color of love and blood

The dimly lit room buzzed with an uneasy tension. The faint hum of the overhead fan did little to dissipate the suffocating atmosphere. Tom, seated across from Steve, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His face twisted in frustration as he exhaled sharply.

"Why go through all this?" Tom finally spoke, his voice laced with irritation. "Why not just use medicine to cause the miscarriage? This entire act—the stress, the conditioning, the staged drama—it's exhausting and full of unnecessary risks. A simple dose would be quicker and cleaner."

Steve, seated at the head of the table, remained silent for a moment, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden surface. His cold eyes flickered to Tom, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, measured—almost too controlled.

"Because, Tom," Steve said, his tone void of emotion, "she's a business tycoon. Her death won't go unnoticed. Her post-mortem and the investigation that follows will be handled with absolute precision. If there's any trace of medication that doesn't belong in her system, questions will arise. I can't afford loose ends."

Tom clenched his jaw but remained silent. Steve continued, his gaze unwavering.

"Caffeine, on the other hand, is different. People consume it daily. No one questions excessive coffee intake when linked to stress. If investigators ask about the high caffeine levels, I'll simply tell them the truth—Olivia was overworked. She relied on coffee to stay awake, to push through deadlines. A natural explanation with no trail back to me." He leaned back, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If I want to inherit her empire, I can't let a simple mistake ruin it all."

The room fell into a deafening silence. Every member of the group exchanged uneasy glances. They had worked with Steve for years, but something was different this time—something far darker.

Thomas, who had been silent, finally spoke. "And what if your sweet talk actually pulls her out of depression? What if she begins to recover before your third phase?"

Steve smirked, his expression void of warmth. He leaned forward, placing his hands together as if sealing an invisible deal.

"Depression never disappears," he said, his voice eerily smooth. "It just waits for a trigger to devour you again. Until now, she's been experiencing one hit at a time . Each setback slowly eating away at her. But after the third phase, all those hits will strike her simultaneously. "the child accessories like toys, cradle, etc and phantom effect, blaming herself for the miscarriage" . It'll be overwhelming—inescapable. She'll have no choice but to seek the only escape left to her."

A chill settled in the room. No one spoke. Even Thomas, who had always seen himself as the mastermind, found himself staring at Steve as if seeing him for the first time.

Then, Steve exhaled slowly and said the words that sent a shiver through every man in the room.

"I do not seek peace. I seek the silence after the scream."

The weight of those words lingered, pressing against the walls like an unseen force. One by one, the men averted their gazes. They had always known Steve was calculating, but tonight, they realized something else—