Love Syndrome

Anita's senses reluctantly stirred to the intrusive sound of her alarm, signaling the onset of a new day. Emitting a soft groan, she wrestled with the idea of abandoning the comforting cocoon of her bed, adorned with a weighted blanket and surrounded by plush pillows. Succumbing to the allure of slumber, she defiantly hit the snooze button, seeking solace in the embrace of sleep.

After engaging in a brief battle with the persistent alarm clock, Anita finally succumbed to the inevitability of waking. With a languid stretch and a resonating yawn, she reluctantly extricated herself from the warmth of her bed. Descending from her sleeping sanctuary, she reached for her phone, navigating through a sea of notifications and her meticulously planned schedule. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she muttered, "I need coffee," while rejuvenating her senses with a splash of cold water on her face.

As Anita scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, a self-pep talk ensued. "Be happy; mom and dad would be proud of what you've achieved," she reminded herself, punctuating her thoughts with a light slap to her face. "You have a car, an apartment, a stable income, and you're diligently paying off loans without missing a deadline. How many 19-year-olds can boast such accomplishments?" With a newfound boost of confidence from her mini Ted Talk, she swapped her pajamas for something presentable yet comfortable.

Armed with determination, Anita seized her car keys and gracefully exited her apartment. The city greeted her with the early morning hustle and bustle-people strolling, commuting to offices, and navigating their way to various destinations. The drive to the nearest cafe blurred through the short distance, and Anita's blank expression transformed into a welcoming smile as she parked her car and stepped into the café, ready to embrace the day with renewed spirits.

"What can I get for you?" inquired the barista. Anita responded with a warm smile, "A caramel macchiato with extra sugar and an everything bagel, please." The man swiftly noted down her order and inquired, "For here or to go?" "To go," Anita replied, her anticipation evident. As she awaited her order, she found a seat near the glass wall. The mellow tones of pop music filled the air, accompanied by the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee, creating a soothing ambiance. Anita closed her eyes, immersing herself in the delightful surroundings.

Observing the world outside through the glass wall, she absentmindedly tapped the table, her gaze capturing the nuances of life on the road. A girl dropped her wallet, and a gentleman kindly returned it, sparking a conversation that ended with shared laughter and exchanged numbers. A man in a blue suit hurriedly ran, likely late for an appointment. A teenager strolled with a dog and a cup of coffee. Numerous individuals, each immersed in their own lives, passed by in a flurry of activity.

Her contemplation was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that scattered a few pages across the floor. Anita flinched at the unexpected movement but quickly composed herself. She bent down to retrieve the papers, realizing they had flown from a nearby table. After returning the pages to their place, she perused the content, pausing at certain words. A sigh escaped her lips. The owner of the document was nowhere in sight. In a moment of internal debate, Anita noticed sticky notes and a pen on the table. Retrieving her phone, she typed a few words, quickly obtaining results that led to insightful suggestions. Writing a brief note and adorning it with a smiley face, she affixed it to the papers, motivated by a desire to prevent the owner from falling victim to deceit.

"Order number 4," the man announced behind her. Anita collected her order and left the café. A phone call from Shirley beckoned, "Are you coming, girly? Jason and I are waiting for you before starting the meeting." "I am on my way," Anita responded, settling into her car. Sipping her coffee slowly and savoring the morning radio, she set off to her friend's house.

"Eliminate him!"

Andrew ended the call and reentered the café, irritation evident in the twitch of his eyes. He scowled, noting that his espresso had turned cold during the 15-minute call outside. Annoyed at the inconvenience, he swiftly ordered another cup, acknowledging that he couldn't function without his coffee.

His attention was drawn to the documents on the table, accompanied by a sticky note. Picking up the note, he read the words, and his dark eyes widened imperceptibly. Doubt and suspicion crept into his mind. Could this be some kind of deception? He contemplated the origin of the written pointers, questioning their authenticity. Rising from his seat, he inquired sharply, "Did you see who was at my table just now?" His threatening gaze fixed on the nervous barista.

"I-I don't know, Sir," stammered the barista, intimidated by the imposing figure in his late 20s. Andrew's towering 6'2 height, coupled with the white scar on his right eyebrow, added to the intimidating presence, creating an aura of danger.

Every movement emphasized the flex of his black Tom Ford suit as he gathered his belongings and exited the café. The barista sighed in relief as Andrew left.

Putting on his signature black shades, he dialed a number on his phone.

ring ring

"Dante," he uttered in a flat tone. "Yes, boss," came Dante's prompt reply from the other end. "Find out if the company Bridge is going bankrupt and using us to artificially boost their stock value," Andrew commanded, his grip tightening on the phone. The mere thought of being manipulated irked him deeply; after all, he was the one who relished using others.

"Understood, Boss," Dante acknowledged. "Get the information from the black market if necessary," Andrew added before ending the call. He wasn't one to blindly trust information, especially when it came from an unknown source. In the cutthroat business world, spreading false information for personal gain was a common tactic. Andrew intended to verify the facts through his trusted sources before making any decisions.

Striding purposefully towards his office, Andrew received respectful bows and greetings from the workers along the way. Franklin, noticing the signature scowl on his brother's face, couldn't help but comment, "Who pissed in your coffee?"

Passing the sticky note to Franklin, Andrew hissed, "Fucking Bridge," as he read its contents. Their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," Andrew said. Dante entered, delivering the news they had sought, "Sir, the information you asked me to verify is valid. They are indeed going bankrupt, and they've gone to great lengths to prevent this information from leaking."

Both brothers looked livid. "Fire the entire team working on this project. What the hell are we paying them for?" Andrew's eyes narrowed, and Dante, sensing the icy chill in the room, hurriedly exited to carry out the orders.

"He sure has guts," Andrew mused, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his jet black hair. His eyes darkened, a violent storm brewing within them. The audacity of Bridge to attempt to deceive them would soon meet its reckoning. Death would soon welcome that bastard.

"Then let's demonstrate precisely why we've earned the moniker 'Monsters,'" Franklin's lips curled into a subtle smirk.

In the public eye, Andrew and Franklin Powell were known as gentlemen, garnering respect and admiration. However, their reputation in the cutthroat business world painted a different picture. They were infamous as monsters, devils, beasts, psychos, and more-a title they not only embraced but embodied.

As the co-owners of multiple global corporations, Andrew and Franklin Powell were not just billionaires; they held wealth and power beyond measure. Their twenty-eight years of unbreakable brotherhood had elevated them to the pinnacle of the world, gazing down on others with a sense of dominance.

Andrew, standing tall at 6'2 with a scar on his left eyebrow, and Franklin, at 6'1 with no apparent flaws, shared striking features-beautiful raven eyes, sharp chiseled jaws, and jet black, lustrous hair. Years of dedicated workouts had sculpted their bodies into a perfect balance-not overly muscular but possessing well-defined forms.

Their heritage was a blend of American, Scandinavian, and Russian bloodlines, making them the epitome of beauty. Men and women alike desired to emulate or be with them. In the public sphere, they were seen as gentlemen and the most eligible bachelors, but few were privy to what lay behind the facade-a truth masked by immoral activities carried out without a hint of remorse.

Andrew, cold and ruthless, paired with Franklin, narcissistic and cunning, formed an unstoppable duo that dominated the world. They wore the mask of gentlemen in public, but their true nature was concealed from most-a dark side that engaged in unspeakable acts.

Taking lives with the casual indifference of squashing ants was routine for them. Their souls were stained by the blood of enemies, whether innocent or not. Behind a seemingly harmless smile lurked a profound heartlessness. Their icy gaze had the power to freeze someone in their tracks. While commoners revered them as ideals, their rivals understood the brothers were wolves in sheep's clothing. Their strategic machinations mirrored those of predators hunting their prey. They were like snakes-poisonous, cold-blooded, vicious, and cunning.

Jordan Smith found himself bound to a cold metal pole, his senses dulled by the drug administered during his abduction. A sudden splash of water roused him, and he groggily opened his eyes to a blurry scene. The dim light overhead cast a faint glow on the concrete floor, and the walls bore the gruesome remnants of past torments-dried blood from previous victims. The room lacked windows, featuring only a plain metal door and a wooden table placed against a chilling wall, adorned with an array of menacing torture devices.

A chilling voice cut through the air, "You've got some guts, Smith." Jordan struggled to make sense of the situation when a surge of pain shot through his shoulder. Franklin, with a cold sneer, had thrown a dart that hit its mark. "Oops, aiming for the left, and it landed on the right," he frowned. Andrew, not to be outdone, picked up another dart and casually threw it, this time targeting Jordan's left shoulder. "There you go," Andrew lazily remarked, earning a smile from Franklin.

A scream tore through Jordan's throat as the harsh reality of his predicament hit him like a tidal wave. "M-Mr. Powell," he stammered, terror etched across his face.

Franklin, a cynical smile playing on his lips, toyed with another dart in his long, calloused fingers, challenging Jordan, who nervously eyed the multitude of darts laid out on the table before him. "Who do you think we are, Smith?" he inquired, the wickedness in his voice sending shivers down Jordan's spine. The tension escalated as Franklin continued, "I asked you a question. I hate repeating."

The atmosphere grew colder as another dart found its mark in Jordan's chest. "Every ten seconds you take to answer, you get another dart," Andrew declared, casually reaching for yet another dart. The room echoed with another agonized scream from Jordan as the torment intensified.

Clutching his jaw to suppress the screams of pain, Jordan managed to reply, "You are the kings of the business world." He bit back the pain, regretting his foolish decision to cross paths with these formidable men.

Despite the dire situation, Andrew's voice remained menacing as he growled, "Yet you decided to make a fool out of us, covering the fact you wanted to use us to boost your stock price and gain new customers." The revelation hung in the air, and Andrew continued, "Luckily, we got wind of it before it happened." He directed a hiss at the bound man, emphasizing the severity of his betrayal.

Observing the unfolding drama, Franklin silently vowed to track down the person who had left the incriminating note and consider recruiting them for their cunning insight. Meanwhile, Jordan, overwhelmed by desperation, sobbed and pleaded, "I was desperate to save my company." He laid bare the stakes, explaining that without this scheme, years of hard-earned work would crumble, leaving hundreds of employees jobless. " let me go, please" he implored, desperation seeping into his pleas.

"Aww, now what are you going to add? I have a family, a pregnant wife, and children waiting for me. Please let me go and I will never cross you," Andrew mocked.

"Please don't hurt my family," he pleaded. "Now thinking about it. I think we should pay a visit to your family," Franklin grinned. "I don't have time," Andrew grunted in disapproval. "Oh come on brother, don't be such a bore," Franklin tsked. "Enough," Andrew said.

"Okay, okay. I will let Luis handle his family. Umm.. what should I do kill them, sell them, burn them," Andrew contemplated their options. Jordan looked at the brothers in fear. How easily they were talking about such outrageous things just like talking about the weather.

"You should have thought this before acting," Franklin laughed. Throwing a dart that landed on his ribs. Andrew didn't bother speaking, picking up a few darts he aimed at his abdomen, knees, hips, and balls.

Jordan screamed and groaned in agony. Not able to move chains binding him to a metal pole, making him live every single second of the pain.

"I am bored," Andrew yawned, grabbing an ax.

Jordan screamed at him, this time not caring about anything. The fact he was carrying an ax and moving fucking towards him made him piss in his pants.

"YOU FUCKING MONSTERS. LET ME GO," he frantically yelled at them.

"Tsk, tsk, wrong choice of words. You should beg your captors and not yell at them," Franklin chided him lightly. Horror struck Jordan and he started begging them.

"I am sorry, I am sorry. P-Please, Mr. Powell," he sobbed repeating sorry multiple times. Andrew rolled his eyes. He had enough of his bullshit and cut off his left arm in a swift motion.

*splash* Warm blood-covered Andrew who didn't look bothered with it. "He is soon going to die of blood loss," Franklin felt sad. He wanted to enjoy playing with him more.

With a sigh, he grabbed another dart-throwing it at his right eye. Jordan screams, becoming groggy, his mind in a daze due to massive blood loss.

Andrew didn't bother about his brother's whines or Jordan's screams; using the ax he continued chopping his other hand and both the legs like he was chopping a piece of wood.

Jordan who had long died now was thrown as the food to the feral dogs they raised.

"Take care of the rest," Andrew grunted, leaving with his bloody self.

Luis, one of their bodyguards nodded. Working for the Powell's for ten years, he has gotten used to such disturbing scenes. It was nothing new.

---

Andrew washed himself up with a towel in hand and rubbed it over his wet hair. Droplets of water falling from his messy hair. He walked to the kitchen counter, picking up an apple.

"I just called Dante to find the person who left the note," Luis informed. Andrew nodded. It would be profitable for their company to find such a competent person.

Andrew smiled at the thought. His brother sure has the luck to come across such a person. He didn't why something in him was eager to meet that person. The smiley face left on the note was cute.

The note. Thinking about the note, a dark current rose in Andrew. What if that note is instead left to the rival party. Won't their secrets be sold to them, leaving them vulnerable and at loss?

Such a person turned against us... he didn't think more about it.

They can now only hire that person or eliminate that person.

Little did they know what was coming for them next and how that person was going to change their life.