward, her gaze intense. "I think it's time the sins of the past were paid for."
Tyric's voice was low, determined. "And we'll be the ones to make sure it happens."
The tension between them was electric. The unspoken understanding was clear. The alliance wasn't just about business—it was about revenge.
Tesmee's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Then let's get to work."
Tesmee's gaze met Tyric's, and she nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose I can accept your offer of assistance in this matter," she said, her voice measured. Tyric's expression was one of satisfaction, and he replied, "I would be more than pleased to lend my support."