The Heavenly Demon of Terror

Abigail sat alone in her office, her hands gripping the edge of her desk as she stared blankly at the reports in front of her. But she wasn't reading them. Not really. Her mind was somewhere else—somewhere two weeks ago, on the last night she saw Samuel.

The last night he stood before her, covered in blood, handing her a gun.

"If you want me to suffer more, just end it already."

His words echoed in her head like a haunting melody she couldn't shake. She had never seen him like that before—so detached, so empty, yet so terrifyingly calm. His emerald-green eyes, once warm and full of life, were now hollow.

What happened to him?

For the past two weeks, there had been no news of him. No calls, no messages, no sightings. It was as if he had vanished from existence. And for some reason, that terrified her more than anything.

She had spent years trying to break him, to make him feel the pain she once felt, to destroy him for leaving her at her lowest. But now, he wasn't even there to feel anything.

Did she push him too far?

Her fingers clenched into fists as she let out a frustrated sigh. Why did it matter? This was what she wanted, wasn't it? For him to suffer. For him to pay for the past.

Then why... why did the thought of never seeing him again feel like someone was crushing her chest?

She reached for her phone instinctively, scrolling through her contacts until she found his name. Samuel Gebb.

Her thumb hovered over the call button. Should she?

"Damn it, Samuel!" she muttered under her breath, throwing the phone onto her desk.

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The image of that night replayed in her mind.

Samuel stood before her, covered in blood. His shirt was soaked, wounds fresh, yet he stood tall, his movements calculated. He took a slow step forward, extending his hand—the gun in his grip cold and heavy.

"Go on," he had said, his voice void of emotion. "You already killed me a long time ago."

Her breath had hitched.

She wanted to say something—to ask where he had been, who had done this to him. But the words never left her mouth.

Then he chuckled. A low, bitter laugh.

"You can't even pull the trigger, can you?"

Her hands had trembled, her mind racing with emotions she didn't understand.

"Samuel, I—"

"Forget it, Lady." He had cut her off, stepping past her, his voice colder than she had ever heard.

"There's nothing left for you to break."

Abigail's eyes snapped open.

"There's nothing left for you to break."

Her chest tightened, and she hated it. She hated how those words still made her feel something.

She pushed herself up from her chair, pacing the room.

Where was he? What the hell was he doing?

"Damn it, Samuel. Where are you?"

Alone in her office, frustration boiled inside Abigail like a storm she couldn't contain. She slammed her hands against her desk, sending documents flying to the floor.

"Damn it!" she hissed through gritted teeth, her breathing uneven.

Her nails dug into her palms as she paced back and forth. Why did this bother her so much? Samuel had always been beneath her—weak, pathetic, a man she could control. A man she could break.

Then why... why was she the one feeling broken now?

For three years, she had watched him suffer, humiliated him, made sure he felt every ounce of pain she once did. But the Samuel she saw that night… that wasn't him anymore.

He was something else.

Someone untouchable.

Someone she didn't control anymore.

The realization sent a chill down her spine, and she hated it.

She grabbed her phone again, staring at his name on the screen. Still no calls. No messages.

"Damn you, Samuel," she whispered, her grip tightening.

She had always been the one who dictated the game. But now, he wasn't playing anymore. He had walked away—without looking back.

And that thought, more than anything, was driving her insane.

Abigail sat behind her desk, her nails tapping against the polished wood impatiently. Her mind was clouded with frustration, confusion, and something else—something she didn't want to admit.

She couldn't focus on work. Not when he was missing.

Her assistant, Olivia, stood before her, waiting for instructions.

"Find someone to track him," Abigail ordered, her tone sharp, demanding. "I don't care how much it costs. Just find out where the hell Samuel is."

Olivia hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Understood, Ms. Bardot. I'll get the best private investigators on this immediately."

Abigail leaned back, exhaling slowly. Why was she even doing this? He was nothing to her… right?

She shook the thought away. No. She needed control. She needed to know.

Where had he gone? Who was he with? And more importantly… why did he leave so easily?

A Few Hours Later

Olivia returned, holding a file in her hands, her expression unreadable.

Abigail looked up, expecting results. "Well?"

Olivia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Ms. Bardot… they can't find him."

Silence.

Abigail narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean they can't find him?"

Olivia shifted uncomfortably. "The agencies we contacted—all of them said the same thing."****"Samuel Gebb is one of the best private investigators in the country. If someone like him doesn't want to be found… then it's impossible to track him."

A cold chill ran through Abigail's spine.

Impossible to track.

Samuel had disappeared. Completely.

She clenched her fists, trying to control the storm of emotions inside her.

"So you're telling me," she said slowly, her voice dangerously low, "that no one can find my husband?"

Olivia swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. If Samuel doesn't want to be found, then… he won't be."

Abigail's jaw tightened, her breathing shallow. She had always been the one controlling Samuel's life—humiliating him, manipulating him.

And now, for the first time ever… he was completely out of her grasp.

She grabbed a glass of wine from her desk and threw it across the room, shattering it against the wall.

"Damn you, Samuel!" she screamed.

For three years, she had done everything to break him.

And now, it felt like he had broken her instead.