146. The Command of Shadow
President David's Villa — afternoon
The call ended with a soft chime.
Circe's face remained still for half a breath… then twisted into something unrecognizable.
She threw her phone onto the velvet sofa, the device bouncing once before falling silent. A slow, predatory smirk spread across her lips — a smile too sharp, too wide, too hungry to belong to anything human.
Her pupils dilated until they swallowed the color of her irises, expanding, stretching—
until her eyes turned pure black.
Not darkness.
Not emptiness.
But depth.
A pit that seemed to stare back at the world.
In front of her, President David sat perfectly still in his leather armchair. His posture was upright, eyes glassy, expression blank. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe deeply. Didn't speak.
He looked like a statue carved by fear and obedience.
Circe leaned forward, her fingers curling against the armrest, her voice twisting into a deeper register — layered, guttural, echoing with something ancient and malicious.
"Father," she hissed, though it wasn't Circe speaking anymore.
It was something wearing her shape.
David's throat bobbed once, mechanically.
"Yes… Circe."
She stood slowly, like a serpent uncurling, shadows stretching unnaturally behind her even though the lights were steady.
"You will push Maximilian," she commanded, words slithering through the air like black smoke.
"You will convince him the alliance is his destiny. His salvation. His future."
David nodded stiffly.
"You will tell him he can have a good life with me. That I am stability, power, legacy."
Her smile widened.
"You will speak of opportunity… not choice. You will make him see the world only through the door I open."
David's lips moved robotically, repeating the last phrase.
"The door… you open."
Circe exhaled softly, and the room seemed to pulse with the sound — as if the walls themselves recoiled.
She stepped closer to her father, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor, each step echoing with a rhythm like approaching doom. She crouched beside him, her black eyes locking onto his vacant ones.
"And if he hesitates," she murmured, voice dripping with corrupted sweetness, "you'll remind him of his responsibilities. His empire. His future successors."
Her words twisted like a knife dipped in poison.
"Make him believe he needs me."
David nodded again, this time quicker, as though the command had seeped into his bones.
"I will… make him believe."
"Good."
Her smile sharpened until it almost split her face.
A whisper escaped her lips — not loud, but powerful enough to send a cold draft crawling across the room.
"Because I will have him."
Her voice was no longer human. It coiled, spiraled, layered with a second, third, fourth tone — an unholy chorus, each voice dripping venom.
"I will make him kneel," she breathed. "Make him beg. Make the world watch as Maximilian Brooks, the untouchable, the arrogant, the self-made king—"
Her gaze darkened, glinting with obsessive greed.
"—whimpers at my feet like a broken little puppy."
David didn't react. Couldn't react. He sat frozen, shackled by something he couldn't even name.
Circe rose to her full height, flicking her hair back with a flourish that was almost elegant — if not for the demonic resonance humming beneath her skin.
She turned toward the window, sunlight illuminating her silhouette like a crown forged from nightmares.
"All those years he ignored me…" she whispered, voice low and trembling with ego and rage.
"All that time he acted as if I didn't exist…"
Her fingers tightened into a fist.
"I will make him regret it."
A slow, sickening smile curled across her lips.
"I will make him mine."
The shadows around her moved.
Not by the light.
By her.
"And when I'm done," she concluded softly, almost lovingly,
"not even his screams will free him."
The villa went silent.
And President David sat waiting not in his consciousness , unmoving, ready to carry out the will of the monster wearing his daughter's face.
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