Page 85 of The CEO

Silence fills the study as my confession hangs in the air between us. The fire has burned down to embers, casting the room in a soft orange light that softens the hard edges of the man I’ve become. I’m completely exposed now—not just physically, but emotionally—my defenses stripped away, my carefully constructed walls demolished.

For the first time since I’ve known her, I am entirely honest, entirely vulnerable. Entirely human.

“There’s more,” I say, the words escaping before I can reconsider. “Something I haven’t shown anyone.”

I rise from my chair, moving to a painting on the far wall, an abstract piece in shades of crimson and black. Eve watches silently as I press my palm against the frame, revealing a hidden fingerprint scanner. The painting slides aside, exposing a recessed wall safe.

“If you’re going to know me, truly know me, you should see all of it,” I say, entering the combination with practiced precision.

The safe opens with a soft click, and I remove a polished wooden box inlaid with obsidian.

“What is that?” Eve asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I return to my seat across from her, placing the box on the low table between us. “My private collection.”

Her eyes dart between the box and my face, curiosity warring with apprehension. I can see her weighing possibilities, measuring her capacity for more darkness tonight.

“Open it,” I encourage, sliding it toward her. “This is who I truly am, Eve.”

With shaking hands, she lifts the lid. Inside, nestled in custom-fitted velvet, lies an assortment of small objects: a tarnished wedding ring, a jade cufflink, a silver money clip engraved with initials, a single gold tooth, a Rolex watch with a shattered face, a woman’s pearl earring.

“Trophies,” she whispers, understanding immediately.

“Memories,” I correct, though the distinction is meaningless. “Proof of debts paid and justice delivered.”

Her finger hovers over the wedding ring. “Whose was this?”

“A judge who sentenced innocent men to private prisons for kickbacks. He had blood on his hands, metaphorically.” I allow myself a small smile. “I ensured the metaphor became literal.”

Her gaze shifts to the gold tooth. “And this?”

“A trafficker who specialized in children.” My voice hardens at the memory. “I removed it myself. He was still alive at the time.”

I watch her face carefully, waiting for the revulsion—the horror that should come with this revelation. Instead, I see something that mirrors the dark satisfaction I feel when I look at these objects. It’s an understanding that borders on appreciation.

“The pearl earring?” she asks, her voice steady.

“The wife of a cartel leader. She personally oversaw the torture of witnesses who might testify against her husband.” I lean forward slightly. “She always wore pearls, even when she worked. I thought it fitting to keep one as a reminder.”

Eve’s fingers trace the edge of the box, not quite touching the contents. “How many?”

“Twenty-seven,” I answer without hesitation. “One for each operation I’ve personally executed since taking over The Shadows. The most significant ones, anyway.”

“And the others?” She meets my gaze directly. “The ones not significant enough for your collection?”

“Lost to memory,” I lie. The true number would terrify even her. “These are the ones who deserved . . . special attention.”

She closes the lid gently, her expression thoughtful rather than disgusted. “You keep pieces of them. Physical reminders.”

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. I don’t explain the comfort I take in these tangible proofs of power, these small emblems of lives I’ve ended with my own hands.

“Why show me this?” Her question cuts to the heart of my motivation. “Why now?”

“Because you need to understand the man you’re choosing,” I say, retrieving the box and returning it to the safe. “The darkness you’re embracing isn’t theoretical, Eve. It’s twenty-seven lives. Twenty-seven souls I’ve personally removed from this world because I judged them unworthy of continued existence.”

When I turn back to her, she’s standing, her expression unreadable in the fading firelight.

“Does it disturb you?” I ask, closing the distance between us. “To know I keep pieces of the people who’ve ceased to exist because of me?”

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