The rain didn't stop.
It poured all night, drumming against the mansion's windows, running down the glass like a thousand tears the house itself couldn't hold back. The corridors were heavy with silence, with grief that clung to the walls. Somewhere deep within, Matthew hadn't moved.
He was still in the lab.
Vinny stood by the doorway, the sterile light casting a pale glow across Matthew's face. His hair was damp from the rain and sweat, his eyes hollow, fixed on the still figure in front of him — the woman in the now-empty tank. The machines had gone silent hours ago. The liquid inside had drained away, leaving only cold glass and the faint scent of metal and antiseptic.
She was gone.
And Matthew hadn't said a word since.
Vinny's throat was tight. He wanted to say something — anything — but every word he tried to form dissolved before it reached his tongue. What comfort could he offer to a man whose only reason for breathing had just been ripped away?
"Matthew…" he began softly, taking a hesitant step forward.
Matthew didn't look at him. His hand still rested on the glass, knuckles pale. His mother's body had already been moved to the medical wing — but his mind was still here, trapped in this moment.
"She was getting better," he murmured, voice low and cracked. "She was getting better yesterday."
Vinny swallowed hard. "The doctor said—"
"I don't care what he said." Matthew's voice sharpened, cold and fragile all at once. He finally turned toward Vinny, eyes bloodshot, pupils blown wide with disbelief. "They don't get to tell me she's gone. Not after everything I did. Not after—"
He broke off, breath hitching, and pressed the heel of his hand against his temple like he could force the memories out.
Vinny stepped closer, laying a careful hand on his arm. "You tried, Matt. You gave her everything—"
"Everything wasn't enough," Matthew cut in, his voice trembling. "Do you know what that feels like? To build your entire life around saving someone — and then watch them die anyway?"
Vinny didn't answer. His hand stayed there, steady, even as Matthew's body shook beneath his touch.
For a moment, Matthew just stared at the floor. Then he whispered, "Someone did this."
Vinny blinked. "What?"
Matthew looked up — and something dangerous burned in his eyes now. "Someone tampered with the tubes. The mainline oxygen feed was manually shut off. There are fingerprints on the latch."
Vinny's blood went cold. "That could've been—"
"It wasn't an accident," Matthew snapped. "It wasn't a malfunction." His hand clenched into a fist. "Someone walked in here and killed her."
His voice cracked again at the last word, but the grief twisted into fury so quickly that Vinny barely recognized him.
He turned away and grabbed his phone, pacing toward the door. "Get everyone in the main hall," he ordered into the receiver, tone low and lethal. "Now. Every agent, every guard, every technician on this property. I want them here."
Vinny followed him in silence as Matthew strode down the corridor, his bare feet leaving faint marks on the marble floor. His body moved like it was running on pure adrenaline — grief transmuted into something sharp, vengeful, unstoppable.
By the time they reached the grand hall, dozens of people had gathered — men and women in black suits, guards standing in rigid rows. The storm outside flashed through the high windows, lightning slicing across Matthew's pale face.
He didn't bother to sit. He stood in front of them, every inch the leader and every inch the broken son.
"Someone in this house murdered my mother," he said quietly. The words sliced through the air like glass.
No one moved.
"You all swore to protect her," he continued, voice steady but shaking at the edges. "To protect this family. Yet someone used that trust to kill her while she slept."
He looked at each of them, one by one. Every stare he met flinched away.
"I don't care who it is. I don't care why. You will find them. You will bring them to me. Alive."
The last word dripped like venom. "And if you fail—don't come back."
He turned sharply and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hall.
Vinny watched from the balcony, heart pounding. There was something terrifying about how calm Matthew looked now — calm the way a blade looks right before it cuts.
The burial happened three days later.
Gray skies. Cold wind. Few words.
The grave was simple — no gold, no marble, just white roses laid over the earth. Matthew stood there in silence, soaked by the drizzle, one hand still clutching a locket that had belonged to her. Vinny stayed a few steps behind, watching him.
He didn't cry. He hadn't since that night. He didn't speak, didn't sleep, didn't eat. The staff whispered about him behind closed doors — how he'd gone days without rest, how he'd started checking security cameras himself, how he'd ordered every inch of the estate to be scanned for fingerprints.
Grief had turned him into something colder.
More controlled.
More dangerous.
When the priest finished his prayer, Matthew finally turned, eyes unreadable. He walked toward the car without a word. Vinny followed, the sound of rain drowning out everything else.
That evening, the mansion felt different.
All warmth was gone. The lights were dimmer, the air heavier. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch in silence as Matthew sat alone in his study, staring at a glass of untouched whiskey. Papers littered the desk — investigation reports, autopsy results, fingerprints. Nothing had led to a suspect yet.
Vinny lingered by the door, uncertain whether to approach.
Finally, he said quietly, "You should rest."
Matthew didn't answer.
"Matt," Vinny tried again, walking closer. "You've been doing this nonstop. You'll break if you keep pushing like this."
"I can't stop," Matthew murmured. "Not until I find who did it."
"You can't do it alone."
Matthew finally looked up. His gaze was tired, but beneath that exhaustion was something else — possessive, desperate.
"I'm not alone," he said. "I have you."
The words made Vinny's chest tighten. For a moment, they sounded tender. But the way he said them — the way his fingers reached out and caught Vinny's wrist, firm and unyielding — made something uneasy stir inside him.
"Stay close to me," Matthew said. "I don't want you wandering off without telling me. Understand?"
Vinny frowned. "You're acting like—"
"Like I've already lost one person I cared about," Matthew interrupted. "I won't lose another."
The intensity in his voice silenced any protest. He stood then, moving closer, his presence overwhelming — the scent of whiskey and cold rain clinging to him. His hand slid up to cup Vinny's jaw.
"I can't protect you if you keep testing me," he whispered. "So stop."
Vinny's pulse jumped. "I'm not trying to—"
"Then prove it." His thumb brushed Vinny's lower lip. "Stay where I can see you. Eat when I tell you to. Sleep when I tell you to. I need control right now, Vinny. Don't fight me on this."
Vinny's breath hitched. "That's not control. That's obsession."
"Maybe," Matthew said softly. "But it's the only thing keeping me sane."
There it was — the confession, raw and heavy between them.
Vinny didn't know what to say. The man in front of him wasn't the composed strategist he'd fallen into orbit around; he was cracked down the middle, bleeding control to keep from shattering completely.
Matthew pressed his forehead against Vinny's for a moment, eyes closing. "You're all I have left," he whispered.
Vinny wanted to tell him he was wrong — that he wasn't his salvation, just another lie waiting to break him. But the words stuck in his throat.
When Matthew pulled back, there was a faint, broken smile on his lips — one that didn't reach his eyes.
"Go get some rest," he murmured. "I'll join you later."
Vinny hesitated, searching his face. "Promise?"
Matthew looked at him for a long time, then said quietly, "You don't have to worry about me leaving."
Later that night, Vinny lay awake in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling. The storm outside had finally passed, leaving the air thick and heavy with silence.
He could still hear Matthew's voice in his head — Stay close to me. I need control.
A shiver ran through him.
He turned onto his side and looked at the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold. Matthew hadn't come to bed after all.
Vinny got up, padding barefoot across the room to the balcony. The garden below was soaked and quiet — and by the glow of the security lights, he saw movement. Dozens of guards, patrolling in tight formation.
Matthew wasn't just grieving.
He was fortifying.
Vinny wrapped his arms around himself, a chill creeping up his spine. He had wanted to get close to Matthew — to learn his secrets, to destroy what he'd built. But now, as the mansion turned into a fortress and Matthew's eyes turned darker every day, he wasn't sure who was trapping whom anymore.
The air smelled like rain and smoke. Somewhere deep in the house, a door slammed.
And for the first time, Vinny wondered if escaping this place — and the man who ruled it — would ever be possible again.