John Doe's Mansion – Night*
The lavish living room buzzed with music, laughter, and the clink of expensive glasses. Smoke curled through the air as John Doe lounged in a velvet chair, surrounded by his inner circle.
"The drugs I sold last week made me a million dollars more than gambling ever has," the first man bragged, puffing on a cigar.
The second man scoffed. "Admit it—you're just too scared to gamble. It's a big boys' game."
"Calm down, both of you," John chuckled. "Money flows easier when it's coming from every direction. Drugs, weapons, gambling… chaos pays well."
Laughter erupted again, echoing through the high ceilings.
Just then, a suited man entered quietly and leaned in to whisper something into John Doe's ear.
In an instant, the mood changed.
Without hesitation, John drew his pistol and shot the messenger in the head. Blood splattered across the marble floor. Gasps and silence filled the room.
He stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his suit. "Now I've lost my appetite."
No one dared to speak.
His voice cut through the heavy air like a blade. "Find out who did it… and bring me their head."
The party was over.
"That foolish boy had to go and get himself killed now, of all times," John snarled, pacing furiously. "He was always too stupid to be mine. I should've demanded a DNA test years ago." Without another word, he turned and stormed off, rage simmering in his eyes. Here's a continuation you can use to build the scene with more weight and tension:
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The room fell silent. No one dared to breathe, let alone speak. The men who had been laughing moments ago now sat frozen, eyes cast down, afraid to meet John's glare. Blood still pooled from the messenger's lifeless body, staining the marble floor.
"Clean this mess up," John growled to the nearest guard. "And find out who the hell that woman was. I want names. I want blood."
He paused at the doorway, turning just enough to show a smirk devoid of humor.
"Let this be a lesson… No one embarrasses me and lives."
Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the scent of death and fear in his wake
---
As John stormed out, his guards exchanged uneasy glances. No one dared move until the second-in-command, Raul, stepped forward and gestured silently. Two men rushed to drag the corpse away, careful not to let the blood touch John's favorite rug.
Raul lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, his face pale. "He's losing it," he muttered under his breath.
"You think he ever had it?" another whispered, glancing over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, deep within the mansion, John entered his private war room — a sleek space lined with surveillance monitors, maps, and dossiers. He slammed his fist on the table.
A monitor blinked. A blurry image of the woman responsible for the bar killing appeared on-screen — masked, precise, and lethal.
"Zoom in. Pause. That symbol on her wrist," he growled. The tech obeyed.
There it was again: *HTW*.
He stared. "Husband to Women..." he said under his breath. A cruel laugh escaped his throat. "So the whispers are true. The Queen exists."
He poured himself a drink, hands steady now, calm returning — the kind that only came before a storm.
*Meanwhile,
in a mansion nestled deep within a forest of exquisitely shaped trees*, a man sat peacefully on a marble terrace, sipping tea from a fine porcelain cup. The silence around him was almost sacred—until it was broken by hurried footsteps.
A nervous man approached, his hands trembling. "Boss… we have news."
The man didn't look up. "Speak."
"He… he won the case," the messenger stammered, "but… he lost his life. At a bar."
The boss paused mid-sip. Slowly, he lowered his cup. "Who did it?"
"A woman," the man replied.
In an instant, steel flashed. The boss drew his blade and struck. The messenger's head dropped to the floor before he could finish blinking. Blood painted the tiles.
"Do I look like a joke to you?" the boss growled, eyes scanning the shaken faces around him. "A *woman* took him out? Shameful. Pathetic."
He turned sharply to another subordinate. "Clean this mess up. Then find out who's behind this… and burn them all to the ground. Every last one."
He stepped over the body and added coldly, "Women? Don't insult me."