Throne of Vengeance

10. Isabella

10.

Dark shadow

No one messes with what's mine  and stays alive to talk about it.

Intuition is interesting.

It’s like turbulent energy slamming into a hard object.Intuition can predict that you’ll lose the battle before it starts.i

I don’t lose battles. I never will.

As I stare at the pieces on the chessboard, I can't help but feel a sense of superiority. The black and white squares mirror the duality of my own twisted mind. Just as my nature is to manipulate and deceive, and what better game to indulge in than one that requires strategy and cunning?

I move the pieces with precision, calculating every potential outcome. The thrill of outsmarting an invisible opponent fuels my ego, reminding me of my own intellect and cruelty. The pieces are mere pawns in my grand plan, to be sacrificed without hesitation for the ultimate victory.

As the game progresses, I can't help but relish in the chaos and destruction I am causing. Each move brings me closer to checkmate, a satisfying conclusion to my twisted game. The empty room echoes with the sound of my laughter, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within me.

Chess is not just a game to me, it is a reflection of who I am – a master manipulator, a cold and calculated sociopath. And as I make my final move, sealing my victory, I can't help but revel in the darkness that consumes me. For in this moment, I am truly alive.

I knocked the white queen with the black king.Hmm. It feels good to knock down queens.

I lift her up, let her stand proudly in the middle of the board, then I knock her down again.It doesn’t feel as good as the first time.This is how addicts feel. It’s almost impossible to recreate the first high,but they keep chasing it anyway.

I should’ve known better than to run after an imaginary high.The light goes on in the lounge area, and I blink.

Marco stops at the entrance. He’s wearing black trousers and a button-down. A mug of coffee hangs from his hand. He’s probably pulling an all-nighter. I’m surprised he didn’t stay at his company’s office.

His eyes narrow on me.

He doesn’t like it when I stay in the dark. Usually, I’d avoid triggering his red alarms.

But I don’t give a fuck today.

I saw her going, I saw her crying, I saw her hurt. It took every self control not to go to her and ask her about who made her cry. I wanted to kill that bastard who let that fucking tear in her beautiful brown eyes.

There is a reason why I left from there,Not because I wanted to stop. Fuck no. But because I knew I would freak her out more than I already did.

I would push her to the road of no return.

She was right there, sitting there and  She glanced up at me with tears, anger and fear in her eyes, and it took all my self-restraint to leave.

Because at that moment? I was tempted to make her cry more.

Hurt more.

Break more.

I tell myself that I don’t really want to hurt her. That, deep down, Isabella is special. But the harder I look at her, each time she engraves herself under my skin, the more persistent I become about ruining her.

Since I left her on that beach, I’ve been ‘blowing off steam’ — Marco's words not mine — by working out and playing chess. I had to stop myself from climbing back into her room and showing her the true blackness inside me.