Chapter 43

14 Years Ago…

A deep fog has settled across the Southern Isles, a common occurrence as the cold midnight air meets with the crashing waves on the dark rocks along the shore. It permeates and masks the nefarious deeds of those that prowl the dimly lit streets.

The city is left to fend for itself in this witching hour, crime goes up exponentially and those too unfortunate to find shelter for the night are nothing more than blinded prey.

The only place the fog doesn't touch, however, is a large mansion on a hill overlooking the small island. The lights are still on, but no silhouettes can be made out through the curtains. But the mansion is definitely alive.

A young boy rubs his eyes and shuffles down the hallway of his bedroom. He walks past the bathroom, kitchen, and great hall until he sees a set of double doors slightly ajar: the entrance to his father's study. He grasps the golden door handle, smelted and formed into the letter "W", and walks inside, the curiosity getting the better of him.

He is rarely ever allowed in his father's study for fear of the consequences that would come if he was ever caught. Nonetheless, his curiosity is still piqued as he sees the portrait in the back of the room- an oil canvas of his father, commissioned from a world-renowned artist- along with the subsequent wall it's hung off of, had swung forward.

A secret door.

The boy saw light radiating from this new entrance and he walked over, quietly stepping down the stone staircase. As he descended the spiral, he heard voices coming from below. They were incoherent at first save for some hearty laughs and certain expletives his tutor told him never to say.

But as he kept walking, the voices became more and more coherent. Once he got down to the base of the staircase, he stopped and listened. Right away he knew that just around the corner were his twelve brothers and his father; and if they saw him, there would definitely be consequences.

To his eight-year old mind, the conversation didn't make any sense. They were using these big words like "proposition", "exploit", and "untouchable". They talked about settling scores and playing ball, maybe they were talking about some kind of game? He heard his father say that the Southern Isles was theirs, this was the only thing he could slightly understand.

As he leans in to get a closer look, his foot slips on the stairs and he tumbles forward. All eyes in the stone-carved turned towards him and glared. They start shouting horrible things at him, calling him a runt, no good, a mistake.

His father silences them and walks over towards the boy.

He thinks, or hopes, that there is any sort of compassion in those piercing eyes. But it's a look as sharp as the scar across his cheek. He grabs him by the neck and drags him back up the stairs. When they reach the entrance to his study he throws him down to the floor and slams the door shut.

The little boy doesn't know what hurts worse: the bruise on his neck, or his father calling him a disgrace.

Eight Years Ago…

The boy is now a young man.

A young man who has just been struck across the face by a girl, and is now being laughed at by a cafeteria's worth of students.

As he picks himself up and sneers at the two girls that have just rejected him, he hears his friend lecture him for trying to court them as he bursts through the cafeteria doors. This wasn't how it usually worked, girls would kill to be with him and he knew it. But these two...they were different.

Still though, even after the slap the redhead intrigued him.

He walks,and walks, and keeps walking until he finds himself behind the bleachers of the soccer stadium. The rest of his friends, nod towards him and try to make conversation until they see the anger in his face. They simply hand him the flask and he takes a long drink. The liquor used to burn more until recently.

This always happens, and he doesn't know why he doesn't expect it anymore. If he was rejected by his family, why wouldn't he be rejected by everyone else either?

Those that do stay by him only do so because of his last name. And he knows this, he knows how much weight the Westerguard name carries. Even though he may be the "black sheep" as his brothers have now begun to call him, he still has the name, the influence, and the bank account.

It's much smaller than his brothers', but still larger than all of his friends' combined. Which is why they follow him, obey him. But do they respect him?

No, and he can see it in their eyes. And because he can see it, it causes his blood to boil even more. He has no respect, no identity other than his last name and his wallet.

One friend, more inebriated than everybody else, opens his mouth and begins to mock him for his failed attempt at romance. It's meant to be playful, but he doesn't see it that way.

Each word pierces his mind and distorts the world around him, the voices are muted, and he feels his heartbeat begin to pick up as all his insecurities and faults are laid out right in front of him. It's not just his friend saying these things, mocking him, it's his brothers, his teachers that force him to stay after class and talk to him about his attitude, his father.

All these people thinking they can tell him who he is, not giving him the respect and admiration he deserves.

And something inside him snaps.

He lunges towards his friend, grabs him by the collar and pushes him down the the ground. There's shock in his friend's eyes, and then anger, and then fear as he raises a fist and lands a punch right across his cheek.

It feels amazing, a thrill shoots down his spine and he curls his lip as he drives his fist again right underneath his left eye, all while keeping his other hand wrapped around this defenseless boy's neck. The crack of his knuckles meeting a fractured bone, the cries of the boys behind him failing to cease the violence, the look of shock and helplessness and the rasped breathing of his victim...it's a feeling like no other.

And he wants more.

Over and over again. Punch after punch. He doesn't stop, and everyone around is too afraid to stop him.

He thinks he screams, but his heart is pounding loudly in his ears to actually hear it. His vision goes blurry, and he finally stops when he begins to lose feeling in his hand.

His "friend" lays motionless on the ground, groaning as he slowly rolls onto his side and coughs up blood. Everyone crowds around the victim as the young man shakes his hand off, blood splattering on the dirt beneath him. He feels no remorse, no sympathy, and knows that no matter how many witnesses there were, nothing would happen to him.

He walks away as his lips break out in the first genuine smile of his life.

Four Years Ago...

The man is now in his first year of college. He doesn't get far before being called back home.

After a short flight and drive back to the mansion, he sees his father waiting for him with a smile and open arms. The man is cautious, stoic even, as he rejects the embrace and asks his father why he's been summoned.

His father doesn't answer, he only puts his arm around him and guides him towards the hallowed study. The one he hasn't gone into since that fateful night.

It's different than before. The curtains are drawn even though it's mid-day, but the lights still illuminate the whole room. The bookcases are filled less with books and more with gifts from clients and partners. The desk is made of a high-quality wood with the Westerguard family crest embedded into the center. The suit of armor is replaced with a stuffed grizzly bear on its hind legs.

The door behind the portrait is closed.

His father tells him of a proposition, one that will give him "everything that he desires", as if he knows what that is. He sits, wanting to hear him out before rejecting the offer altogether.

The older man smiles as if what he's about to offer will change his life, he says that a supervisor position has opened up at the Southern Isles Baking Company. It's safe to assume that that position hadn't opened up voluntarily. He tells the man to dropout of college and take the job, saying that it will give him more business experience than four years of schooling ever could.

The man agrees with him, albeit reluctantly, but he sees right through the ruse. The Southern Isles Baking Company is a sinking ship, it had poor management and quality of its products had suffered throughout the years. Nepotism would have him rising through the ranks until he was heading the company without any formal training or experience.

He was being groomed for failure.

And yet he still took the offer, sealing the deal with a handshake. He remained unfazed while his father looked ecstatic.

He could smile and laugh all he wanted, but the man was determined now. He would pull this company out of the gutter through his own means, and do things his way. He would show everyone- not just his brothers and father- that undermining and underestimating him was a grave mistake.

He would take this job not to gain recognition and respect, but to gain power.

Power was what he wanted, complete and undeniable control, and an iron grip on anyone that would dare mock him. Even if that meant his own family.

Three Years Ago…

The man has done exactly what he said he would, and it only takes a year.

Southern Isles Baking Company has been legitimized again, and he did it his way. Many people lost their jobs, mostly from questioning his business practices, but it is once again a thriving company and a household name.

He's getting offers for interviews, magazine covers, even modeling deals; and he takes them all. Now no one could deny his existence, no one could say that he was his own man. He had broken from the shadow of his family, who were set to stay in the comfort of their tiny island.

But the man had bigger plans.

He set his sights beyond, wanting to expand the company to reach past the island. And that plan works as well, driving out local bakeries from other cities and towns on the mainland. Now, the Southern Isles weren't the only ones that were forced to recognize the name and glory of Hans Westerguard.

He still got his hands dirty, but not as much as before. The bloodlust would be satiated for awhile until a night that it finally builds up and he searches for unsuspecting prey. No one would dare accuse him for these violent misdeeds, because there was no evidence of them. On camera he was the charismatic pretty boy, behind the scenes he was ruthless and methodical.

The Hans Westerguard that the public saw was drastically different than the one his enemies saw. And he was going to made sure it stayed that way.

He sets his sights now on a new city: Arendelle.

Its distinct lack of local bakeries made it easy to slip in and establish the SIBC brand, and he waited patiently for the stardom to reach him here as well.

But it barely did.

It seemed as if someone had beaten him to celebrity status, or at least was getting there faster than he was.

Elsa Arendelle, a sophomore in college that was rising through the ranks of ArenCorp, a company that was well-known even in the Southern Isles.

When he sees her face on TV, the man grows livid as he remembers her from high school all those years ago. She was one of those girls that embarrassed him, ruined his credibility, disrespected him. Even now, she was still disrespecting him.

She was doing everything he was, but better.

No, not better. Just on a bigger stage. But because of that, she was getting more of the attention. He made a new promise to himself, a promise that he would personally see to her demise as well when their paths finally crossed.

There was only room for one person at the top of the mountain. And he would do everything it took to scratch, claw, and drag her back down to the bottom.

A few months ago...

Hans fidgets with the ring in his hand as he waits impatiently in the back seat of his limousine. Although he's wearing tinted sunglasses, he glares out the window as if the sun is blinding him.

The door opposite to him opens and a man is forcefully tossed inside. He's dazed and confused, but not hurt. Yet.

Hans compliments him for slipping past his workers unseen and sabotaging their booth, he sees the man looking at him wearily. He pulls out his phone and lists off the accolades of the man struggling to sit.

Eugene Fitzherbert, now going as Flynn Rider. A renowned tech specialist with close ties to the Arendelle Police Department, and a dedicated employee at ArenCorp. Stealthy, cunning, intelligent, just the man that Hans needs.

He offers Eugene an exorbitant amount of cash, and only asks for one thing: to humiliate Elsa Arendelle.

There was resistance of course, even after knowing the amount of money that would be paid to him, and Hans tried to persuade him by appealing to his freelancing ways. Why be loyal to a company when you can be loyal to yourself? After all, in the end that's all we really have to rely on.

Eugene isn't convinced and refuses again, so Hans resorts to a tactic he'd honed over the years.

He puts the ruby-embedded ring back on his middle finger and, with a frightening quickness, grabs Eugene by the back of his neck and places him in a headlock. As he struggled to break free, he makes a fist with his free hand, and a small, sharp blade emerges from a hidden slot on the ring.

The ruby gleams as the liquid shimmers inside, it had been too long since he'd last fed it.

He places the blade right in front of Eugene's eye and speaks in a calm, demanding voice. He tells him to seriously consider what's important here, and that he should be grateful that this opportunity to make more money than he could ever dream of has just fallen into his lap.

Eugene once again refuses to take the offer and, as his heartbeat begins to beat quicker, Hans tells him that he now has a new offer:

Take the deal, or he walks out of this limousine without a face.

After a few more tries to break free from Hans' grasp, and the blade getting dangerously close to piercing through his eye, Eugene reluctantly takes the deal.

Hans smiles and hands him a "down payment", along with a document that tells him exactly what to do, and has him forcefully removed from the limo.

Elsa Arendelle had embarrassed him one too many times, it was finally time to drag her down.

Present Day…

Hans rubs his thumb around the ruby as he reclines in his office chair. His feet are propped up on his large, stone-carved desk, but it doesn't obscure at all his view of the security footage.

Anna is agitated, but still working. She's just finished a futile conversation with Elsa and is now angrily confiding in her pregnant friend about Elsa's distance and secrecy. Hans grins as he watches the fruit of his labor.

Everything is going according to plan. He is undeniable, undeterred, and unstoppable. No one has been able to defy him, and the only one that could even pose a threat to him is now crushed underneath his palm. As he continues to watch the footage, the grin turns into a huge, bone-chilling smile.

He had finally won.

A/N: Lemme tell you guys, making a three-dimensional villain is hard. Like oh no you have to give them a personality and backstory and I felt so dirty writing an entire chapter dedicated to Hans.

Don't worry though, we'll be back to our lovable main characters in the next chapter.