The glass of whiskey in Louis’s hand trembled as he brought it to his lips, but not from the cold. The room around him was dimly lit, the weight of his choices pressing heavily on his chest. The memories of Daisy plagued him relentlessly-her laughter, her warm embrace, the fire in her eyes when she challenged him. They were like ghosts, haunting every corner of his mind.
He closed his eyes, tipping his head back as the bitter liquid burned down his throat. It didn’t help. Nothing did.
In the weeks since her death, he had spiraled into a darkness he could neither escape nor control. At first, it was guilt-crushing, suffocating guilt for everything he had done. His alliance with Natalie, his blind eye to her schemes, his failure to protect Daisy. He had been her safe haven, and he’d let her down.
Now, the guilt had evolved into something darker: anger. Anger at himself, at the world, at the futility of it all. What was the point of loyalty, of love, if it only ended in ashes?
He had made his decision.
Louis placed the glass on the table, his jaw tightening as he leaned back in his chair. Across from him sat Natalie, her expression triumphant but wary. She knew she’d won something, but even she could sense the hollowness in his victory.
“You’re sure about this?” she asked, her voice smooth but tinged with curiosity.
Louis didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the wall, where the shadow of the past loomed larger than life. “I’ve made up my mind,” he said curtly.
Natalie’s lips curled into a smirk, but she quickly masked it with feigned concern. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can still walk away.”
He turned to her then, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Walk away to what? There’s nothing left for me. Not after…” He trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat. “This is all that’s left.”
She leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re making the right choice, Louis. Together, we can-”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting her off. He pulled his arm away, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about us. It’s about me. And don’t think for a second I’ve forgiven you for what you did.”
Natalie’s smirk faltered, but she recovered quickly, her tone shifting to one of appeasement. “Of course not. But you can’t deny that we make a good team.”
Louis stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he rose. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “This isn’t about being a team. It’s about balance. If I’m going to live in this hell, I might as well rule it.”
Natalie watched him carefully, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes.
The meeting with the gang leaders came later that evening. It was a cold, stark room, filled with men and women who lived and breathed chaos. Louis stood before them, his presence commanding despite the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.
“I’m taking over,” he announced, his voice steady and resolute.
There was a murmur of dissent, but it was quickly silenced as Louis slammed his fist onto the table, his glare daring anyone to challenge him. “I didn’t come here to ask for permission. You all follow me now, or you don’t follow anyone at all.”
The silence that followed was thick, charged with tension. Slowly, one by one, the gang members nodded their assent.
As he left the meeting, the weight of his new position settled heavily on his shoulders. This was what he had chosen. This was his punishment.
He walked alone through the dimly lit streets, his thoughts spiraling back to Daisy. He didn’t deserve to remember her, but he couldn’t stop. The image of her smile, the sound of her voice-it was all burned into his mind, a cruel reminder of what he had lost.
“I’ve betrayed you,” he whispered to the night, his voice breaking. “But maybe this is what I deserve.”
The wind howled around him, as if mocking his torment. He clenched his jaw, pushing the memories away as he stepped into the darkness, determined to bury what little humanity he had left.
But deep down, a small, fragile part of him still hoped. Hoped that somehow, someway, he could atone. Even if it meant destroying everything he once stood for.