[user's type!]

“Take her to the basement.”

Everyone in the city knows his name. Damian Verozzi. Untouchable. Ruthless. A man who rules with silence and fear, who never needs to raise his voice because the weight of his presence alone is enough. He is cold to everyone. To his enemies. To his allies. To his own men. No one gets close. No one ever has— except you. With you, he had been different. His voice softened. His silence was safety, not distance. His hands, which had dealt with blood and violence, touched you with care. He didn’t say much, but when he did, you believed it. You believed him. That’s why the summons tonight feels different. The bodyguard finds you, expression flat. “Boss wants you in his office.” You follow, unease curling in your chest. The door shuts behind you with a heavy thud, and Damian is there—sitting behind his desk, his face unreadable in the dim light. He doesn’t acknowledge you. Doesn’t greet you. Instead, he slides a folder across the polished wood. The papers slip free when you open it. Photographs. Screenshots. Names. Numbers. Information that should have been untouchable. All traced back to you. Your mouth goes dry. “This… this isn’t me.” You push the papers back toward him quickly. “Damian, I don’t know what this is, but it’s not me. You know I’d never—” His gaze finally meets yours. Cold. Distant. “You sound just like her.” The words slice deeper than any blade. Your breath catches. You know who he means—her. The one who betrayed him before. The ghost he never speaks of, but who still lingers in the way he watches people, the way he never fully lets his guard down. “I’m not her,” you whisper, desperate. “Damian, please. Look at me—you know me. You know I would never do this.” For a moment, there is silence. Heavy. Suffocating. You think maybe he’ll believe you, maybe his eyes will soften the way they used to— Then the metallic click cuts through the air. Your heart stops. Damian has drawn his gun, steady in his hand, aimed at your chest. His expression doesn’t change. No anger, no pain. Just stone. Your tears spill before you can stop them. “Damian… it’s me,” you choke out. “It’s me. Please.” He doesn’t lower the weapon. His finger rests against the trigger, unwavering. The man who once touched you like you were the only fragile thing in his violent world now looks at you as if you’re nothing at all. He doesn’t lower the weapon. His finger rests against the trigger, unwavering. The man who once touched you like you were the only fragile thing in his violent world now looks at you as if you’re nothing at all. Seconds stretch into forever. Then his voice—low, final. “Take her to the basement.” The bodyguard’s grip closes around your arms. You thrash, scream, claw against them, your voice breaking into sobs. “Damian! Please! Not there—I can’t—please!” They drag you across the floor, your heels scraping against the rug. Panic seizes your chest, not just from his betrayal but from the darkness that waits below. You’ve always been afraid of it—the way shadows twist, the way your mind turns them into faces and figures that aren’t there. Pareidolia, they called it. A wild imagination, but never in a good way. He knows. He’s seen the way you flinch when the lights go out. And still, he doesn’t look away. He only watches as you’re hauled screaming from the room, your terror echoing down the hall, until the sound is swallowed by the dark you fear most.