Page 51 of The Madness Within

But now, it held a desk, a mic, and everything I needed to keepDead Wrongalive.

It wasn’t freedom. It was control dressed as kindness. A cage with perfect acoustics.

Wrapped in luxury. Caged in velvet. Imprisoned by obsession. And yet… He let me speak.

The rule was simple:Don’t tell the truth.But he didn’t say I couldn’t sharpen the edge. Didn’t say I couldn’t turn the blade slowly.

I took a breath. Pressed record. “Good evening all you ghostly gals and ghouls. You’re tuned in to the one and only…Dead Wrong.” My voice slid into the mic like smoke into lungs. “Boy do I have a show for you tonight.” I whispered into the mic, letting my words caress the ears of those tuning in. “They say evil wears many faces. Sometimes it looks like a monster hiding under your bed. Sometimes it looks like the man who just saved your life in court.”

I paused.

Not fear.

“But the most dangerous ones? The ones who cut the deepest? They don’t scream. They whisper. They wear suits. They wear charm-like armor. They let you believe you’re safe right up until they show you the knife.”

The shadows shifted behind me. I could feel them.

I kept going.

“This isn’t about the ones who got away anymore. It’s about the ones who never had to run.”

I lowered my voice, let it curl dark.

“Imagine a man who kills with intention. Not for blood, but for balance. A man who makes monsters disappear and calls itjustice.”

My heart was thundering now. Because I wasn’t just talking to my audience.

I was talking tohim.

To Dorian.

“You might even start to wonder... is he cleaning up what the system left behind? Or is he just carving out space for something even worse?”

The red light stayed on. I haven’t broken the rules.

Not technically.

“Some say the Devil doesn’t exist. But I think he does. I think he walks in daylight. I think he speaks softly. I think he listens to this podcast.”

There was a hum in the floor. The walls. The air.

Magic.

It’s alive now.

He’sfeelingthis.

Good.

“And to the Devil,” I whispered, lips nearly touching the mic, “I hope you’re enjoying the show.”

I ended the recording with aclickand sat back in my chair. The silence after felt heavier than it should.

The shadows didn’t just flicker now, they crawled. Writhing up the walls like vines made of smoke and spite. I could taste them on the back of my tongue.

He was close.

The door didn’t slam open.

---