Blood.

On the walls, on the floor, all around the four bodies on the floor. Of which one was his dead enemy.

He should have been feeling satisfactory and...even victorious. The elimination of his enemy made him the richest person of Britain and Ireland, once more, without any threat to his position or business anymore. He could now save 21.73 percent of his costs, which had to be invested to remain ahead of his enemies and thwart the numerous attempts on his life. He should have been happy.

But he wasn't.

He looked down at the blood on his hands. Her blood. A drop of clear liquid slipped down his face, dripping on his hand, mixing with the red and he stared at it thoughtlessly.

He had achieved world domination adequately. But at what cost?