Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 162

Chapter 162: So… Now Choose
The silence wasn’t peace.

It was pressure.

It was as if the room had suddenly shrunk, not just the air but also their posture, confidence, and sense of control.

Everything pulled tight, compressed under the weight of something they’d never actually felt before.

Real loss.

Not the kind you bounce back from. Not money, not turf, not a few missing deals.

This was deeper.

Control. That’s what was gone.

The servers had stopped moving. The girls who’d been pouring drinks earlier were just sitting now, still and calm.

The screens on the walls had gone black. Every familiar rhythm—text pings, earpiece buzzes, hallway chatter—was just… gone.

No incoming calls.

No guards bursting in.

No outside contact.

Nothing.

Just Isabella.

And she wasn’t pacing. She wasn’t drinking. She wasn’t playing it up or making a scene.

She was just… there.

Still. Watching them.

Her eyes didn’t hold hate.

But they didn’t hold kindness either.

She looked at them the way someone might look at an empty building after a fire. Detached. Quiet.

Like she had already grieved whatever this was and was now just here to deal with the wreckage.

Then she finally spoke.

“You’ve had your fun. The jokes. The plans. The votes.”

Her voice was calm and low. It was not loud or dramatic, just steady. It was cold but not mocking.

This wasn’t a speech for revenge.

This was a cleanup job.

“You spent years building yourselves into little kings. You pulled strings, hid behind names, and buried every dirty move under layers of silence. You really thought you’d made it safe.”

She gave a tiny flick of her fingers toward the center of the table.

“But here we are.”

That table used to be the center of power in the room. Now it looked like a mess. Half-drunk glasses.

Pushed-back chairs. A bunch of men who looked like they’d just been kicked out of their own kingdom.

“I’m not here to kill you,” she said.

That line hit. A few shoulders visibly relaxed. A breath here. A twitch there. But it didn’t last.

“I’m offering a choice.”

Someone on the left flinched.

Isabella stood again—not with a show of force, just a smooth shift of weight—and walked slowly around the chair she’d been sitting in.

“You live,” she said, her eyes scanning across them, “but not as who you were.”

Some still didn’t get it. You could see it in their faces as if they were waiting for the second part of the sentence and waiting for the trick.

So she spelled it out.

“You give up everything. Territory. Accounts. Contacts. All of it. It becomes mine. Publicly? You vanish. Privately?”

She stopped in front of the scarred man near the end of the table.

“You work for me. No name. No presence. No history.”

Then she turned her gaze across the rest of them.

“You become ghosts. I own you. I hold the leash. You disappear from the world you built—and in exchange, you keep breathing.”

Her tone hadn’t risen once. But it didn’t need to.

“And if I even sense hesitation,” she added, “you’ll be turned into nothing more than a cautionary tale. A warning for anyone who forgets how this world really works.”

From the back of the room, someone gave a short, bitter laugh.

“You’re talking about making us your slaves?” the man said, voice cracking around the edge.

Isabella tilted her head slightly.

“No,” she said. “Slaves get seen. You’re not even getting that dignity.”

Another man stood. The one with the chain around his wrist. He stood slowly—no swagger, no anger—just resignation.

No one moved to stop him.

He looked at Isabella, and his voice shook when he spoke. “I’ll do it.”

Everyone looked his way.

He didn’t look brave. He didn’t even look embarrassed. Just tired. Just… done.

“I’ll give it up. Everything. Just let me live. I’ve got a daughter. I want to see her grow up.”

Isabella didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

She just nodded.

That was enough.

The servers didn’t approach him. They didn’t have to. He sat back down, folded his hands, and stared straight ahead like he wasn’t even in the room anymore.

Then an older man stood—the one who had kept quiet until now.

“This is insane,” he said. “You can’t build loyalty through fear. You want to run an empire with dead eyes and empty names? That’s not power. That’s a graveyard.”

Isabella didn’t interrupt.

“You’ll get rebellion,” he said. “Sabotage. You’ll spend more time watching your back than running anything.”

He wasn’t wrong.

But he was missing something.

She stepped toward him. Not fast. Just close enough to look him in the eye.

“I don’t need love,” she said quietly. “I just need fear that works.”

Then he opened his mouth to argue again—but didn’t get the chance.

The server next to him moved without a word. Just one step forward, a hand to the back of his neck, and a soft click as a needle slipped in.

The man blinked once.

Then his eyes rolled slightly.

And he was gone.

No gasp. No struggle. Just a quiet collapse as his body went limp in the chair, head slumping forward like the life had been switched off.

No one said a word, and now nobody else dared to move.

Isabella turned and walked back to the center of the room. Her seat was waiting, as were the eyes, the silence, and the weight of what had just happened.

“That,” she said softly, sitting down again, “was the logical argument.”

She adjusted her jacket. Crossed one leg over the other.

Then looked across the room, settling on the youngest man at the far end.

The one who hadn’t spoken.

He looked pale. Jaw tight. Hands clenched on the edge of the table. He hadn’t blinked much since she walked in.

But his eyes asked the question the others didn’t dare voice out loud.

How do you know all this?

How could you possibly know this much?

She tilted her head slightly.

Then gave the smallest smile.

Like she was saying, you already know.

And maybe he did.

She leaned back into the chair, arms relaxed at her sides.

Her voice stayed low.

But it filled the room.

“Choose.”