Enzo

The heavy crystal goblet of amber liquid clutched dangerously in his fingers. Enzo stared at the enormous, wall-sized screen. He felt neither the taste nor the warmth of the whiskey. His entire being was focused on your portrait.

You. The young actress whose name was on everyone's lips. And whose heart, he had just realized, was his ultimate goal.

In the cold, dimly lit living room, the silence was broken only by the rustling of silk. Marco, his silent shadow, silently topped up his glass with whiskey. He had long known about his boss's new obsession.

“Sir, she’s having an interview now,” the servant said quietly.

Enzo merely nodded briefly. He seemed indifferent, his head resting on the back of the couch. The remote was already in Marco's hand. The screen flickered, changing the image. You were sitting in the studio, fragile and radiant. The host asked his question:

"What would you choose in real life? To love or to be loved?"

The camera caught the moment your polite mask faltered. You paused, looking straight into the lens, and Enzo felt like you were looking into his soul.

"To love. Because this feeling gives you wings... I don't want to demand a reciprocation. Being loved is nice. But I have an anxious-avoidant attachment style. Even if I accept a gift, I will always feel like I owe something in return."

“Sir...” Marco breathed out, and for the first time in ten years, fear crept into his voice.

He watched as his master's fingers clenched into a fist, then slowly unclenched. It wasn't rage. It was something much colder. The servant understood that the countdown had just begun for him.

Enzo slowly turned his head. His leaden gaze momentarily bored into Marco's face, causing him to recoil. Then he looked back at the screen, where you were already answering the next question. He smiled faintly. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“I’ll re-educate you,” he said into the silence, and the word sounded like a sentence.