Jasmine. Jasmine. Jasmine.

Her name was like a broken record, it just kept repeating itself over, and over, and over.

As he stormed away from his father's office, no coherent thought seemed to form in his mind. Maximilian was a fireball of imminent violence and destruction, enflaming his surroundings as the negative energy pent- up inside of his core ached to release itself in the most cataclysmic way possible. His right hand threw open doors as he crossed from one room to the other, while the left squeezed the life out of a mangled beige folder, one which held enough evidence to define the fate of another human being.

Various servants gasped in fright as the wooden doors slammed against the walls, leaving visible dents, but they didn't dare breathe a word in their regard. Instead, they quietly scurried past their master, careful not to make eye-contact with him. They then hurried to the scene of the incident, attempting to brush away the evidence of his anger. They knew very well what the consequences were if they disturbed him, as he wasn't the type to let you off with only a scolding as a punishment.

It was ironic how this time around the information Max held would be used to save a life, rather than destroy it. He detested that judicatory side of him, as more often than not, it would come back and bite him in the ass, kicking him in the head afterwards. Call it a sixth sense or gut feeling, but Max knew that this would be one of those cases.

He just hoped that all his impulsive decisions wouldn't catch up to him all at once.

At least, give me some time to breathe, Karma.

His anger slowly receded like waves from a shoreline as he trudged further and further away from his father's office. There was something about being in that room that made Max's blood boil in his veins, with his father's judgmental gaze being the trigger to his bloodthirsty thoughts. Meanwhile, Jasmine's domain was more inviting. Not because of the place itself, but because of the woman inside of it. Lust, the bittersweet sin it was, sat down on his emotional scale, tipping it over and sending all logic and reason flying over its shoulder.

Max was hungry now, and it wasn't for food.

His emerald-green eyes turned a shade darker with arousal as he neared his destination, his mind clouding over with lascivious thoughts as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. He turned the second-to-last corner and almost jogged to the end of the hallway, muttering profanities under his breath about the size of the mansion.

When he rounded the corner, however, he didn't like what he saw. At all.

Both Roman and Jasmine stood in the middle of the next hallway. Roman was waving his hands around while Jasmine's head was tilted backwards as she laughed delightedly, her arms wrapped tightly around her clipboard. He was probably telling her one of his stupid anecdotes for the millionth time, pathetically hoping that a bunch of bad jokes would give him the leeway to get in her pants. Max wasn't fooled by the charade, unlike Jasmine, who began to chatter away, flirtatiously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His arousal disappeared as quickly as it started.

Easy manipulation: one of the many reasons why Max never used women for anything other than pleasure. In all honesty, he hadn't expected anything better from Jasmine. It was now clear to him that in the end, under all those layers, women were all the same. Catch one at the right time, shower her with a few compliments and she wouldn't hesitate to jump into bed with you.

Disgusting, Max snorted.

He almost had second thoughts and was a breath away from turning around and walking the opposite direction. Max knew, however, that standing down was an act of active submission— one which was unacceptable for an alpha like him. He would take advantage of her services one last time, then throw her to his mongrels. She was no longer of use to him.

He confidently strolled down the centre of the corridor, his head held high and his shoulders rolled back, his arms swinging loosely by his sides. His face was a mask of coolness and indifference, even though a thunderstorm raged within his core. It was no wonder that Max had earned the nickname of el lobo by his subordinates; the display of dominance was enough to send anyone scurrying away with their tail in between their legs.

As if sensing his presence — it was impossible not to, considering Max's aggressiveness was almost painful to witness—-Roman's gaze flicked upwards. His eyes clouded over with resentment for a split second before the emotion vaporised into thin air, forcing a pained smile on his face to hide their previous dispute from his unsuspecting prey. Jasmine, unaware of the room's sudden drop in temperature, continued to babble away as the two cousins made eye contact with one another. Max didn't blink as he neared them, his mouth set in a thin line as he raised an eyebrow, the underlying meaning inescapable.

"Speak of the devil—" Roman began, pushing a hand into his pocket.

"—And here he is," Max finished, shamelessly swinging his good arm over Jasmine's shoulders and pulling her towards his hard chest. She whimpered in surprise but didn't reject him, instead responding with a deep blush.

The look Roman gave him was priceless: it was a mixture of rage and defeat.

Loser.

"How was your father's meeting?" Jasmine asked, looking up at him.

Several images of the occurrence flashed across his mind, but he waved them away, forcing himself to concentrate on maintaining self-control.

"It was alright. What were you two doing? I thought you had some issues to resolve," Max said dryly, the final statement directed at his cousin.

"I was about to come look for you when suddenly, I ran into Roman! He was looking for me because he wanted to ask if—"

"She had fixed up your shoulder! You seemed in pretty bad shape before, so I wanted to make sure that you were O.K.," Roman interrupted abruptly, his words coming out rushed and in one breath.

Max's eyes narrowed in suspicion. His cousin was lying, it didn't take a genius to understand that, but why?

"Is that so, Jasmine?" Max gave her a titillating look, complete with an eyelash flutter.

"Oh don't be silly, Roman," she giggled, waving him away with a hand, "he asked me out for dinner!"

"He did, did he?" If looks could kill, then the one Max threw at his cousin would have lit him on fire. Roman shuddered in his place, his face drained of all colour as he looked down at his feet, slumping his shoulders down in embarrassment.

"I was just about to answer his question, when you came along," Jasmine whispered, biting her lower lip and blushing again as she repositioned her spectacles on her nose.

Roman's ears turned red as he lifted his head, a Cheshire Cat's grin tattooed across his face as he pulled trembling hands out of his pockets. With an opposing reaction, Max removed his arm from around Jasmine, allowing it to fall limply by his side. The eye-roll accompanying the gesture was so dramatic, it was a miracle that his eyes didn't stay facing his brain.

"Well, what is your answer?" Roman prompted gently, tilting his head to one side. During the few moments of Jasmine's hesitation, a single thought ran through Max's mind.

No matter what her answer was, whether it was yes, no, or never in a million years, Max would stop interacting with her. As he glanced over at his cousin, who's face was lit up like a Christmas' tree, he realised that it had been the first time in several months in which he had looked genuinely happy. Max had never noticed Roman's attraction to Jasmine before; he had been too self-absorbed to perceive the feelings of anyone besides himself.

This new sense of altruism was frightening, and even he was surprised at his capability to empathise with Roman. Max just hoped that his charitable mood would be a one-off because out there on the streets, being anything other than tyrannical would make mincemeat out of him.

Then again, he wasn't safe even in his own home now.

"Yes." Jasmine grinned, leaning forwards to poke Roman in the chest. Delighted, he threw both of his fists in the air, spinning in place and moonwalking across marbled floor. Max chuckled as he looked on, his cousin's childish behaviour placing him in a good mood.

"Did you hear what she said? She said yes!"

"I know, I'm not deaf, primito," Max smiled. After carefully setting down the folder in his hand on a spot beside a wall, he jogged up to Roman and wrestled him in a headlock, playfully ruffling his hair, "Forgive my cousin for his childish behaviour. It's been a while since he's been on a date, I almost thought he switched teams!"

"It's alright," Jasmine chortled, "I would be excited too if I had a date with me."

At this, both males stopped what they were doing and threw a startled look at her.

Well, that was unexpected, Max thought as he looked her up and down. Was it still the same Jasmine? The three remained silent for a couple of minutes.

"So I guess I'll get back to work." Jasmine broke the silence, fiddling uncomfortably with the edge of her clipboard.

"Yeah, I have a few things to do myself," Roman muttered, slithering out of Max's hold, "I'll pick you up at eight?"

"Is nine o'clock O.K? I finish my shift at six, so I would need some time to get home and freshen up."

"Awesome, no problem." Roman nodded, throwing a glare at Max when Jasmine turned the other way.

"Alright, so I guess I'll see you later guys!" Jasmine gave them a small wave and a smile, then she turned on her heel to catwalk back towards her office.

When she was out of sight, Roman turned back towards his cousin and shoved him forcefully in the chest, sending him stumbling a few steps back.

"Thanks a lot, asshole! I bet she thinks I'm a complete loser now," Roman grumbled, passing both hands through his hair in exasperation.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she was too busy judging you for your little dance number. Moonwalk? Really?" Max guffawed, holding his stomach.

"Oh, shut up! What do you know about dancing? The last time we went to a party you almost elbowed some chick in the face!"

"I was smashed, O.K, and it's those moves that gets me all the ladies! But what would you know, you're basically a virgin."

At this, Roman swung a fist to his cousin's face. But Max, whose reflexes were honed to almost perfection, caught it in midair, twisting Roman's whole arm behind his back and shoved him against the wall. Roman struggled against the hold, sputtering profanities.

"What's that I hear? You're sorry for being rude to your adored cousin and want to beg for forgiveness by bringing him coffee every day for the next month?"

When he received another swear as a response, Max twisted his arm further, feeling a few joints crackle under his weight, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that. Do you mind repeating your answer?"

"Yes! Yes, you bastard! I'll do it!" Roman blubbered, and Max immediately released his arm, shifting a few steps to the side to allow him to slide to the floor. Roman remained with his face against the wall, rubbing his injured arm while he sniffled.

"There you go. It wasn't that hard, was it?" Max said patronisingly, crossing his arms.

"Fuck off," Roman mumbled, further twisting his body away from his cousin. Max felt a twinge in his heart at the action, wondering whether perhaps he had taken their playful squabble one step too far.

"I would, but it's a little far from here," Max leaned against the wall, still looking down at Roman, who was now struggling to restrain himself from laughing.

"That doesn't even make sense, you idiot."

"I know, that was just my way of saying sorry."

Roman raised a hand in the air, and Max took it, lifting his cousin to his feet.

"Do humanity a favour and never become a standup comedian." Roman grinned, brushing himself off and adjusting his collar.

"Don't you worry, that isn't my aspiration in life," Max retaliated with a smirk on his face. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Max remembered that he still had the folder in his hand. He had delayed its analysis for too long now, the next couple of hours would be the only time he'd ever really have to sit down and take a look at it. "I'm going to have to get going now, I have a lot of work to do."

Roman checked his watch, then looked back at Max his lips still curled into a small smile, "I suppose it's a little too late to get to school, it's already nine-thirty."

"Who gives a shit anyway. We're starting Macbeth today in English. Definitely wasn't looking forwards to it."

"If it were done when 'tis done, then t'were well it were done quickly. If th'assasination could trammel up the consequence, and catch with his surcease success; that but this blow might be the be-all and the end-all," Roman recited dramatically, fisting his hand and shoving it forwards in a stabbing motion.

"Whatever you say, cousin." Max said sympathetically as he patted Roman's shoulder, "let me know if anything interesting happens, and good luck with your date tonight. I'll be at my place," He walked back to the forgotten file and bent over to pick it up. He began making his way towards the front of the mansion when Roman snapped out of his trance.

"What's that folder for?"

Max stopped in his tracks, then turned to look first at him, then at the file in his hand.

"Nothing worth showing. Just a couple of... cake recipes I might give to the maid," he lied, but Roman's mind was already elsewhere.

-:-

Half-way through the trip, Max decided that he wasn't going to return to his apartment, at least not immediately. Roman almost always called his home number within the hour, but Max had graver issues on his plate and had already spent enough time with his cousin for the day.

Besides, he needed to make a pit-stop at a local Starbucks for some coffee.

The beige folder sat on the seat next him as he drove, and at every traffic light, Max stole a glance in its direction to ensure that it hadn't magically disappeared in thin air. He resisted the urge to reach over and open it, knowing that in his current state of mind he wouldn't be able to rationally assess the elements within the images. He revelled in the solitude of his two-seat Porsche the smoothness with which it glided across the asphalt giving him the quietness he needed to be absorbed in his own, deafening thoughts.

Max switched gears as he rounded a corner, switching them again as he changed lanes into a different street. The traffic in Manhattan wasn't atrocious as usual, but it was still enough to make him tap his fingers impatiently against the wheel. To make matters more aggravating, Max was blessed with the presence of an ancient pick-up truck in front of him, who seemed to enjoy taunting him with his snail's pace.

Finally, after what felt like ages, an opening appeared in the left lane. Max glided into it, rolled his window down to flip the driver, and sped off, smirking as he expertly zig-zagged between the other vehicles to avoid any complications. The volume of the area around him suddenly dropped as he broke off into First Avenue, as the area was relatively isolated from the rest of the city. Out of the many coffee shops he'd been to, the one located there was by far his favourite. It's large radius of detachment meant that the nearest form of public transportation was ten blocks away, greatly reducing the number of vehicles in the area.

Fewer cars equal fewer people, and fewer people equal more alone-time.

Reaching his destination, Max gracefully pulled into the nearest parking spot, checking that he wasn't unintentionally occupying two spaces. The last time he had done so, he was rewarded with a hefty fine, and although money wasn't an issue for Max, the blow to his license was.

Max grabbed the folder before he stepped out of his car, a refreshing autumnal wind nipping his face. After locking his car, he tilted his head back, grimacing when he noticed how the sky above was full of tumultuous, dark, and ragged clouds.

He unlocked his car to retrieve his umbrella.

-:-

Max sat at the booth furthest away from the rest of the cafe, armed with a steaming cappuccino and two cinnamon donuts. He usually didn't splurge on unhealthy food. He preferred Italian coffee and croissants to the watery syrup and diabetes-bomb before him, but since he hadn't eaten anything for the past sixteen hours, the rumbling of his stomach resembled the mating call of a whale, so he had to quell the beast before his hunger grew out of hand.

The Starbucks he was in was much larger than your average New York City one, with a seating area that was spread out as enough to not feel cramped, and chain screen panels that separated it from the hall and bar. Wood panelled walls, hanging pictures, and a dim lighting gave the place an overall aura of warmth, protectively enveloping each of its customers with it. Its quietude smoothed out the jagged edges of Max's nerves. As he pulled out the photographs and carefully laid them out on the table, he gripped his drink, taking controlled sips to stop himself from grabbing them and shredding them into pieces.

After scanning all the images, he picked up the one where Zara's face was the most visible, and held it up, his eyes narrowing into slits as he inspected it.

She was dressed as your typical burglar: she wore black from head to toe while her long curly hair was tied up in a ponytail and combat boots adorned her feet. Zara's head was turned so that her face was completely exposed to the lens of the security camera while her ungloved hands clutched the straps of a knapsack.

Max placed the image down back onto the table, and picked up another one, then another, mentally scaffolding the similar traits that they had. An hour later, after inspecting the fingerprints and the other samples, he drained his cappuccino and placed it on the table, crossing his arms in front of him as he reached a conclusion.

All the images were staged.

He must think I'm an idiot.

At a first glance, you'd think that all the images were in fact taken at the time of a robbery and that in fact Zara was the culprit.

But a minute detail gave it all away.

He hadn't noticed it in the first image, but it was the fifth or sixth along that caught his attention. Previously covered by the turtle neck sweater, a small tattoo adorned the neck of the intruder. The photo was too grainy to make out exactly what it was, but it was enough to see that, in fact, there was something on her neck. He reviewed all the other pictures again and there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Zara didn't have a tattoo.

Because the robbery had presumably taken place three nights before his encounter with her, it was impossible that she had gotten it removed, unless it was a temporary tattoo. Highly unlikely, however, as any criminal with half a brain wouldn't purposefully give themselves a distinguishing mark. Every time he looked at the images, something new would resurface, adding on to a list which now seemed never-ending.

There was no doubt that his father's minions were behind this. They had simply forgotten that Max wasn't a nitwit like their boss.

They must've found someone with an uncanny resemblance to Zara and paid her a few bucks to star in their shitty modelling shoot. Poor girl.

Max was going to get to the bottom of this, and he was going to weed out the bastards involved, if it was the last thing he did.

But for now, he was content with his discovery.

He bit into his donut with a satisfied smile on his face.

-:-