The ancient, yellowed parchment violently trembled in Richard's hands.
The atmosphere inside the massive, sixtieth-floor executive office instantly collapsed into an absolute, suffocating vacuum. The terrifying, blood-red security warning still aggressively flashed on Clara's monitor, bathing Richard's hardened features in a sickly, crimson glow that looked exactly like fresh blood.
"I am going to ask you one final time, Clara." Richard's voice sliced cleanly through the dead silence. His tone wasn't a roar; it was a low, lethal vibration that threatened to physically rupture her eardrums. "Where exactly did you get this?"
Clara pressed her spine completely flat against the freezing, floor-to-ceiling glass window. Terrified, cold sweat poured down her back. There was absolutely no way out. She had to stand her ground and face this monster right now.
"From the massive boxes of physical archives you arrogantly ordered me to digitize," Clara fired back. Her voice violently trembled, but she defiantly tilted her chin up, glaring straight into his dark eyes. "That is your official, legally binding signature, Richard. You personally authorized the brutal murder of my father five years ago. You destroyed my family long before you ever ordered the hit on my little brother!"
Richard's eagle-like eyes didn't blink. He slowly lowered his gaze, staring back down at the Subject Termination Protocol. His dark eyes meticulously traced every single typed letter, every official corporate stamp, until they locked perfectly onto the aggressive stroke of ink above his own printed name.
Clara braced her entire body, fully anticipating a violent, explosive physical assault. She was entirely prepared for him to violently strangle her or simply hurl her straight through the glass window.
But then, something incredibly bizarre happened.
Something deep inside the untouchable ice monster violently cracked.
The massive hand holding the paper began to shake uncontrollably. It wasn't the aggressive tremor of pure, murderous rage. It was something infinitely darker, something profoundly, catastrophically devastating. Richard's breathing suddenly hitched violently, as if an invisible ghost had just slammed a solid iron pipe directly into his solar plexus.
Richard staggered one clumsy step backward. His hip violently slammed into the sharp edge of Clara's desk. The damning death warrant slipped from his numb fingers, fluttering silently to the polished marble floor.
Richard's right hand flew up, viciously clawing at the left side of his own chest. His massive fingers aggressively twisted and crushed the expensive fabric of his crisp white dress shirt.
"No..." Richard hissed weakly. His deep baritone voice completely shattered, entirely stripped of its absolute, tyrannical authority. "It wasn't me..."
Clara's brow furrowed in sharp, cynical confusion. What kind of twisted, pathetic performance is this? Is this ruthless CEO seriously trying to act his way out of hard, physical evidence?
But Clara's defensive fury violently died in her throat.
All the blood instantly drained from Richard's face, turning his skin a sickly, ashen gray. His lips took on a terrifying, bluish tint. Suddenly, Richard's knees completely gave out. He collapsed heavily onto the marble floor with a sickening thud. The towering, omnipotent predator who had never shown a single fraction of weakness to the world was now on his knees, bowing deeply as he desperately, brutally gasped for oxygen.
His breathing was incredibly rapid, erratic, and violently painful to listen to. He sounded exactly like a man drowning just beneath the surface of the ocean.
Richard Sterling was suffering a massive, catastrophic panic attack.
The roaring vengeance inside Clara's chest violently screamed at her to step back and watch. Let him choke. He deserves to die. He is a murderer.
Clara stood completely paralyzed. She stared down at the massive man currently curled up in agony beneath the shadows of his own empire. But as she watched Richard's face contort in absolute, unadulterated terror, a sliver of terrifying doubt began to rapidly creep into her brilliant mind.
The way he looked at that document... The sheer, catastrophic shock on his face had been far too visceral, too devastatingly real. The total psychological collapse she was witnessing could not possibly be faked. A true, cold-blooded sociopathic killer wouldn't physically break down upon seeing an old death warrant. A real killer would have instantly destroyed the paper and violently silenced her.
Richard frantically clawed at the plush carpet beneath him, desperately trying to anchor himself to a reality that was violently disintegrating. His massive chest heaved wildly, but the oxygen absolutely refused to enter his lungs.
Clara's inherent, undeniable humanity finally, violently overrode her hatred. She simply could not stand there and watch a human being choke to death on his own panic.
She rushed forward and dropped to her knees directly in front of her husband.
"Richard!" Clara commanded sharply, aggressively shoving her vengeance aside for a single second.
He didn't respond. His eyes were wide and completely vacant, staring blindly at the floor. The man's brilliant mind was actively being shredded by violently colliding memories and horrific realizations. His life's work had just been catastrophically sabotaged by his own uncle, and now he was staring at his own signature weaponized to murder the father of the woman he had just married. He was entirely surrounded by traitors. Richard's entire universe had just violently imploded in a matter of minutes.
Clara forcefully reached out with both hands. She firmly grabbed the sides of Richard's face, his skin slick with freezing sweat. She aggressively forced his head up, demanding he meet her gaze.
"Richard Sterling, look at me right now!" Clara ordered, elevating her voice to brutally cut through the chaotic static screaming inside his head.
The dark, bottomless eyes that usually radiated a lethal, terrifying intimidation now stared back at her with pure, unadulterated desperation. Richard opened his mouth, desperately trying to formulate a word, but only a pathetic, choking gasp escaped.