Before It Becomes Love - Part 7
You asked for him like it could turn into something softer if you named it clearly enough and held onto it hard enough.Sylus lets you, quietly watching as you mistook his attention for permission to rewrite what he had never defined in the first place.
Pairing: Sylus x Reader (implied Non MC)
Genre: Boss x Assistant, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Psychological Manipulation, Obsessive Dynamics, Power Imbalance Romance & Emotional Tension, Suggestive Themes & Ending not yet decided
Word count: Around 2.3k
Note: Next updates will be slow, please bear with me 🥺
Find the previous parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Find my other works here: Masterlist
Kindly let me know your thoughts, feedback, ignore the grammar mistakes and reblogs would be deeply appreciated.
Sylus involuntarily stared at the phone resting on his desk.
He had managed to repair it.
Every cracked component had been replaced, every loose wire secured back into place. It looked almost brand new now.
Almost.
His thumb hovered over the power button, but he couldn't bring himself to press it. A deep exhale escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
The office was quiet.
Too quiet.
In the dim lighting, the glow of the N109's skyline seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shifting patterns across the ceiling. His crimson eyes followed those shapes absentmindedly, letting the silence stretch around him.
Minutes passed.
Nothing changed.
Eventually, Sylus pushed himself out of the chair.
"...Not now."
The phone remained where it was. He had a bottle of bourbon waiting for him. The living room was just as he had left it. A bottle already rested on the coffee table.
He lowered himself onto the couch facing the front entrance and poured himself another glass.
The amber liquid swirled lazily before he brought it to his lips.
One glass became two.
Two became four.
Somewhere along the line, he stopped counting altogether. By the time he reached for another pour, only a few stubborn drops trickled into the glass.
"...Tch."
Empty.
With an irritated groan, Sylus stood.
The alcohol had settled heavily into his limbs. His movements were slower now, lacking their usual precision.
Halfway, his knee clipped the edge of the coffee table. The impact sent him stumbling forward.
"Fuck—"
His hand shot out instinctively, catching himself before he hit the ground.
For a brief second he simply remained there, one palm braced against the table, head lowered as the room tilted around him. Then, with another quiet curse, he straightened himself and continued toward his office.
He barely managed to reach the liquor cabinet.
Pulling another bottle free, he twisted the cap off without ceremony and took a long swig straight from it.
The burn barely registered anymore. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
His gaze drifted.
The phone.
Still sitting exactly where he'd left it.
Waiting. Almost mockingly.
Bottle still clutched in one hand, Sylus crossed the room and picked up the device with the other. His thumb lingered over the power button.
Then—
He pressed it.
The loading screen illuminated the dark office.
His vision blurred for a second, forcing him to blink several times before the image sharpened again.
Come on...
The loading icon spun.
Then finally—
The home screen appeared.
Almost instantly, the phone erupted into life. Message notifications.
Business emails.
Mission reports.
Missed calls.
Updates.
Messages from business partners.
Messages from MC.
The endless symphony of notification chimes filled the office. Sylus ignored every single one. His eyes searched for only one name.
Y/N.
Nothing.
Another long sigh escaped him. He lifted the bottle again, taking another slow drink before staggering backwards.
His heel caught against the leg of his chair.
He stumbled.
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"...Pathetic."
He tossed the bottle aside, completely ignoring the sharp crash of glass shattering against the floor.
He didn't even look. Instead, he opened your conversation. The last thing staring back at him was still his own message.
Unread.
His brows knitted together.
Unread...
Then his thoughts drifted—
The image Mephisto had shown him earlier.
You.
Walking through the park.
Hand in hand with another man.
His jaw tightened.
Yet almost immediately, another memory shoved itself to the forefront. "She said... her neck needed stitches." Luke's hesitant voice echoed through his mind. "Boss... she left us. We don't even know if she wants to come back."
Sylus closed his eyes.
As if shutting them would silence the words.
Instead—
Another voice followed.
"If an apology... an admission that you were wrong to hurt her... could bring her back... wouldn't you do it?"
His grip around the phone tightened. Too tight. The memory changed again.
Your blood.
Warm.
Fresh.
Running between his fingers. His entire body flinched. His gaze instinctively dropped to his own hand.
Even now—
He could almost see it. A phantom stain that refused to disappear. After several long seconds, Sylus inhaled deeply.
Then opened your chat once more.
His thumb hovered over the call icon.
One press.
The ringtone echoed softly through the speaker. His heartbeat slowed.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then—
The call connected. Relief flooded through him so suddenly it almost hurt. He parted his lips.
"...Do—"
"What's the use of calling her multiple times when you already know she's not going to answer?"
Sylus froze. Slowly, he pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared at the screen.
Y/N.
It was your number. He hadn't misdialed. His brows furrowed. Silently, he lifted the phone back to his ear.
"...Who..."
The alcohol made every word slower.
"...are you?"
A chuckle answered him.
"And why..." Sylus continued, voice dropping lower.
"...are you answering my dove's phone?"
The laughter grew louder.
"Your dove? Really?"
The unfamiliar voice sounded almost amused.
"It doesn't matter who I am."
A pause.
"But you need to stop bothering her."
Sylus's expression darkened.
"Pass her the phone."
"No."
"Now."
Another laugh.
"You don't really get to make demands anymore."
Silence.
Then the voice continued, noticeably colder.
"If you actually care about her..."
"...then physically get on your knees and beg."
Sylus said nothing.
"Grovel for what you did."
The words landed one after another.
Heavy. Precise.
"Y/N isn't a slut."
"She isn't some toy that'll fall back into your arms because you decided enough time has passed."
"You spilled her blood."
A beat.
"Don't ever forget that."
Then, quieter—
"Now piss off."
The line went dead. The office fell silent. Sylus remained standing exactly where he was. Phone still pressed against his ear.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The only sound left was the faint hum of the disconnected call. Several long seconds passed before his arm finally lowered. His thumb curled around the phone. His grip tightened.
For one dangerous moment—
He almost threw it.
His arm even twitched.
But...
It stopped halfway.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
He lowered the phone instead. The room suddenly felt impossibly empty. He made his way back toward the living room.
Every step heavier than the last.
Without bothering to turn on any lights, he dropped onto the couch. His head fell back against the cushions. Eyes closed. The silence from the call replayed louder than any conversation ever could.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
MC.
He didn't answer. The screen continued lighting up beside him. Sylus simply let it ring.
The Next Day
Sylus was jolted awake by a harsh, persistent onslaught of knocking on his office door. He groaned, sitting up and digging his fingers into his temples to combat the vicious hangover.
"What?"
Luke opened the door slightly.
“Miss Hunter is here.”
That made Sylus pause. Slowly, he lowered his hand.
"She's here?"
“She insisted. Said she’s been trying to reach you since last night.”
Sylus’s eyes flicked down to the phone.
Missed calls.
MC.
No messages from you.
Nothing.
Something in his jaw tightened, subtle but real. He stood up, stretching his towering frame as he walked past Luke. "Get ready for the mission. I'll deal with her."
Luke nodded and retreated, while Sylus marched into the living room. MC was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a deep, bitter scowl twisting her features.
"What's the purpose of your visit?" Sylus asked flatly.
She scoffed, standing up.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a response from you?”
Sylus didn’t move, like the weight of the night still hadn’t fully left him.
“…Good morning.”
MC scoffed.
“Don’t do that. I’ve been calling you all night.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you pick up?”
A beat.
Sylus exhaled through his nose.
“Phone issues.”
That wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t an explanation either. MC stepped closer, but the moment she got within a few feet, she sharply stepped back, pinching her nose in sheer disgust.
"Did you fucking drink the whole liquor store? You reek, Sylus."
Sylus merely shrugged, leaning his shoulder casually against the wall. "What's the crisis, Miss Hunter? The one that required you to venture into the N109 zone again."
“Your assistant is causing problems.”
That word.
Assistant.
Sylus’s gaze sharpened slightly.
"Is this about the previous issue—"
“No. She went behind my back. She spoke to Captain Jenna about me. About allegations.”
Silence.
Sylus tilted his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a dark chuckle. "Now, now. That's a rather baseless accusation, Miss Hunter."
"It's not! Captain Jenna summoned me to the Hunters' Association headquarters last night because of 'gross misconduct' I've apparently committed."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then Sylus spoke.
“…And?”
That one word shifted everything.
MC blinked.
“…And? That’s all you have to say?”
Sylus didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at her properly for the first time.
Calm.
Detached.
Almost tired.
MC’s face tightened.
"Captain Jenna met up with her yesterday—"
"Yesterday?" Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his mind flashing to the park footage.
"Yes! Apparently, some dude was the one who spilled the entire story about what happened at the base. Jenna was furious and demanded the absolute truth from me. I had to tell her everything, Sylus… and she sent me home pending investigation."
MC stepped closer, desperation leaking into her eyes. "Sylus, you better fix this. I demand that you fix this right now."
"Demand?" Sylus scoffed, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
"You're asking me to fix a situation that you entirely caused yourself?"
MC stared at him in complete shock, clearly not expecting him to turn on her.
“If they spoke to Jenna,” he said slowly, “then there was a reason.”
MC’s disbelief cracked into anger.
“So you’re just going to side with her?”
Silence.
Then—
“Yes.”
Simple.
Final.
MC froze.
For a second, she looked like she hadn’t processed it correctly.
MC stepped closer.
“You’re letting her ruin everything I’ve built.”
Sylus’s gaze dropped slightly.
Then lifted again.
Cold.
"No. Sorry, I can't help you with your career issues, Miss Hunter. You'll have to fix this yourself."
Silence.
MC stopped moving.
“…What?”
Sylus turned and walked past her. "What I let out in a moment of trust… caused all of this to happen."
Before he could take another step, MC lunged forward, grabbing his wrist tightly to halt his movement.
"Why do you only think about her?! Why are you defending her? I'm about to lose my entire career, and you just don't seem to care! Why?!"
Sylus paused. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to look down at her. Her face was completely fallen, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"Why are you behaving so coldly to me… when I need you the most?" she whispered.
"Miss Hunter—"
"Why are you pushing me away? You're acting like this because of that bitch! What about me? What about us?"
"Us?" Sylus let out a hollow, mocking laugh. "Now you're talking about an 'us'? What about it? I'm actually curious, Miss Hunter. What exactly are we?"
MC sniffled, her voice trembling. "You love me, don't you?"
"Love?" Sylus’s crimson eyes were completely dead as he looked at her tears, feeling absolutely nothing.
"I don't think so. I've never put a label on anything here, and I gave you plenty of opportunities to do so. But you chose to ignore my advances. Now, when your perfect little world is crumbling and you're about to lose everything, suddenly it's 'I love you' and 'what about us'..." He tilted his head. "How stupid."
MC didn’t move.
“…This is about her.”
Sylus didn’t answer.
That was his answer.
MC’s voice sharpened again, trying to rebuild control.
"It's because of her, right? That slut is ruining—"
Sylus violently yanked his wrist out of her grip, his expression shifting into something genuinely terrifying.
“Leave.”
The word wasn’t raised.
But it ended everything.
MC stood frozen for a second longer. Then turned.
And walked out.
The door shut behind her. No echo of resolution. Just silence.
Meanwhile
You were perched on the wide windowsill of Gideon's apartment, sitting cross-legged as you stared out at the sprawling landscape, watching the tiny passerby below. Your phone lay untouched on the cushion beside you.
"Wanna go clubbing tonight?"
You lazily turned your head. Gideon was leaning against the doorway, a bright, easy smile on his lips.
"Clubbing?"
"Yeah. You need to lose that morose cloud floating around you."
You scoffed, turning back to the window. "There's nothing morose about me."
"Uh-huh. And I'm the President of France."
You grabbed a nearby throw pillow and hurled it directly at his face. He caught it effortlessly, grinning as he held up his phone.
"Jen invited us out to that new exclusive spot in Linkon."
"Captain Jenna?" you asked, shifting around. "She still wants to see us after the complete disaster yesterday?"
Gideon shrugged.
"She's cool like that. Now wanna go or nah?"
You shrugged, a small part of you wanting to escape the heavy thoughts anchoring you down.
"Yeah. Maybe it'll help get my mind off things."
Gideon let out a fake, loud cough. "Like Sylus?"
"Tch. Shut up, Gid. What time are we leaving?"
"Around 10 PM-ish. Dress nice."
Club — Night
Later that night, the bass from the club's massive sound system vibrated right through the soles of your shoes. You were sitting at the sleek neon-lit bar, nursing an Aperol spritz.
You watched from afar as Gideon and Jenna navigated the crowded dance floor together, laughing and moving to the rhythm. You smiled to yourself, they genuinely looked cute together.
Then—
“Mind if I sit here?”
You didn’t look immediately.
“…Depends.”
A man.
Overconfident tone.
Wrong kind of confidence.
You already knew.
“I’m want to be left alone,” you said.
He threw his head back, laughing loudly as if you’d told a joke. Sliding his stool closer, he leaned into your personal space, whispering near your ear.
"Not when you're dressed like that, sweetheart."
You ignored him, taking a deliberate sip of your drink. He pressed closer, his breath smelling of cheap tequila. "Wanna get out of here?"
You shifted slightly away.
You eyed him coldly from the corner of your vision. "I'm good."
"Come on, pretty girl. We can have some real fun. Just the two of us. What do you say, hmm?"
Before you could stop him, he slid his hand onto your thigh, his fingers brushing right where the high slit of your dress parted. A wave of irritation washed over you. You sharply pulled your leg away, your voice hardening. "No."
"Come on. Let's just go. I promise I'll make it worthwhile."
He grabbed your forearm, his grip tightening as he tried to pull you off the stool.
"I said no, dude. Back the fuck off from me right now!"
You wrenched your arm free, stood up, and immediately walked away, intending to head to the washroom to regroup. But the dance floor was packed, and as you pushed through the swaying bodies near the back corridor, a hand suddenly clamped around your wrist again.
It was him. Utilizing the chaos of the crowd, he violently dragged you backward, throwing his weight against the heavy door of the emergency staircase to slip you inside the quiet, isolated concrete hallway. The heavy metal door slammed shut, cutting the blasting music down to a muffled thud.
You were thrown hard against the concrete wall, a painful hiss escaping your lips as your shoulder took the impact. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
He laughed.
“Still talking tough?”
He stepped closer.
Too close now.
Your fingers instinctively slid down to the inner hem of your dress, reaching for the emergency silver dagger strapped tightly to your thigh.
But before your fingers could even touch the hilt, the man froze.
Everything stopped.
Not metaphorically.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
His body jerked.
Forward.
Then still.
A sound — wet, final.
He froze completely.
Then—
He was pulled off you.
Violently.
Thrown across the stairwell. Impact echoed.
You stayed still for half a second. Breathing steady. Then slowly looked up.
Dim light.
Shadowed stairwell.
A silhouette standing between you and the man.
Unmoving.
Unshaken.
Watching.
Then—
Light caught his eyes.
Red.
Unmistakable.
Crimson.
And we're done 😇 Lemme know what y'all think.
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