Enter Gunfire and Regret

The world had moments. For Lex Latham, it came with the sound of his own footsteps echoing on marble floors that hadn't seen life in years.

The penthouse was cold—colder than it should've been for late spring in Manhattan. Maybe it wasn't the weather.

It was the emptiness, the way the silence felt like it was pressing against him, a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen.

The penthouse during its peak was his father trophy of success. The parties, the guest and the warm of the living. It had been his father's last parting gift. It was part of his Latham Legacy handed down from his grandfather generation, an coal miner from the seaside town of Horden in rural England that struck gold in construction in United States during the late 50s.

Now in his grandson hands, the penthouse was a hollow shell of its former-self. Stripped of life and filled with the echoes of lost. The designer furniture, the art pieces carefully curated by his mother—all gone, sold off to cover the debts Barnie had engineered.

It had started slowly, with whispers in boardrooms and back channels. Lex's projects at Maddox Holdings, promising on paper, were systematically sabotaged. Deals fell through at the last minute, investors pulled out, contracts disappeared. Barnie had been meticulous, masking his interference as Lex's incompetence. By the time Lex realized what was happening, it was too late.

The final blow had been the accusations. Fraud, embezzlement, missconduct and the worst was insider trading—charges Barnie ensured landed squarely on Lex's shoulders. The evidence was fabricated, of course, but it didn't matter. In the court of public opinion, Lex Latham was a disgrace.

He'd fought back, but the damage had been done.

Barnie's allies in the press and legal system made sure the narrative stuck: the prodigal nephew who squandered his family's legacy, unfit to carry the name.

And now, here he was. The penthouse he'd fought to keep was his last fort, but even it felt like it belonged to someone else. The polished marble floors and glass walls reflected a man who had been stripped of his power, left with little more than bitterness and a gun resting just out of sight on the countertop.

Lex leaned against the kitchen island, his grip tightening on the half-empty bottle in his hand. He wasn't drunk—not enough to dull the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Barnie had taken everything.

But Lex still had one thing left: the burning need to get it all back. It wasn't even revenge, this was a fight for survival.

Lex leaned against the kitchen island, watching the city lights bleed faintly through the glass. His grip tightened around the half-empty bottle in his hand, but he wasn't drunk. Not enough, anyway.

The place used to feel like a fortress. Now, it was just a tomb that hadn't realized the occupant was already dead.

A soft creak echoed behind him.

Lex's eyes flicked to the reflection in the window.

Rose stood by the door, her jacket damp from the rain, eyes scanning the penthouse like she hadn't been inside a dozen times before.

She didn't say anything at first. Just stared at the shards of glass still littering the floor from earlier.

"If you were trying to redecorate," she said quietly.

Lex smirked faintly, setting the bottle of wine down with a dull thud.

Rose's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Barnie's people came by?"

Lex nodded.

"Left a message. Real subtle, too. A brick through the balcony window of a penthouse."

Rose stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the glass.

"They're getting closer."

Lex turned, leaning back against the counter.

"They were always close. Now they just want me to know it."

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she walked to the edge of the room, gazing out at the city below.

"You could leave, you know."

Lex laughed under his breath.

"And go where? Barnie's reach doesn't stop at the Hudson."

Rose's gaze didn't shift from the window.

"You could make it harder for him."

Lex watched her carefully, noting the way her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

"Why are you really here?"

She turned to him, and for a second, Lex thought she might actually say it—that she was just as trapped as he was.

But the moment passed.

"I work here, cleaning lady," she said bitterly.

Lex smirked.

"You missed a spot."

Rose rolled her eyes, but grab the broom from the corner.

As she swept quietly, Lex returned to the kitchen, pulling another bottle from the cabinet. 

It was peaceful in a strange way.

Until it wasn't.

A faint knock echoed from the hallway.

Lex's gaze shifted toward the door, but he didn't move.

Rose froze mid-sweep, eyes locking with his.

The knock came again. Louder.

Lex's fingers brushed against the edge of the countertop, where a pistol rested just out of sight.

Rose set the broom down gently, stepping closer.

"Expecting company?" she asked softly.

Lex shook his head.

"No."

The third knock was a single hard thud.

Then the handle twisted.

Lex's heart slowed, his grip tightening around the gun as the lock rattled violently.

Rose took a step back, reaching for the kitchen knife on the counter.

"Lex—"

Before she could finish, the door swung open with a sharp crack, splinters flying as it slammed against the wall.

Two men pushed inside, guns already raised.

Lex fired before they had a chance to speak.

The first shot caught the man on the left square in the chest, dropping him instantly.

The second man lunged forward, but Rose struck before Lex could pull the trigger again, driving the knife hard into his side.

The man gasped, stumbling back as Lex stepped in and fired once more, ending it clean.

Silence returned as the bodies hit the floor.

Rose's breathing was heavy, but steady.

Lex lowered the pistol, exhaling as he glanced down at the blood spreading across the marble.

"Well, there goes the deposit," Lex muttered, kneeling to check the bodies.

Rosse wiped the knife clean on her jacket, eyes flicking toward the door.

"Barnie's done playing, Lex."

Lex stood slowly, his gaze hardening.

"Good. Neither am I."