Three dots appeared. Typing.
[Dark Psychology: What type of strippers?]
Alex grinned.
[The Lord of Chaos: The kind who use their boobs as weapon]
The response was instant.
[Dark Psychology: I’m coming with a team.]
[Dark Psychology: 10 minutes.]
[Dark Psychology: Btw, what type of negative energy are they collecting?]
Alex paused.
Typed back.
[The Lord of Chaos: Huh?]
[Dark Psychology: These practitioners feed on negative emotions. Convert them to power. The one at the black market used fear. What about these guys?]
Alex’s eyes widened.
Understanding clicked.
He thought back.
Constant insults.
Constant belittling.
Breaking people down.
Making them cry.
Making them rage.
[The Lord of Chaos: Anger and sadness, I think. Maybe both.]
[Dark Psychology: Got it. That helps. See you in 10.]
[Dark Psychology: Also, we should probably change these codes. My wife saw them. She’s not happy.]
Alex grinned.
Typed back.
[The Lord of Chaos: Hehe. No.]
Lilian’s face turned red.
She’d been peeking at his phone.
Reading the chat.
When Alex turned toward her—
She jerked her head back. Fast.
Face burning.
Use boobs as weapons...?
How did I never think of that...
Her mind already racing.
Alex noticed her expression.
Raised an eyebrow.
"You okay?"
"Fine!"
Voice too high.
"Totally fine!"
Looked away.
The receptionist approached.
Smile bright.
Led them toward the back.
Through corridors.
To the ceremony hall.
Backstage entrance.
Arrange them on a perfect sofa.
Hidden.
But could see everything.
The stage. Bright lights. Professional setup.
Audience seated. Hundreds of people.
Authors. Staff. Investors.
Soon, the ceremony began.
Host walked on. Applause.
"Welco to the WebNoble Annual Awards!"
Cheers.
"Let’s celebrate our incredible authors!"
More applause.
Awards started.
Bronze tier authors first.
Nas called. People walked up.
Received plaques.
Shook hands with JB.
Who stood center stage.
Smiling.
Caras flashing.
Professional photographers everywhere.
Video caras recording.
Everything docunted.
Silver tier next.
Sa routine.
More caras.
More lights.
Gold tier.
The energy shifted.
These were big nas.
Real earners.
JB’s smile wider now.
Because these made him money.
Finally—
"And now, our Platinum Award!"
The host’s voice rose.
"Our youngest Platinum author ever!"
"Give it up for Michael!"
The crowd erupted.
Standing ovation.
Caras swiveled. Focused on the stage entrance.
Michael walked on.
Tall. Composed.
But his hands trembled.
His step is unsteady, slow.
He almost slipped once.
Finally, he reached center stage.
The host handed him a trophy.
Large. Gleaming.
"Congratulations, Michael! Any words?"
Michael took the mic.
His hand shook.
Voice ca out rough.
"Thank you."
Pause.
His eyes scanned the crowd.
Front rows: executives. Investors. People who didn’t know his na a year ago.
Middle rows: successful authors. Staff. Polite smiles.
Back corner—
Almost hidden behind a pillar.
Flora.
Alone.
Her seat separated from everyone else.
Like quarantine.
Like punishnt.
She wore a simple dress. Navy blue. Nothing fancy,but beautiful.
Like a girl.
The kind who sat quietly in the back of class.
Who lent you notes without asking for anything back.
Who celebrated your wins like they were hers.
Who..like Peter parker but not Spiderman.
Her hands folded in her lap. Gripping each other.
Head down.
Michael’s throat tightened.
"To everyone who truly supported ."
His voice cracked slightly.
Flora’s head lifted. Just a little.
Their eyes t across the distance.
Across the sea of people.
Michael continued.
"The people who believed in ."
His voice stronger now.
"When no one else did."
Flora’s eyes widened.
Her lips trembled.
Tried to smile.
But couldn’t hold it.
Her face crumpled.
Tears spilled.
Silent streams down her cheeks.
She covered her mouth with one hand.
The other still gripping her dress.
Shoulders shaking.
She looked down again. Fast.
Her whole body trembled.
Michael saw it all.
Every tear.
Every shake.
His chest constricted.
Pain.
Rage.
Helplessness.
The woman who’d saved him.
Who’d built him up.
Who’d loved him.
Sitting there.
Crying.
Alone.
Punished for helping him.
His hand gripped the trophy.
Knuckles white.
He wanted to say more.
Wanted to shout her na.
Tell everyone.
But the host was already taking the mic back.
"Wonderful! Now, tradition dictates—"
Michael’s jaw clenched.
"Wonderful! Now, tradition dictates—"
Gestured to JB.
"A handshake with our chief editor!"
"The man behind our success!"
Applause.
Caras repositioned. All angles covered.
This was the money shot.
The main photo.
JB stepped forward.
His hand extended.
Smile wide. Perfect for caras.
Michael turned.
Faced him.
The trophy in his left hand.
JB’s hand waiting.
The audience watching.
Caras recording.
Everything.
Michael’s arm started to rise.
But his body tensed.
Every muscle rigid.
JB leaned in.
Face still smiling.
Whisper.
Only Michael could hear.
"By the way..."
Voice low. Venomous.
"Flora. Your little girlfriend."
Pause.
"I tried to have so fun with her last week."
Michael’s eyes widened.
His hand stopped.
"She refused. Pity."
JB’s smile never wavered.
"Crying. Begging. Screaming even."
Caras flashing.
"You should’ve seen her face."
Still smiling.
"Such loyalty. Such devotion."
Leaned even closer.
"So I put a little sothing in her water."
His breath on Michael’s ear.
"Slow-acting poison."
"Colorless. Tasteless."
"Ten years. Maybe less."
"She’ll waste away."
"Organ failure."
"Doctors won’t know why."
Pulled back slightly.
"And no one will ever trace it back to ."
Patted Michael’s shoulder again.
"Oh, and when she was begging..."
Pause.
"Crying on her knees..."
"She said sothing interesting."
His smile widened.
"She’s pregnant."
Michael’s heart stopped.
Everything stopped.
His knees buckled.
Barely caught himself.
"What..."
Voice barely a whisper.
"What did you say?"
JB’s smile widened.
"Oh."
"He doesn’t know"
JB pulled back.
Face normal again.
Patted Michael’s shoulder.
"Congratulations, champ!"
Loud. For the caras.
His hand still extended.
Waiting.
Michael’s fist trembled.
White knuckles.
Blood dripping from his palm.
Where his nails pierced skin.
His arm still half-raised.
The handshake inches away.
Caras everywhere.
Recording.
Flashing.
Waiting for the mont.
Michael looked at that hand.
Then at JB’s face.
That fake smile.
Those dead eyes.
Enjoying this.
Savoring it.
Then back at Flora.
Still crying.
Hand on her stomach.
Protecting what she could.
What.. They could.
Michael’s whole body shook.
Violently.
Every muscle screaming.
His vision blurred.
Red.
Everything red.
His chest heaved.
Breathing ragged.
Broken.
His hand moved.
Toward JB’s.
Closer.
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