Cillian Mitchell

A man stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie as he prepared for the day ahead. 

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. His suit, tailored to perfection, hugged his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. 

With each movement, the fabric whispered against his skin, a reminder of the importance of the day.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, interrupting his thoughts. The man picked it up with a grin, knowing exactly who it was.

"Hey, Terrence," he answered, his voice filled with nothing but plainness.

"Morning, groom-to-be's bestman!" Terrence's voice crackled with energy on the other end of the line. "Are you ready for the big day?"

The man chuckled. "I should be asking you that, groom-to-be. As for me, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. How about you? Nervous about being a groom? You're finally having that woman."

Terrence replied confidently, "Nah, piece of cake. But seriously, Cillian, I couldn't be happier for myself. I and Emily are perfect together."

Cillian's smile widened at the mention of his friend's bride-to-be. "Though, you've known her for just six months, Terrence. I hope you aren't making a mistake."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them before Terrence spoke again, his tone serious. "She's my choice, Cillian and I'm happy you're not again I and her especially as she is the Sterling heiress."

"Oh and remember, don't be late for my wedding. I don't want to have to come drag you out of bed!" Terrence teased.

Cillian laughed. "I'll be there, don't worry. And don't thank me for anything. The Sterlings have nothing to do with your wedding. Though, they're still my rival."

"I still have to thank you, buddy. I'll see you soon. And remember, it's already too late to run if you're having second thoughts about coming to my wedding!" Terrence joked before hanging up.

Cillian shook his head, still smiling. He knew there was no chance of him backing out now. He was thrilled that his best buddy would be marrying even if it was Emily and he was honored to stand by his side as his best man.

Turning back to the mirror, Cillian took in his reflection. 

With his tousled dark hair and chiseled jawline, he felt like a medieval prince preparing for battle. But instead of armor, he wore a tailored suit, a symbol of the brotherly love and commitment he felt for Terrence Fletcher, his best buddy.

His eyes fell on a simple white headband lying on the dresser, a gift from him, Terrence. Without hesitation, he picked it up and wrapped it around his forehead.

"Today's his day," he whispered to himself, his heart filled with joy and anticipation. "Today, I would watch my friend marry the love of his life, surrounded by friends and family. Today is the beginning of his forever."

As Cillian slipped on his black brogues and gathered the bouquet and small bag of gifts for the couple, a sudden crash echoed from the distant hall of the house. 

His heart skipped a beat, and his hand tightened around the bouquet. Without a second thought, he dropped everything and rushed towards the source of the sound.

His eyes flickered with anger, a sense of urgency creeping into his every step. 

Upon reaching the kitchen, his eyes scanned the room, searching for the source of the disturbance. 

Broken glass littered the floor, shards glistening in the dim light. His jaw clenched, and his muscles tensed.

"Who did this?!" he called out loudly and angrily, his voice echoing off the walls. 

The silence that followed was deafening, adding to the unease that settled over him like a heavy blanket.

His eyes slowly turned red, a fiery anger simmering beneath the surface. His teeth gritted together as he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. 

With measured steps, he moved further into the kitchen, his senses on high alert. Every sound, every shadow, was scrutinized as he searched for any sign of danger or intruders.

Then, from the corner of the room, he spotted movement—a small figure huddled on the floor in a maid's uniform, trembling with fear. His anger flared even higher. It was a maid.

"Who are you? What have you done?" Cillian's voice was like thunder, each word punctuated by the pounding of his heart.

The maid trembled before him, tears streaming down her face as she stammered out an explanation. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I-I was just cleaning..."

But Cillian cut her off with a snarl, his patience worn thin by the events unfolding before him. "Cleaning? Is this your idea of cleaning? Shattering glass all over the floor?"

Tears welled in the maid's eyes as she cowered before him, her fear palpable in the air. "P-Please, sir, I didn't mean to. It was an accident, I swear."

But Cillian was beyond reason, beyond mercy. His mind was consumed by a red-hot anger that threatened to engulf him whole. 

He advanced towards the maid, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with fury.

"You dare bring glass into my house?! How did you get that glass?!" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You're nothing but a clumsy, incompetent fool!"

The maid flinched at his words, her body trembling with fear. "N-No, please, I'll clean it up, I swear. I thought the glass…. Just please don't hurt me."

Cillian's lips curled into a cruel sneer as he loomed over her, his rage boiling over. "Hurt you? Oh, I think you deserve much worse than that."

With a sudden lunge, he reached out to grab her, his fingers curling into claws as he prepared to strike. But before he could lay a hand on her, someone stepped into the room and grabbed his wrist, halting his violent gesture.

Cillian's eyes burned with hatred as he turned to confront his would-be savior, but the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks. 

It was Caspar, his younger brother and his personal assistant as well, his anchor in the tempest of his emotions.

"Calm down, Brother Cillian," Caspar's voice pierced through the haze of anger, his words a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of rage. "Let her go. She's just a maid. You, run away."

But Cillian was beyond reason, beyond logic. 

He fought against Caspar's hold, his mind consumed by a primal need for release. He would not be restrained, not by anyone or anything.

With a desperate cry, he tore himself away from Caspar's grasp, the pain of the broken glass forgotten in his blind determination. 

He would destroy everything in his path, unleash his wrath upon the world until there was nothing left but ashes and ruin.

But even as he raged against the world, a part of him knew it was futile. 

Deep down, buried beneath the layers of anger and despair, he longed for nothing more than to be saved from himself.

As Cillian struggled against Caspar's hold, his fury unabated, Caspar took out something from his pocket. 

With a swift and practiced motion, Caspar injected Cillian's shoulder, and within moments, his struggles ceased as darkness enveloped him, dragging Cillian into unconsciousness.

A single tear escaped the corner of Caspar's eye as they looked down at Cillian's unconscious form, a mix of sadness and regret etched on their face. 

"I shouldn't have let you get into that crash 6 months ago, brother," he murmured softly, his voice filled with anguish and remorse.

With a heavy heart, he gently cradled Cillian in his arms, barely managing to carry him away from the chaos of the kitchen and into the quiet stillness of his room.