In another part of the city, a man sat stiffly behind a sleek, dark wood desk. The office was quiet, too quiet, but the stillness wasn't peaceful. It was the kind that suffocated.
Aidan Wilson stared at his phone, unmoving. His fingers twitched around the device, knuckles white as if he were crushing it. His jaw clenched so hard that the muscles near his ear kept pulsing. His eyes burned with anger.
The screen displayed a photo: a small cake with strawberries on top. Homemade. Sloppy. Ugly. The caption was loud. Jarring.
RogueOverlord: 19th birthday, first homemade birthday cake! 😤 Haha! I'm officially the first to get one in the fam. Try calling me unpopular now, losers! 😎😏
The message played over and over in Aidan's mind. Every time he read it, something inside him twisted tighter.
