On the 17th of May, just past midnight, the Whitmore Estate stood bathed in moonlight, a vast expanse of manicured gardens, iron gates, and marble walls. The mansion was a fortress on its own, flanked by two security watchtowers and a small squad of armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Beyond the hedges, the faint hum of motion sensors buzzed, and surveillance drones traced silent arcs across the night sky.

Inside, the air carried the stillness of wealth, sterile, polished, and precise.

Charles Whitmore had just stepped out of the shower, his skin still damp, a towel hanging loosely around his shoulders. He crossed the marble floor of his bathroom and made his way into the adjoining bedroom, still half-lit by the soft gold lamps that lined the walls. But tonight, something was off.

The moment he stepped in, everything went black.

The lights flickered once, then died completely.

He froze, towel in hand. "What the hell…?"

A quick glance toward the window showed no outage outside, the garden lights still glowed faintly beyond the curtains. He frowned, moving to the switch on the wall and flicking it several times. Nothing happened.

"Charles Whitmore."

A voice, calm, low, came from the dark corner of the room.

Charles spun, pulse racing. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

A pause. Then the lights snapped back on.

Seated calmly in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, was Renny, dressed in his demon attire, black suit and crimson tie sharp against the dim yellow glow. Beside him, sprawled comfortably on the floor, was Oliver, gnawing casually on a bone, tail flicking lazily against the floor.

Renny smiled faintly, eyes glinting.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Whitmore."

Charles froze, his breath shallow. "Who… who the fuck are you? How did you get in here? My security…"

Renny chuckled softly, leaning back in the chair, elbows resting lazily on the armrests. "Oh, you're worried about the wrong things, Mr. Whitmore."

He exhaled, long and heavy, almost weary. "You have no idea what I went through just to get to you. You can't imagine how exhausting it's been." His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, a hint of annoyance cutting through his calm. "As for your men outside. They're cones, nothing more."

Charles' hands shook as he reached for his phone on the bedside table, his voice trembling. "I… I don't understand what you're talking about, but I'm calling the…"

He didn't finish.

In the blink of an eye, the world shifted.

His back pressed against cold leather. His towel had fallen. He was sitting, sitting in the very chair that Renny had occupied a heartbeat ago. The phone was gone.

And Renny now stood before him, a few feet away, eyes sharp and unblinking.

Oliver remained by side of the chair, lazily chewing on the bone, completely unbothered by the human's growing terror.

Charles pointed toward the exit, his lips quivering. "H-how? You were over here! I was there, How did… how did I…"

Renny tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting into something softer, almost pitying.

"Oh, Mr. Whitmore," he said, "You believe you're on earth."

A faint, eerie smile spread across his face. "This… is hell."

Charles' heart stuttered. "W-what are you talking about…"

Renny stepped closer, his presence heavy, oppressive, each word deliberate.

"You were a bad man on earth, Charles. And as they say… when you do wrong on earth…"

He leaned forward.

"…you end up here."

Charles shook his head violently, sweat running down his temples. "You… you're insane. There's no such thing as hell, no such thing. You're out of your damn mind!"

Renny stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head slowly, almost with a tired laugh.

"Trust me," he said, loosening his tie a bit. "I wish that were true. Because quite frankly…" He gestured vaguely at himself, "I could barely fathom this whole thing either. Being a demon In hell, Signing contracts for souls, And to top it all off," he gave a halfhearted laugh, "being the only Ezraphor. Can you imagine the kind of pressure that comes with that title?"

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. "It was too much at once. Too much."

He stopped for a second, eyes drifting to the floor. Then, slowly, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, his tone shifting, calmer now. "But that was a year ago," he said, adjusting his suit jacket.

He looked up, chin lifting slightly, eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"Now I've made my adjustments. I'm comfortable in this suit, in this role, in this place. Just like the former president said."

He stepped forward a little, his presence filling the room. "And now… I can finally finish this contract. And nothing…" his gaze fixed sharply on Charles "…nothing will stop me."

Charles instinctively tried to rise from the chair, panic in his voice. "Stay the fuck away from me…"

But Oliver's growl cut through the tension, low and deep. The beast's golden eyes lifted toward Charles, unblinking, daring him to move.

Charles slowly sat back down, his trembling hands gripping the chair's arms.

Renny smiled faintly, voice soft now, almost friendly. "Good," he said. Now, onto why we're here, Mr. Whitmore."

He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the soul key, Charles's key. Slowly, deliberately, Renny slipped the chain over his head.

The moment the key touched his chest, it pulsed, soft at first, then with a steady, low glow, like a heartbeat. The air thickened, humming faintly with power.

"Ease up," Renny said, his voice shifting, calm, resonant, almost soothing. "You're in Hell now, and I'm a demon. That's the truth of it. I need to achieve my goal, and you're going to help me do that."

Charles's resistance melted as if a fog descended over his mind. His breathing slowed, his eyes unfocused, his head giving a small, obedient nod.

Renny tilted his head slightly, satisfied. "Listen carefully."

He stood, pacing slowly before the man. "Your role is simple. You're going to start a sponsorship program for St. Brigid's Haven Orphanage, something noble, something that paints you as the saint the public loves to believe in. A few scholarships, some public appearances, a donation or two."

He stopped behind Charles's chair, his voice lowering to a whisper near the man's ear. "And among those orphans, you'll take a particular interest in one, a boy named Eli. He's your main priority. Protect him, praise him, make him your little miracle story."

Renny circled back around, hands sliding into his pockets, his expression unreadable. "But before all that," he continued smoothly, "you'll play a different part, a darker one. You'll act as a child trafficker. I'll be your supplier. Your secret dealer."

The glow of the soul key deepened, almost red now.

He smiled faintly. "All of it for one thing."

Renny's voice narrowed. "A detective named Marcus Hale will stumble across one of our… transactions. He'll piece it together and whisper it to his friend, Detective Daniel James Carter."

Renny paused, looking directly into Charles's vacant eyes.

Oliver gave a soft growl of approval beside him, still chewing lazily on his bone.

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