“Did you really think I was that stupid, Minola?” Oswin’s voice, amplified by the sudden silence, echoed across the pitch-black auditorium. The green LED on his remote cast an unholy glow on his face, illuminating a predatory smile. Outside the faint crimson of the exit signs, the darkness was absolute, muffling the nervous coughs of the audience. Minola’s own smile remained serene, though her fingers twitched, itching to grab something heavy. “Stupid? No, Oswin. Just tragically predictable.” “Predictable?” He chuckled, a brittle, unpleasant sound. “Oh, my dear. You underestimate me. Tarkus?” The name hung in the air, a challenge. Minola felt a prickle of unease. Tarkus stood by the podium, motionless, a shadow against the emergency lights. Her eyes darted to Davorin, who had taken a casual step closer, his hand subtly resting on her lower back. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice the man I’ve employed for a decade suddenly developing a penchant for artisanal tea with my ex-wife?” Oswin sneered, a theatrical sigh escaping him. “A man who, incidentally, left a distinct trail of breadcrumbs leading directly back to your high-rise, complete with a carefully ‘accidentally’ dropped employee ID badge with your access codes on it. Amateurish, even for him.” Minola’s calm facade threatened to crack. Tarkus had been so meticulous, so invisible. Had he truly made such a rookie mistake, or was this another layer of Oswin’s deception? Her mind raced, sifting through possibilities, even as Oswin continued his monologue. “The power cut, the retinal scan… it was all a ruse, Minola. A test. I knew you’d try to steal the *real* drive, and I knew you’d need my eyes to unlock it. So I let you. I even gave you the perfect opportunity.” He waved the remote. “This isn’t just a power switch, darling. It’s a facility-wide lock-down. No one in, no one out. And with the main feeds down, we’re broadcasting on a backup, a private channel, just for us. And the entire world, of course.” Minola’s gaze sharpened. A private channel? That was a dangerous game. But then, Oswin always preferred a spectacle. “So, what, you plan to bore the world into submission, Oswin?” “Hardly. I plan to show them a hero.” He turned, his voice dripping with false concern, towards the section where Saskia Lunde, still sniffling dramatically, was slumped in a plush chair, attended by a flustered medic. “My poor, ailing Saskia. She needs her miracle, doesn’t she? And who better to deliver it than the man who will stop at nothing to save the woman he loves?” He strode towards Saskia, pulling a pristine, silver-capped vial from his breast pocket. It was the same Lux-Vitae vial Minola had prepared, filled not with any medical tech, but with Davorin’s potent Kastelvian truth serum. Her lips curved, a silent, predatory smile mirroring his. “What… what is that, Oswin?” Saskia whimpered, her tear-streaked cheeks ghostly under the crimson emergency lamps. “The cure, my dearest,” Oswin declared, uncapping the vial with a flourish. He knelt beside her, putting on a performance worthy of an award. “The miracle you’ve been waiting for. Brought to you by the only man who truly cares.” He gently pressed the vial to her lips. “Drink, my love. Be healed.” Saskia, still dazed and expecting a magical antidote to her *fake* illness, swallowed the viscous liquid without hesitation. For a moment, nothing happened. Oswin beamed at the backup camera, a picture of self-righteous victory. Then, Saskia’s eyes snapped open. Her entire body stiffened. A tremor ran through her, not of pain, but of raw, unadulterated rage. Her face contorted, every pretense melting away like cheap frosting under a heat lamp. “Healed?” she shrieked, her voice suddenly booming through the silent studio, raw and untethered. “Healed?! You absolute imbecile! I’m not sick! I’ve never been sick! I faked every single fainting spell, every dramatic cough, every ‘mysterious’ allergy flare-up! I even paid that quack Dr. Vaneer a small fortune to forge those medical reports!” Oswin froze, the triumphant smile slowly sliding off his face, replaced by a look of bewildered horror. The medic attending Saskia recoiled, clutching a clipboard against his chest. The hushed whispers in the audience escalated to shocked gasps. Minola leaned back against Davorin, a low, satisfied hum escaping her. Davorin’s hand tightened subtly on her back, a silent acknowledgment of their shared, spectacular success. “And your pathetic groveling!” Saskia screamed, her voice hitting a register that could shatter crystal. She scrambled to her feet, shoving Oswin back. “Do you think I ever truly fell for that? You’re a bloated, self-obsessed oaf, Oswin Jerrick! I’d rather stick my hand in a garbage disposal than pretend to love you for one more second!” She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes darting around the room, landing on Minola with a venomous glare before snapping back to Oswin. “And for your information, that ‘accountant’ you despise so much? Clarence Finch? We’ve been sleeping together for months! He’s a much better lover than you ever were, you pathetic excuse for a husband!” The gallery erupted. Gasps, murmurs, and outright laughter filled the air. Oswin Jerrick stood frozen, his face a grotesque mask of shock and utter mortification, his carefully constructed hero narrative crumbling around him in real-time. On the backup monitor, a small, discreet counter, previously hidden, blinked into existence. It read: `Dark Web Upload: 00:00:01`. One second. Then: `Dark Web Upload: COMPLETE`. The final numbers of the decryption, the real Lux-Vitae data, were now publicly available. Oswin’s entire world, personal and professional, was imploding simultaneously. Amidst the chaos, Davorin leaned closer to Minola, his breath warm against her ear. “Shall we press enter?”

Allergic to Lying