Charlie hadn't smoked openly in three years.
Not since he promised Jack he'd try to live longer and be a better person. Maybe, in his twisted ways, he can be a father.
But that night, after the call from Jack and with the weight of Juhu's riddle sitting like a stone in his gut, he found himself on the balcony of the Charlie estate with a half-lit cigarette between his lips. The silence of the night was even worse. The kind that stretches just before a storm breaks.
His hand trembled slightly as he flicked ash onto the marble floor. One name rang in his head. Again and again. Rose.
"Goddamn you, Rose," he whispered.
He hadn't heard that name in over two decades. Not since she vanished without a trace. Not since he told Jack she was dead.
Charlie had buried her. Not in the ground, but in memory, in his story, and in all the lies he told his son, Jack.
Jack was barely three when Rose walked out. Or disappeared. Or was chased away. The details blurred over time. All that remained were scars and the motherly void she left unfilled.
He told Jack she died. He told him she passed in her sleep, some quiet tale to soften the absence. And Jack—sweet, trusting Jack—had believed him. Even when he became older, he asked no more questions.
But now?
Now Juhu's words replayed like a scratched record:
"A she with a vengeful soul... ask your father who he offended."
Charlie scoffed and crushed the cigarette under his heel. He'd offended many women. Broken many hearts, twisted deals, blackmailed, and even double-crossed some. But those were business. They didn't linger. They didn't have history.
Only one woman ever loved him deeply enough to hate him this much.
And if she were back...
He paced the room, grabbed the whiskey decanter with shaky fingers, poured too much into a glass, and drank it in one swallow.
He stared at his reflection in the glass windows. A man with white at his temples, eyes hardened by grief, choices, and sins. A man who once loved and failed spectacularly.
"Fuck," he breathed.
And then he picked up his phone.
Vavaporn's voice was rough from sleep, laced with irritation. "It's two in the morning. What the hell do you want?"
Why are you calling me at this time? He asked angrily.
Charlie didn't waste time. "It's time to reopen old wounds."
That silenced the other end.
"What's happened?" Vavaporn asked, his voice clearer now, sounding surprised but more worried.
Charlie didn't blink. "Jack confronted me. Said Juhu told him there's a woman we've wronged. That it's personal and not business."
Vavaporn didn't interrupt. Charlie continued.
"There's only one woman I know who fits that description. Someone I buried long ago. Someone I told Jack was dead."
"You're not making sense."
"Rose."
Silence.
Then Vavaporn let out a slow exhale. "She's dead."
"No," Charlie said. "I only told people she was. She vanished without a trace, and after I tried to know where she was but failed, I let the lie live because it was easier. Because it kept Jack safe. But I'm starting to think—"
"You think she's behind Juhu?" Vavaporn cut in, incredulous.
Charlie shook his head, even though no one could see. "Not backing him directly. But connected. If she's back... she's not here for money. Or territory. She's here to finish something."
"Why would she come for me?"
Charlie's voice turned grim. "Because she didn't just hate me. She hated us. You and me. The way we ruled. The choices we made. The way we forced her into silence, and the way we both loved Mary, Jay's mother."
A long silence. Then Vavaporn murmured, "You think she'd come back after all these years? For revenge?"
"I think," Charlie said slowly, "if Jack is in danger... if your boy is too... then yes. She's coming for both of us."
Across town, Jack lay half-asleep, curled around Jay.
Jay's breathing was slow and even, but Jack's eyes were wide open. The laughter of the night, the bar, the dance, and the teasing had faded, leaving only the echo of that woman. She.
He didn't know his mother, and he didn't remember her face. Only the lullabies, the late-night songs he thought he'd made up. Only the scent of jasmine sometimes appeared in his dreams.
"She," Jack whispered into the dark.
He didn't know that miles away, his father had just cracked open a secret that would change everything.
And that the ghost of a woman thought dead was already watching, waiting, and Planning.
Rose.
She wasn't coming back to make peace.
She was coming to finish a war. A war from two decades ago is now staring them in the face.