The morning light bled through the heavy curtains of the luxury hotel, indifferent to the wreckage of the night before. In this city of millions, the first break of dawn signals a return to normalcy. Outside, the roar of mopeds snaked through the morning traffic, racing from point to point as they did every other busy day. Although life pauses when eyes are closed in rest, as soon as dawn visits, the city's frantic pulse returns—as if the violence of the night before was merely a fever dream.
It was nearly eight o'clock when Asnee's cell phone began to vibrate against the nightstand. The sharp, persistent ringing pierced through his heavy sleep.
He stretched, his muscles stiff, and murmured into the quiet room, "Chai... your phone is too loud. Turn it off."
He waited for the familiar sound of Santichai's soft footsteps or a whispered apology, but there was only silence. He drifted back toward sleep until the phone rang again—a demanding, shrill intrusion.
"Chai! Turn off the damn phone!" Asnee snapped, his voice thick with irritation.
He reached out blindly, his arm sweeping across the bed to pull Santichai back into his embrace, expecting to feel the warmth of skin and the scent of the soap he had forced him to use. Instead, his arms closed around a cold, unresponsive pillow.
Asnee's eyes snapped open. The fog of sleep vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden, chilling alertness. He sat up, his gaze darting to the empty space beside him, the realization hitting him like a physical blow: the "mannequin" had finally walked away.
Asnee sat bolt upright, the silence of the room ringing in his ears. For a fleeting second, he tried to convince himself that Santichai was simply in the bathroom, washing away the evidence of the night. But as he swung his legs off the bed, his foot brushed against the cold, plastic bottle of lubricant on the carpet. It lay there, half-empty, next to the discarded bathrobe Santichai had worn.
His heart began to hammer against his ribs—not out of grief, but out of a loss of control. He scanned the floor; Santichai's clothes, the kitchen whites he had arrived in, were gone.
"Chai..." Asnee's voice was high and thin with panic.
He lunged toward the bathroom, but the tiles were bone-dry. Santichai hadn't even stopped to wash. He had simply fled.
Throwing on his clothes with clumsy, frantic movements, Asnee rushed down to the lobby. The middle-aged woman at the front desk looked up as he approached the counter, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild.
"Did you see a young man leave this morning?" he demanded.
"I saw a young delivery man," she replied, her voice calm and professional. "He asked to use the phone. He dialed a number and stared at it for a long time, but he never said a word. He just hung up, told me there was no answer, and walked across the road."
Before Asnee could chase after the ghost of his prey, his phone vibrated. It was his father. He forced his breathing to steady, the mask of the dutiful son sliding back into place. "Pa."
"Where are you?" Mr. Siriporn's voice was frantic.
"Sawasdi Hotel," Asnee lied smoothly. "Just meeting a new client."
"Get back here immediately," his father barked. "We're meeting two new clients recommended by Mr. Suwannarat. This is a massive opportunity."
"I'll be there soon," Asnee promised, hanging up.
He immediately dialed another number—one that felt more like a weapon than a tool. "May," he said when she answered. "I need you to keep an eye on that guy. I went to confront him, but he ran. I want to know the second he comes home. Report everything to me."
"Yes, sir," May replied.
Asnee stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut and trapping him with his own reflection. He stared at the metal, his jaw tight with a dark, simmering resolve.
"Santichai..." he hissed to the empty car. "Do you really want me to chain you to my bed just to keep you with me?"
Inside Santichai's rundown apartment, the air felt thick with the transition to a new life. While Santichai finished packing his clothes in the bedroom, KK busied himself in the small kitchen. He moved with a doctor's efficiency, clearing out the refrigerator to ensure nothing would rot while Santichai recovered at his house.
As KK was tying off a trash bag full of open jars, Santichai emerged from the bedroom, clutching his modest travel bag. He stopped, his eyes landing on the duffel bag KK had brought over a few days ago.
"KK," Santichai asked softly, "do you want to take your bag back now?"
KK paused, looking up at him. "Do you want me to take it back? Since we're supposedly 'ending' our trial?"
Santichai met his gaze with a newfound steadiness. "I might not have much, KK, but I don't break my promises. I gave you my word that I would date you for three months, and I intend to keep it."
A gentle, triumphant smile spread across KK's face. "In that case... could you help me sort through those clothes and hang them in your closet?" He set the garbage bag aside and walked toward Santichai. "Just in case I decide to sleep over sometime. I'm going to take a quick shower now—we can't stay here tonight because I left my computer at my place, but I want my things settled here."
"Okay," Santichai whispered. "You go ahead. I'll hang them for you."
A few minutes later, KK emerged from the bathroom, steam clinging to his skin. He walked into the bedroom to find Santichai standing by the small, aging closet. KK pulled on his fresh clothes and then stopped, noticing something strange. His shirts were hanging neatly, but the rest of the rod was empty.
"Santichai, where are your clothes?" KK asked.
"I put them in the box," Santichai said, gesturing to a cardboard container on the floor.
"Why? Do you mind hanging my clothes alongside yours?"
Santichai looked away, his shoulders tensing. "I thought... I thought you would mind."
"Why would you think that?" KK asked, his voice softening.
"My ex-boyfriend... he never let our clothes touch," Santichai admitted, the old sadness leaking into his voice. "He said if someone came to visit and saw our clothes together, they would question our relationship. He didn't want any evidence."
KK didn't say a word. He simply stepped forward and pulled Santichai into a tight, grounding embrace. He buried his face in Santichai's hair, murmuring against his temple.
"I am not him, Santichai. I am not ashamed of my relationship with you, and you shouldn't be either. I won't treat you any differently just because you are a man. If I love you, I will love you openly, in front of the whole world." He leaned back just enough to press a firm kiss to Santichai's forehead. "Are you ashamed?"
Santichai shook his head. "No."
"Then let's fix this," KK muttered. He began pulling Santichai's clothes out of the box. "I'll put the pants at this end. Mine are longer and wider than yours—I don't think they'll fit you, but you're welcome to try. We'll put the shirts in the middle. You can wear mine whenever you like."
Santichai handed him the remaining hangers, watching as the fabric of their lives finally mingled. "You put them in whatever order you think is best."
"This is your home," KK reminded him gently. "I'm only making a suggestion."
"Then let's do it your way," Santichai said, a small spark of relief in his heart.
Once the closet was organized, KK sat on the edge of the bed beside Santichai. He let out a long sigh, the professional mask slipping away to reveal the worried man underneath. "Do you want to talk?"
"Talk about what?"
"Tell me where you went yesterday," KK said, his eyes searching Santichai's face for any sign of what had happened at the hotel.
Santichai looked down at his lap, his fingers tracing the hem of his shirt. The memory of the belt and the locked door flashed through his mind, but he wasn't ready to let that darkness into this room. "Not really."
KK studied him for a moment, then nodded, respecting the boundary. "Alright... I won't ask you again." He stood up, grabbing Santichai's bag with one hand and reaching for Santichai with the other. "Should we go?"
Santichai looked up and smiled. "Mmm."
The Siriporn Corporation's Chonburi branch was not as sprawling as the Suwannarat's, but its sleek, modern design was no less impressive. Inside the main office, the atmosphere was one of quiet luxury and high-stakes deals. Asnee stood at the head of the conference table, finishing a flawless presentation on premium hardwood flooring and bespoke architectural designs.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wang," Asnee said, his voice smooth and professional, his face settled into a perfect, practiced smile. "Please, take your time to look through our portfolio of past projects." He handed his iPad to Mr. Wang, his movements graceful and confident.
Mr. Wang scrolled through the images, nodding in approval. "I like the quality, but the price is a bit high. Can you do better for us?"
"I'm afraid this is our final sale price for this grade of timber," Asnee replied smoothly, leaning in just enough to appear intimate. "However, since you are a close friend of Mr. Suwannarat, I can offer you a five percent discount as a gesture of goodwill."
Mrs. Wang's face lit up. "Mr. Siriporn, thank you so much. That is very kind."
Mr. Wang stood up, extending his hand. "We have a deal then. Thank you, Mr. Siriporn."
Asnee shook his hand firmly, the image of a successful, reliable heir. "It is my pleasure. We look forward to working with you."
The moment the door closed behind the couple, the mask shattered. The professional smile vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp tension. His phone rang instantly.
"May," he snapped, "is there news?"
"Mr. Siriporn," May's voice sounded hurried over the line. "The creditor has left. He got into a black SUV with another man. I followed them as far as I could, but they've entered a private estate. There are a security gate and guards; I can't follow them any further without being spotted."
Asnee's breath hitched in a hiss of pure fury. "It's fine," he lied, his voice trembling. "Go back to the office. I'll have someone else investigate the property."
He hung up, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The "black SUV" and "private land" could only mean one thing: Santichai was being protected by someone with significant power and wealth.
"Santichai Kittibun... you bastard!" Asnee let out a guttural scream that echoed against the glass walls of his office. In a blind fit of rage, he swept his arm across his desk, sending folders and documents flying to the floor in a chaotic heap.