The warm glow of the restaurant lights reflected off the polished wooden tables as Alexander Bluestone and his team sat comfortably, enjoying their well-earned meal. The atmosphere was light, a contrast to the tension of earlier events.
Mark Alberton, seated across from Alexander, leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "Well, a deal is a deal." He motioned to the waiter. "Order whatever you want. My treat."
Darmian wasted no time, grinning as he listed off half the menu. Madison rolled her eyes, and Rose, ever the quiet observer, sipped her wine in silence, eyes occasionally flicking to Alexander.
As the meal progressed, Mark's gaze sharpened, his black eyes narrowing slightly as he observed Alexander. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in.
"Tell me, Alexander. If you were Grim Reaper… how would you announce yourself?"
The table went silent.
Madison stopped mid-bite. Rose's fingers tightened around her glass. Darmian looked between them, suddenly very interested in the conversation.
Alexander didn't hesitate.
His sapphire-blue eyes glinted under the dim light as his lips curled into a smirk.
"Catch me if you can."
Silence.
The weight of those words hung in the air, sending an unspoken chill through the table.
Darmian let out a low whistle. Madison frowned slightly. Rose… simply watched, as if trying to unravel his mind.
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "You really enjoy playing games, don't you?"
Alexander took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down. His voice, calm and deliberate, cut through the moment like a knife.
"I do not play games, Mark. I play strategies."
Mark leaned forward, intrigued. "Go on."
Alexander exhaled, rolling his golden pocket watch between his fingers.
"Machiavellianism." His voice carried a weight, as if the very word itself defined him.
Rose's brows furrowed slightly. "Meaning?"
Alexander rested his chin on his gloved hand, his smirk deepening.
"Power is not won by honor or morality. It is won by control. Fear. Deception."
His fingers tapped the table rhythmically.
"In this world, people believe in illusions—justice, fairness, good and evil. But the truth is…" he tilted his head, his sapphire gaze meeting each of theirs, "…only the cunning survive."
Darmian blinked. "So you're saying… being ruthless is necessary?"
Alexander chuckled. "Not always. A blade does not need to be used if a well-placed word can cut deeper."
Mark smirked. "And if words fail?"
Alexander's smirk turned colder. "Then the blade will do."
Another silence.
Rose watched him, expression unreadable. Madison crossed her arms, deep in thought. Darmian rubbed the back of his neck.
Mark Alberton, however, simply smiled.
"Interesting philosophy, Bluestone."
Alexander raised his glass slightly, his smirk never fading.
"It's not philosophy, Mark. It's reality."
And with that, he took a slow, deliberate