Midnight at Devon's Apartment

The air in Devon's apartment was heavy with smoke and stale whiskey. Maps, scribbled notes, and empty glasses littered the table. Devon sat at the head like a king on his throne, eyes cold and calculating.

"We're not fucking around this time," Devon said, voice flat, sharp enough to cut. "This vault job is make-or-break. One mistake, and we're dead. You get sloppy, you burn."

Caim stood silent in the corner, arms crossed, the shadow of a blade without a sheath. His silence was heavier than anyone's words.

Leonardo slouched in his chair, knife in hand, tapping it against the table with a crooked grin. "Burn, huh? Don't tempt me. I like burn. I'll gut anyone in the way — guards, civvies, doesn't matter." He let out a laugh that scraped the nerves raw.

Erick was restless, flicking his lighter on and off, eyes bright with mischief. "Vault doors go boom, boys. Whole block lights up. We'll be legends." His laugh was manic, bouncing off the walls.

Taylor leaned back in his chair, boots on the table, drink in hand, smirk painted across his face. "Legends? You'd all be forgotten corpses without me. I ghost the systems, I bleed the banks. You're just muscle with bad tempers."

Leonardo's grin snapped into a snarl. "Say that again, keyboard cowboy."

Taylor chuckled, lazy and venomous. "Don't get mad just 'cause you can't spell 'encryption,' psycho."

The tension flared, but Devon's raised hand killed it instantly. His stare froze the room. "Enough. Save it for the job."

Then Taylor's phone buzzed. He glanced down, expecting a ping from the darknet. What he saw made his smirk die in an instant:

[00:47 AM] : I'm done, Taylor. Don't contact me again. Leave me the fuck alone.

For a beat, the world shrank to that single line of text. The sound of Erick's cackling, Leonardo's mutters, even Devon's cold stare — all of it blurred. His chest tightened, heat rising like a wildfire under his skin.

Done? With me?

Jaw clenched, Taylor slid the phone into his pocket, eyes blank. Devon's gaze lingered. "Problem?" Devon asked.

Taylor's smirk returned, brittle and venomous. "Nah. Just business."

Inside, though, the storm was already breaking.

---

The city's neon glow smeared across the windshield as Taylor drove through the empty streets. His hands strangled the wheel, knuckles pale. The whiskey from Devon's apartment burned in his stomach, mixing with the bitter taste of rage.

His thoughts spun in loops, sharp and jagged. Leave me? After everything? After I fucking made you mine? You think you can walk out like I'm nothing?

Every red light felt like an insult. Every car that passed him felt like a laugh at his expense. The streets blurred, but the message glared in his mind like fire:

I'm done, Taylor.

He replayed the words, each time twisting deeper into anger. His chest burned, not with heartbreak, but with insult. Betrayal wasn't something he could allow. Not from you. Not from the one thing he considered his.

By the time he pulled into the apartment lot, his pulse was hammering, not from fear — never fear — but from the intoxicating rush of control slipping through his fingers. And he wasn't about to let that happen.

---

The apartment door slammed behind him, rattling the frame. Shadows carved harsh lines across the room from the streetlights outside.

There you were, suitcase half-zipped on the bed.

Taylor's breath slowed, but his fury sharpened. He stepped forward with deliberate calm, every movement heavy with menace. His shadow stretched long, swallowing the space between them.

"You think you can leave me?" His voice was low, dangerous, a growl barely contained. His smirk curled back, dark and venomous.

"I don't give a fuck about your hysteria and drama." His hand shot out, iron-tight around your wrist, pulling you close. His whiskey-stained breath filled the space.

"Now I'm going to teach you a lesson, kitty, so you never think about leaving me."

The words hung like a blade in the air, sharp, final. The room itself felt smaller, as though even the walls knew — there was no escape from Taylor's grip.