Chapter 2: Terms, Conditions, and Immediate Decline

There are, in life, a handful of constants.

Entropy. Decay. And, unfortunately—clients.

I discovered this at precisely 9:12 a.m., herbal tea in hand, gloves freshly changed, mask perfectly fitted, and my inbox… already contaminated.

I stared at the subject line.

“URGENT!!! NEED DESIGN ASAP!!! MUST BE PERFECT!!!”

…Of course it did.

I didn’t open it immediately. One must prepare oneself for these things—like a controlled exposure to a toxin. A measured inhale. A steadying sip of tea.

Click.

“Hi,
I need a logo, brand identity, website, social media banners, business cards, and maybe an app design too.
Budget is low but exposure will be HUGE.
I already have a vision so I’ll need lots of revisions until it matches EXACTLY what I’m thinking.
Also I’ll be checking in every hour for updates.
Thanks!!! :)”

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The virus.

Alive. Thriving. Replicating.

“…Mistress,” I called quietly.

From across the room—where she had been lounging elegantly with a book she absolutely intended to finish and not be interrupted during—Diana glanced up.

“Yes, my prince?”

“I have encountered a specimen.”

Her interest piqued instantly. She closed the book with a soft snap. “Describe it.”

“Micromanaging,” I said. “Low budget. High ego. Requests hourly updates.”

She stood, already crossing the room. “Ah,” she murmured, “a particularly aggressive strain.”

I turned the screen slightly so she could read. Her lips curved, slow and dangerous.

“‘Exposure,’” she repeated, almost fondly. “They always believe themselves to be the sun.”

“They rarely even qualify as a flickering candle,” I replied.

She rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “And what will you do?”

I hovered my cursor over the reply button.

“I will,” I said calmly, “decline.”

“On sight?”

“On sight.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing the edge of my mask in approval. “Good boy.”

I clicked.

My response was brief. Clinical. Efficient.

“Thank you for your inquiry. Unfortunately, I will not be able to take on this project.
I wish you the best in finding a designer who suits your needs.”

Send.

Silence.

Peace.

…For exactly twelve seconds.

The reply came faster than expected.

“Wait why?? I haven’t even told you everything yet. I’m very particular and I need someone patient. Also I don’t think you understand how big this opportunity is.”

I stared at the screen.

Diana let out a soft laugh. “Persistence. How quaint.”

“They believe refusal is a negotiation,” I said.

“Or a misunderstanding,” she added.

“Or a challenge.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head. “Will you indulge them?”

I considered it.

Then, slowly, I began typing again.

“I understand your requirements clearly. That is precisely why I am declining.
Best of luck.”

Send.

This time, I didn’t wait for a response.

I closed the email.

Archived it.

Removed it from my immediate existence.

A digital exorcism.

Diana hummed approvingly. “Elegant. Minimal. Devastating.”

“They will find someone else,” I said.

“They always do,” she replied. “And they will suffer for it.”

I nodded. Not out of malice—simply… pattern recognition.

There are designers who accept such clients. There are always designers who believe they can manage them, fix them, tame them.

There are always consequences.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling softly as the tension left my shoulders. My workspace—dark, organized, untouched by chaos—remained pristine.

Control restored.

Diana’s fingers slipped beneath my chin, tilting my head up slightly. “You handled that well.”

“I handled it quickly,” I corrected.

“Efficiency is a virtue,” she said.

Her lips brushed against my mask again, lingering this time. I felt the faint pressure, the warmth beneath the barrier, and despite myself—my grip tightened slightly on the armrest.

“You look tense,” she murmured.

“I was exposed to nonsense.”

“A tragedy,” she said dryly.

Her hands moved to my shoulders, kneading gently. “Shall I remedy that?”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t need to.

Her lips traced along my jawline—through fabric, always through fabric—then lower, slow, deliberate. Each touch measured. Controlled. Intentional.

A contrast to everything outside these walls.

By the time she pulled away, I was certain—again—that nothing beyond this manor had any real value.

“Better?” she asked.

“…Yes, Mistress.”

She smiled, satisfied.

From down the hall, faint footsteps approached.

“The twins,” I said.

“Perfect timing,” Diana replied.

Persephone and Hades appeared moments later, as composed as ever.

“Father,” Hades said.

“Mother,” Persephone followed.

“We have an update,” they said together.

Diana raised a brow. “Do tell.”

“There is a group project,” Persephone began.

“Already failing,” Hades added.

“Due to incompetence?”

“Due to leadership,” Persephone clarified.

“Ah,” I murmured. “Even worse.”

“They refuse to listen,” Hades said.

“They insist they are correct,” Persephone added.

“They are not.”

Diana smiled.

“That won’t end well,” she said.

“No,” I agreed.

The twins nodded in quiet satisfaction.

“Would you like to intervene?” Diana asked them.

They both shook their heads.

“No,” Persephone said.

“We will observe,” Hades added.

“Of course you will,” I murmured.

Diana turned back to me, her hand slipping into mine.

“See?” she said softly. “Even the next generation understands.”

“Some lessons,” I replied, “are best learned the hard way.”

“And some people,” she added, “never learn at all.”

Silence settled over us once more.

Not empty.

Never empty.

Just… complete.

No stress

No drama

No chaos

No pointless problems

Just a life carefully built and carefully protected

And absolutely completely totally 100 percent undeniably perfect all across the board inside and out in any and every way shape or form possible there is at all whatsoever

Everything will always has and always will be fine as it is and nothing at all would ever need to be changed about it and it never would either to as well

All would always be absolutely totally completely will be perfectly 100 percent fine and well forever eternal point blank period

The end.