The morning sun barely broke through the heavy curtains, spilling weak light across the opulent penthouse. Alexander Moreau's face was pale, eyes bloodshot, heart still racing from the previous night's terror.
The chime of the intercom rang through the hall. He hesitated before answering, dread coiling in his chest.
"Who could it be?" he muttered.
The security feed flickered—his parents, dressed formally, stood in the lobby, waiting. He swallowed hard and buzzed them in, his pride warring with his fear.
His father, tall, imposing, with that familiar arrogance etched into every feature, entered first. "Alexander," he said, hands in pockets, voice laced with mockery, "you've already caused trouble. And yet here you are, trembling like a child."
Alexander's pulse quickened. "It wasn't—"
"Don't interrupt," his father snapped, smirking. "I've heard the news. This… Elara nonsense. The police, the media—it's all your mess."
His mother, soft but firm, stepped forward. "Alexander isn't the villain here. That… that bitch seduced him, manipulated him. He's only a boy who fell into her trap."
Alexander's heart skipped, torn between relief and guilt. "Mom… Dad… I—"
His father waved him off. "Grounded, Alexander. Stay home, stay out of trouble. Don't do anything stupid."
That night, sleep offered no relief. The shadows clung tighter, whispers echoing faintly through the walls. And then… a soft, chilling voice whispered in his ear:
"Alex… Alex… wake up."
He jolted awake, pulse hammering.
There, perched over him, was Elara—Roberta's illusion, bloody, eyes hollow and burning. Both hands clenched around his throat, strangling, yet delicate fingers betraying the mockery behind the terror.
He gasped, clawing at her arms. "Get off me! Get off me!"
Her lips curved in a wicked smile. "Don't struggle… it's more fun this way."
Desperation fueled him. With a violent push, he threw her off, scrambling to the living room.
The lights flickered. Smoke coiled around the corners of the room. And then she appeared again, this time standing at the entrance:
"What is it, Alex? Don't you want to play?"
His knees buckled. Panic clawed at him like a living thing. Sweat dripped down his temples, heartbeat racing. He tried to dial the guards, but their number rang endlessly into silence.
Then the screens around him flickered to life. Max's face appeared in every monitor. "Welcome to the game, Alex. Everyone's watching."
And just like that, the livestream began.
Alexander's screams echoed, raw and jagged, as Roberta/Elara circled him like a predator. Every confession was prompted, every hidden sin exposed. Every lie, every betrayal, every misuse of power laid bare before a global audience.
He clawed at the floor, shouted for mercy, begged the illusion to leave him alone. His voice cracked. Tears streaked down his face as he confessed everything—every shady deal, every manipulation, every selfish indulgence.
Outside, chaos erupted. The Moreau family empire began to crumble in real time. Clients pulled accounts, shareholders panicked, and markets reacted violently to the scandal. Banks froze assets. Alexander's parents were soon under investigation, caught in the whirlpool of fraud and tax evasion that their son's sins had exposed.
The penthouse became a cage. Roberta's bloodied figure moved with purpose, shadows and light amplifying her menace. Every move she made sent another tremor through Alexander's psyche.
He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, screaming, shaking. "I… I didn't mean… I didn't—"
Elara leaned close, whispering, her voice cutting into his very soul:
"You took everything from me. And now… you take everything from yourself."
His parents' distant voices filtered through the chaos—calls, news alerts, notifications of lawsuits and investigations—but their authority meant nothing here. Their son was powerless, stripped bare before the world.
The organization watched silently. Lyra's eyes glimmered in the control room, observing every twitch, every terrified glance, every shattered confession. "This is the price of arrogance," she murmured.
Kian adjusted the livestream. "He's perfect. The collapse, the breakdown, the confession… maximum exposure. Nothing left to hide."
Aria and Mabel exchanged a glance. "He's learning the rules," Mabel whispered.
Nina smirked. "And the world sees exactly what happens when justice fails."
Alexander Moreau screamed again, clawing at his hair. Every monitor displayed the carnage of his family's empire—their accounts frozen, companies plummeting in value, contracts canceled. Fraud charges. Tax evasion. Global humiliation. And all of it traceable back to his greed and arrogance.
Roberta appeared behind him once more, blood oozing from her eyes, silent yet accusing. He spun, but there was no escape. Every angle, every reflection, every shadow held her.
"Alex … it's over," she whispered.
He dropped to the floor, shivering violently, sobbing in defeat. For the first time in his life, he realized power meant nothing without accountability.
The livestream ended. Or rather… paused, giving the siblings and besties a momentary reprieve before the next move. Alexander lay on the floor, broken.
Lyra leaned back, silver eyes cold, satisfied. "Let this be a lesson… not just for him, but for everyone watching."