The grand ballroom was awash in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and the elegant evening gowns of the city’s elite. Laughter filled the air as the wealthy and powerful conversed about trivial matters. It was a nightmare of celebration, as tonight was the charity ball held in honor of the wealthy benefactors.

Damien Van sat in the middle of the room, completely uninterested in the bustling scene around him. He was a young, wealthy CEO who had built his company from the ground up. Tall and commanding, with slicked-back hair, his sharp eyes scanned the faces of the elite, taking in everything without a hint of emotion.

“Sir,” came a voice from beside him. Damien turned his eyes toward Charles, his trusted right-hand man. Charles was not just an ordinary employee; he was one of the top elites in the company, the man who would take over if anything ever happened to Damien. "Don’t you think you should mingle with the others?"

Charles’s question was polite, but there was an edge of concern. He knew Damien wasn’t one for small talk, especially with people he considered beneath him, but appearances had to be maintained.

“And talk to who?” he asked, looking around the room again. “This place is filled with people indulging themselves at a charity ball—how ironic.”

There was another reason he didn't want to talk to them.

Shifting his gaze across the crowd, he imagined the connections that each one had. The threads intertwined with each other, connecting together like a vast spider web, but they all led back to him. These people owed their fortunes to his maneuvering. He had helped them rise to the top, and he could just as easily bring them down.

“When will they be announcing the contributions?” Damien asked, glancing down at his watch, the impatience clear in his voice.

“They should be starting any moment, sir.”

Almost on cue, a woman stepped onto the stage, tapping the mic to grab the attention of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The voice of the evening’s host, a well-known philanthropist with silver hair and a polished smile, echoed through the room. The chatter quickly died down, and those still standing found their seats. “Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate generosity, but to honor the vision and dedication of a man who has done more for this city than we could have ever imagined. Please join me in welcoming to the stage, Mr. Damien Costello!”

A round of applause erupted as Damien stood, a genuine smile on his face as he made his way to the stage. He moved with the ease and confidence of a man well-acquainted with the spotlight.

“Thank you kindly, Director,” Damien began, taking the microphone from the woman. “And thank you, everyone, for attending tonight. It's an honor to be here with other like-minded individuals who also want to make this city a better place.”

The crowd responded with a wave of appreciative murmurs. Damien paused, allowing the moment to settle before continuing.

“While I have the stage tonight, I want to talk about my newest project,” Damien continued, his voice resonating through the ballroom. He had their attention now. Every eye in the room was on him, every ear tuned to his words.

“As you know, when I started my company, I was driven by the belief that innovation should serve the greater good, that my products should be available for the common man. And it is with that in mind that I’m proud to announce the development of a new type of insulin.”

There was a slight stir in the air, particularly from one man who was clearly glaring daggers at him. Damien looked at the man, a smug smile crossing his face as he continued.

“For too long, this medical necessity has been out of reach of the common man. Tonight, that ends. This insulin,” he said, “is incredibly cheap to produce, a fraction of the cost of what’s currently on the market. Yet it is just as effective, if not more so. We are entering a new era where access to necessary medical treatments will no longer be a privilege of the wealthy, but a right for all.”

The applause was immediate and enthusiastic, not that they had much of a choice—he had made it so. Damien knew this announcement would make waves, not just in the medical community, but across the world. It would solidify his reputation as a leader, a visionary, and a benefactor of the people.

“As we move forward, I hope that you all will join me in making this a reality. Together, we’ll make this city a better place.”

The room once again erupted into applause, much louder than the last time, filled with support for his goals. Handing the microphone back to the director, he walked back to his table, taking his phone from Charles’s hands.

Damien took his seat, his phone now in hand, as the applause gradually died down around him. He glanced at his screen, reading the notifications that had begun to flood in. Congratulations from his allies, threats from his rivals, and more than a few interview requests from reporters.

“How did I do, Charles?” he asked, handing his phone back to him. Charles shook his head, grabbing the phone from his boss’s hands with a wry smile. “I could see that grin from here. Did you really have to rile him up so much?”

Damien turned to look at the restless man, who was now loudly talking into his earpiece. Mark Copperfield, the head of a few stubborn medical companies that had resisted Damien’s advances, was clearly agitated. Damien couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Of course I did,” Damien replied, his tone laced with pride and confidence. “He needed to be reminded of his place.”

Charles sighed, choosing not to argue with his boss when he was in one of these moods. “He's not going to let this slide. He may have few connections, but they run just as deep as yours.”

“That may be true,” Damien conceded, his gaze still fixed on Copperfield, “but that's all he has. He has no vision outside of profit.”

Damien enjoyed playing men like him, pushing their buttons until they popped. The truth is, he didn't have any real reason to make cheaper insulin outside of making the man mad. By publicly announcing his new insulin project, Damien had effectively cornered Copperfield, forcing him into a defensive position.

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“He'll fight back,” Charles warned, his voice low so as not to draw any attention. “They always do.”

“Let him,” Damien replied, his voice cold. “He can try all he wants, but in the end, he’s just delaying the inevitable. This city is mine, Charles. And anyone who stands in my way will learn that the hard way.”

As he spoke, Copperfield's voice rose in frustration, his gestures getting more animated. He was most likely trying to call in favors, trying to scare Damien into giving in. But Damien had already anticipated this.

“Make sure our men are ready,” Damien said quietly, his tone now all business. “I want every possible angle covered—legal, financial, and otherwise.” His voice hinted at his true meaning.

Charles nodded, understanding the weight of the task ahead. “I’ll get on it right away, sir.”

“Good. Now let’s get out of here. I heard the office has donuts,” Damien added with a dry chuckle, breaking the tension that had settled between him and Charles.

Charles allowed himself a smile, recognizing Damien’s way of signaling that the night’s business was done, at least for now. “I’ll have the car brought around,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket and rising from his seat.

As they left the ballroom, Damien exchanged goodbyes with a few key figures, his demeanor as calm and confident as ever. But underneath, he was already thinking about his next steps. Getting rid of Copperfield would look suspicious, but with the public on his side, he was sure nobody would question the man's whereabouts.

The city was quiet as they exited, the night air cool against his skin. The crowd that had once surrounded the building was gone, as if they never existed. His limousine was already waiting, its engine purring softly, Charles opening the door as he approached. Damien slipped inside, settling into the plush leather seats as Charles joined him.

Once the door was closed and they were on their way, Damien allowed himself to relax slightly, though his thoughts remained focused. “Let's start with the legal teams. I want them to coordinate with PR to spin anything Copperfield says. I want to be kept up to date with any moves he's making.”

Charles nodded, already making notes on his tablet. “Understood, sir. And the financial angle?”

“Begin quietly acquiring shares in any of his associated companies. We’ll squeeze him from the inside out, make them conform.”

“And the other measures?” Charles asked, his tone careful, knowing exactly what Damien was referring to.

“... If he steps out of line, make sure he regrets it,” Damien said, his gaze fixed on the cityscape outside the window.

Charles nodded again, understanding the unspoken orders. It wasn’t the first time Damien had to resort to less-than-legal methods to maintain his position, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Still up for those donuts?” Charles reminded him with a hint of amusement as they neared the office.

“Ooh, I hope they left a couple with cream filling!” Damien perked up. “Or maybe one with brown sugar?”

As the limousine pulled up to the front of Damien’s office building, the tension of the past conversation was gone, the simplicity of donuts enough to distract the two of them. Who didn't like indulging themselves? He was only human, after all.

The driver stepped out, opening the door for them. Damien and Charles exited the car, immediately making their way to the front door. The lobby was quiet at this hour, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by the muted hum of security systems and the soft overhead lighting.

“Late nights like these,” Damien mused, heading towards the elevator, “they truly suck the life out of you.”

Charles chuckled, pressing the button for the top floor. “You act like you don’t get 8 hours of sleep a night, on top of a thirty minute nap.”

The elevator doors slid shut, and they began their ascent, the silence between them comfortable.

The elevator chimed as they reached the top floor, the door sliding open to reveal private offices. Walking past the empty cubicles, they made their way to the break room, where a small box of donuts waited on the counter.

“Jackpot!” Damien exclaimed with a grin, walking over to the box and taking out one of the cream-filled donuts. But as he took a bite, savoring the sweetness, something felt off. It was subtle at first, a slight metallic taste that didn’t belong.

“Charles, do you—” Damien started, but the words were caught in his throat as a sharp pain shot through his chest.

Charles turned, his expression shifting from casual amusement to concern in an instant. “Sir?”

Damien staggered, one hand clutching the counter for support. His vision blurred, the room spinning around him as the pain intensified. He tried to speak, but his voice was strangled, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Charles rushed to his side, catching him just as his legs gave out. “Damien!” he shouted, his voice laced with fear.

The realization hit them both like a sledgehammer. Poison. It was the only explanation. But who—

In a horrifying moment of clarity, Charles felt something cold pressed against his back. He didn't even get the chance to turn around; without warning, the gun went off, the sound deafening in the confined space. Charles felt the impact, the searing pain spreading through his body as he collapsed beside Damien.

The assailant didn’t stay long, casually taking a donut off the counter before walking to the elevator, leaving them alone on the ground. The office was silent once more, save for the desperate, labored breaths of Damien as he lay on the cold floor. The taste of metal still lingered in his mouth, the pain in his chest nothing compared to the pain of losing his right-hand man.

But then, breaking through the oppressive silence, a sound began to fill the room—a low, mocking laugh, echoing off the walls and seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was a rich laughter, dripping with malice and amusement.

“Ah, Damien Cadavera,” a voice purred, its tone smooth and mocking. “So proud, so untouchable… and now, brought low by the very hubris you wore like a crown.”

Damien tried to lift his head, to see the source of the voice, but his body refused to obey. He could only listen as the laughter continued to fill the room.

A figure slowly began to materialize in the shadowed corner of the room, its form too hazy for Damien to make out. But what he could see were its piercing green eyes that seemed to look into his very soul.

“Tsk tsk, you climbed so high, Damien,” it said, envy dripping from its voice. “But pride always comes before the fall, doesn’t it? And what a fall this is…”

The hazy figure knelt next to him, its green eyes never once leaving his. Damien could feel an icy chill emanating from it, a stark contrast to the fire of the poison in his veins.

“I've watched you for so long,” it whispered, its voice soft but laced with venom. “All that power, all that success… it made you blind to the dangers lurking in the shadows. You never saw me coming, did you?”

Damien wanted to say something, but all that came out were gasps and croaks that sent the figure reeling in laughter.

“I didn’t come here to kill you, Damien,” the demon continued, rising to its feet with a smirk. “No, that pleasure belongs to another. I came to see the mighty fall, to witness the moment when everything you built crumbles into nothing… and I want to see more!”

The demon stood up fully, its form towering over Damien. “Men like you should be punished, and I've got just the punishment for you. This is just the beginning,” it said with a sinister grin. “There’s so much more to come, so much more for you to lose. And I will be there for every agonizing moment.”

With a final, mocking laugh, the demon began to fade into the shadows, its presence lingering like a dark cloud. “Enjoy what little time you have left, Damien—no, Balthazar. I’ll be watching.”

As consciousness slipped away from him, one thought burned in his mind—a thought of rage, of a deep, smoldering desire for revenge. The demon wanted to see him suffer, to see him fall, but Damien wasn’t done yet. Not if he had any say in it.

And with that final thought, the darkness claimed him.