The Sky Palace Hotel rises from Olandria's financial district like a monument to wealth I'll never understand. All marble and gold, with doormen in uniforms that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Used to cost more than my monthly rent.
I don't belong here. Every step across the polished lobby reminds me that I'm playing in a league so far above my head I can't even see the top.
"Mr. Virelli?" A concierge with a practiced smile approaches. "Mr. Carradine is expecting you."
Of course he told them I was coming. Of course he's planned every detail.
The elevator ride to the penthouse feels endless. Forty-three floors of rising dread. Each ding of passing floors sounds like a countdown timer. My reflection in the polished steel doors shows a man wearing his only decent shirt and borrowed tie, trying to look like he belongs in a world of private elevators and penthouse meetings.
The doors open directly into the apartment. Not a hallway, not a foyer - straight into the largest living space I've ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling windows span the entire wall, offering a view of Olandria that makes the city look like a glittering toy set below.
"Mr. Virelli." An elegant waiter in a perfectly tailored black suit appears beside me. "If you would follow me, please."
He leads me through the penthouse to a balcony that overlooks the city. A table for two is set with crystal glasses and silver that catches the light from the setting sun. White linens. Fresh flowers. It looks like a romantic dinner for two.
This feels like a last meal.
"Mr. Carradine has instructed us to take excellent care of you," the waiter says. "What would you like to drink?"
My hands are shaking. I can't trust whatever game this is. "Just water."
"Are you certain? We have an excellent wine selection—"
"Water is fine."
He nods and disappears. Returns with a crystal glass filled with ice water that probably costs more than most people's groceries. The glass is so clean it's almost invisible.
Then I wait. Five minutes that feel like five hours. The city spreads out below me, millions of lights beginning to twinkle as darkness falls. From this height, my problems seem small. Microscopic. Maybe that's the point.
His scent reaches me first. Expensive cologne mixed with something that's purely him - the same smell that used to comfort me when we studied together in college. Now it makes my stomach clench with dread.
The sound of leather shoes on marble. Deliberate. Measured. Like a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run.
Then he appears in the doorway, and my breath catches in my throat.
Six feet eleven inches of controlled power. His dreadlocks are pulled back in an elegant ponytail that shows off the sharp angles of his face. The black suit fits him like it was designed specifically for his body, which it probably was. When he smiles, I feel my body respond in ways that terrify me.
My body remembers him before my mind does.
"Theodore." His voice is warm, genuinely pleased. Somehow that's more frightening than anger would be.
He shrugs out of his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. A hand appears immediately to retrieve it - staff moving like shadows, invisible until needed.
Valentinius takes the chair across from me with fluid grace. Up close, his hazel eyes hold depths I never noticed in college. Or maybe those depths are new, carved by years of wealth and power and whatever turned my best friend into this elegant stranger.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes us both look up. Three waiters rush onto the balcony carrying trays laden with food. Elaborate dishes, fresh fruit, multiple wine bottles. They move efficiently, covering our small table with enough food for a dinner party.
Valentinius watches them work, then speaks quietly. "Did he order?"
The lead waiter freezes. "No, sir."
Something changes in Valentinius's expression. Like storm clouds gathering on a clear day.
His hand moves so fast I barely see it. The wine bottle connects with the waiter's skull with a sound like a melon hitting concrete. Blood and red wine spray across the white tablecloth, mixing until I can't tell which is which.
The waiter staggers, crimson streaming down his face. Red wine or blood, impossible to know.
"You're fired." Valentinius's voice remains conversational. "Get out of my sight."
The man stumbles away, pressing a napkin to his head. Blood seeps through the white fabric.
Then Valentinius turns back to me with that same pleasant smile, like he didn't just assault someone with a wine bottle. The transformation is so sudden it makes my skin crawl.
The friend I knew never had this capacity for violence.
"Much better," he says as the remaining staff quickly clean up the broken glass and blood. "I do hate inefficiency."
A new waiter appears, younger, more nervous. "What can I get for you, Mr. Virelli?"
Before I can answer, Valentinius raises a hand. "This isn't a restaurant. He orders what he wants, my chef makes it for him."
My voice comes out smaller than intended. "Steak?"
"Excellent choice." The waiter scurries away like he's afraid of becoming the next victim.
Valentinius serves himself from the remaining dishes with casual elegance. I try to speak, to apologize, to explain.
"Valent, I need to—"
"No." His voice cuts through my words like a blade. "No business during dinner. Eat first. We'll talk after."
So I sit in silence while he eats, my stomach clenched too tight to think about food. When the steak arrives, I force myself to take bites. I haven't eaten a real meal in days, but everything tastes like ash in my mouth.
I steal glances at him while we eat. He looks relaxed, content, occasionally watching me with the kind of interest a scientist might show a lab rat. In college, our dinners were filled with conversation about classes, dreams, stupid jokes that made us laugh until we couldn't breathe.
This feels like dining with a beautiful stranger who happens to wear my best friend's face.
When the plates are cleared, he leans back in his chair and smiles. "Now. I'm all ears."
"I heard you visited my office the other day. Screaming. Demanding to see me."
The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Valent, I'm so sorry. What I did was—"
I drop to my knees beside his chair, words pouring out like a confession. "I know I betrayed you. I know I fucked up. Please, just forgive me."
His hand moves faster than thought. The slap across my face snaps my head to the side, stars exploding behind my eyes.
Before I can recover, his hand is around my throat. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, carries me to the table, slams me down on top of it. Crystal shatters around me. Silver clatters to the marble floor.
His face is inches from mine, hazel eyes gone dark with rage.
"You have the nerve," he whispers, voice deadly quiet, "to fuck my wife."
His grip tightens around my throat. I can barely breathe.
"You have the nerve to go to my office building and make a scene."
Spots dance at the edges of my vision.
"You have the nerve to come to my home, sit at my table, eat my food."
He releases my throat and I gasp for air, rolling off the table onto my hands and knees.
"You are the most shameless fool I have ever witnessed in my life."
Then he laughs. Actually laughs, head thrown back, the sound echoing off the glass walls. It's genuine amusement mixed with something unhinged, and it chills me to the bone.
He turns and walks into the penthouse, stripping off his clothes as he goes. The shirt hits the floor. Cufflinks next. Each piece of clothing abandoned like it means nothing.
I follow him on unsteady legs, desperation overriding fear. "Take your anger out on me! Not my career!"
"I'm the life support for my family!" My voice cracks. "Please, Valent. They depend on me."
I drop to my knees again, this time bowing my head to the marble floor. "What do you want me to do? I committed a crime, so I should pay for it. Tell me what you want."
He stops undressing and looks down at me. Something shifts in his expression.
"Anything?" The word holds dangerous promise.
"Yes. Anything."
He disappears into what must be the kitchen. I hear drawers opening, metal clinking against metal. When he returns, he's holding a carving knife.
The blade catches the light from the city below, throwing reflections across the walls like trapped lightning.
"Maybe I should cut off the fingers that touched her." His voice is conversational again, like we're discussing the weather. "Or the tongue that kissed her."
He approaches me slowly, knife held casually at his side. I scramble backward until I hit the wall.
This isn't my friend anymore. This is someone else entirely. Something else.
"Please, Valent—"
The knife flies past my head, embedding itself in the wall inches from my ear. The handle vibrates from the impact.
He laughs again, that same unhinged sound. "Your face. Priceless."
I can't stop shaking. In college, this was the guy who walked me to classes when I overslept. Who shared his problems with me over cheap beer and pizza. Who I considered a brother.
I destroyed something beautiful, and this is what's left.
"I'll do anything," I whisper. "Anything for your forgiveness."
His eyes light up with something that makes my blood turn to ice.
"You belong to me now." He moves closer, each step deliberate. "I own you."
"Your flesh, your blood, your bones. No questions asked."
"If you break this deal, I'll destroy everything you love."
He pulls out his phone, shows me photos. My parents' house. My sister walking to class. My ex-girlfriend Sarah at work.
"I know every inch of your life, Theodore. Every person you care about, every debt they owe, every vulnerability they have."
More photos. Official documents. Bank statements. Medical records.
"I'll pour gasoline on everything you hold dear and make you watch it burn."
The phone disappears back into his pocket. He steps closer until I can feel the heat from his body.
"Do we have a deal?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"I need to hear you say it."
"Yes." The word comes out like a sob. "Yes, we have a deal."
He extends his right hand toward my face. On his ring finger sits an antique silver ring with a stone that appears almost black in the dim light. But when the city lights catch it, deep red bleeds through the darkness like velvet.
"Kiss it."
The humiliation burns through me worse than any physical pain. I lean forward and press my lips to the stone. It's cold against my mouth, and tastes like metal and power and the death of everything I used to be.
He squats down until we're eye level, his hand still extended, ring still inches from my face.
"You just made a deal with the devil," he whispers in my ear. "And this devil is ruthless and loves to play."
Cold spreads through my body like poison. I can't feel my hands, my feet, anything. I'm freezing from the inside out.
He stands and walks away, casual as anything. "See yourself out."
I stumble to the elevator on legs that don't feel attached to my body. The doors close and I'm falling, falling, forty-three floors back down to earth.
By the time I reach the lobby, I have my hand clamped over my mouth to keep from vomiting. The doorman opens the street door for me with professional courtesy, like I'm just another wealthy guest leaving another pleasant evening.
Outside, the city air hits my face like a slap. People walk by on the sidewalk, heading to dinner, to drinks, to normal lives where they haven't just sold their souls to the devil.
What the fuck did I just sign myself up for?
I look back up at the Sky Palace, counting floors until I find the penthouse windows. Somewhere up there, Valentinius is probably pouring himself a drink, satisfied with the evening's work.
I belong to him now. My flesh, my blood, my bones.
The ring is still cold against my lips, and I know I'll never forget the taste of that dark stone bleeding red like velvet.
Never forget the moment I kissed my freedom goodbye.