R U H A N I K A' S    P O V 

I lay on my bed, eyes squeezed shut, but the darkness behind my lids offered no sanctuary. Every word Vicky had uttered felt like a shard of glass embedded in the quiet of my room. It's hard for the world to believe. To everyone else, he's the calculated titan of industry, the man with the silver tongue and the iron fist. They might think this—the violence, the self-destruction—is just a new level of his cruelty. But I know better. He is darker than any of you could ever imagine, but not in the way you think.