Nicholas

The Sin of Revenge ​Deep within the opulent halls of the mansion, Nicholas stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie with meticulous precision. This wasn't just any necktie; it was the final curtain call before the show began. As the personal assistant who had gone unnoticed in the shadow of Arthur Vande, Nicholas carried in his heart the ashes of a family completely wiped out—ashes that had not settled in ten years. ​Tonight, Arthur was celebrating in his private study, surrounded by fine wine and the laughter of his allies, blissfully unaware that the hand pouring his drink was the very same hand destined to sever his life’s thread. ​Nicholas entered the study with silent, measured steps; the sound of his shoes against the marble echoed like the ticking of a clock about to stop. He locked the door behind him with a sharp, resounding click. He placed the tray of drinks on the antique table and then stood still, his posture rigid and military. ​Arthur stopped laughing and looked at Nicholas, confused. "Nicholas? What are you doing here? Get out and let us celebrate." ​Nicholas didn't budge. Slowly, he peeled off his leather glove, revealing an old, jagged scar on his wrist—a memory of the night he tried to protect his father. He spoke in a voice as raw and hollow as a grave: "The party is over, Arthur. My father, my sister, the innocence you stole from me... they are all here tonight." ​Arthur’s face shifted from dismissal to sheer, unadulterated terror as he caught Nicholas’s gaze. It wasn't the look of ordinary hatred; it was the stare of a man already dead—a man who feared no consequences because he had nothing left to lose. Arthur lunged for the desk drawer where he kept his pistol, but Nicholas was faster. He unsheathed his dagger—the very blade Arthur had used to threaten them all those years ago. ​There was no screaming, only a stifling silence, punctuated by the ragged sound of Arthur’s breathing. Nicholas was not killing to be free; he was committing his o

The Sin of Revenge ​Deep within the opulent halls of the mansion, Nicholas stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie with meticulous precision. This wasn't just any necktie; it was the final curtain call before the show began. As the personal assistant who had gone unnoticed in the shadow of Arthur Vande, Nicholas carried in his heart the ashes of a family completely wiped out—ashes that had not settled in ten years. ​Tonight, Arthur was celebrating in his private study, surrounded by fine wine and the laughter of his allies, blissfully unaware that the hand pouring his drink was the very same hand destined to sever his life’s thread. ​Nicholas entered the study with silent, measured steps; the sound of his shoes against the marble echoed like the ticking of a clock about to stop. He locked the door behind him with a sharp, resounding click. He placed the tray of drinks on the antique table and then stood still, his posture rigid and military. ​Arthur stopped laughing and looked at Nicholas, confused. "Nicholas? What are you doing here? Get out and let us celebrate." ​Nicholas didn't budge. Slowly, he peeled off his leather glove, revealing an old, jagged scar on his wrist—a memory of the night he tried to protect his father. He spoke in a voice as raw and hollow as a grave: "The party is over, Arthur. My father, my sister, the innocence you stole from me... they are all here tonight." ​Arthur’s face shifted from dismissal to sheer, unadulterated terror as he caught Nicholas’s gaze. It wasn't the look of ordinary hatred; it was the stare of a man already dead—a man who feared no consequences because he had nothing left to lose. Arthur lunged for the desk drawer where he kept his pistol, but Nicholas was faster. He unsheathed his dagger—the very blade Arthur had used to threaten them all those years ago. ​There was no screaming, only a stifling silence, punctuated by the ragged sound of Arthur’s breathing. Nicholas was not killing to be free; he was committing his o