They arrived home under the cover of night. Daniel reached out and pressed the call bell, the sharp ring cutting through the darkness like a scream. David opened the gate immediately, his face pale and etched with a worry that hadn't left him since they disappeared. "Where have you been?"
Mark didn't answer. He walked past David like a shadow, the cold night air following him in. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as he went directly to his room. The door clicked shut with a sense of finality that felt like a tomb closing.
"Daniel... Answer me! Where have you been?" David demanded, grabbing his brother's arm. He could feel the coldness of Daniel's skin.
Daniel felt a hollow, aching void in his chest. He couldn't find the words to describe the blood on the floor of their old home. "I am starving," he muttered, avoiding David's eyes as he walked away toward the kitchen, leaving David standing alone in the entryway, shivering from a chill he didn't understand yet.
..
In the evening, the air in the hall turned thick and stagnant, like the atmosphere before a violent storm. Mark summoned them both. David took a seat directly across from Mark, while Daniel stood behind him, a living shadow. The dim light stretched Mark's silhouette across the floor until he looked like a titan carved from the darkness itself.
Mark looked at David, his expression a mask of impenetrable stone. "We went home..."
"Why?" David asked, his fingers digging into the leather armrests of his chair.
"I killed my father."
The silence that followed was a physical blow. It pressed against their eardrums until the room felt vacuum-sealed. David's head snapped toward Daniel, searching for a smile, a flicker of a joke-anything to undo the words. But Daniel only offered a grim, steady nod. A cold sweat broke out across David's brow; he looked back at Mark, his breath hitching in a throat that felt like it was filled with glass.
Mark stood up, his movements fluid and predatory. He retrieved a thick leather file and spread the documents across the table.
The white papers glared like bones against the dark wood. He laid out the skeleton of an empire-real estate, shipping, and endless lines of blood-money investments.
"If you want to stay with me, I will lead everything," Mark said. His voice had shifted; it was no longer the voice of the boy they tutored. It was commanding, absolute-the voice of a Master. "But if not, you can choose any of these businesses. You can take your share and leave this life behind. You can be clean."
The two brothers shared a look that spanned fifteen years of shared trauma. They didn't just choose a career; they chose a destiny. Daniel looked at Mark and didn't see a murderer-he saw a boy who had set his own world on fire just to keep his brothers warm. He remembered Mark's whisper: I really want you both to stay beside me. It was the only time the King had ever begged.
"We will stay with you," Daniel said, his voice a final anchor.
"Fine then," Mark nodded, his eyes flashing with a cold, renewed purpose. "I will return there next week to handle the transition of power. It will be dangerous. Daniel, I want you to stay here. I will go back alone and burn the loose ends."
With those final instructions, Mark turned and vanished into his room, leaving the scent of expensive ink and old blood in his wake.
Daniel slowly sank into the seat across from David. David was still staring at the empty space where Mark had been, his mind spinning.
"What do you think?" Daniel asked softly.
David leaned forward, his eyes burning. "Won't you tell me... what actually happened in that house?"
Daniel took a deep, shaky breath, the memory of the silenced gunshot echoing in his mind. "Mark killed him because he made us cry."
David's heart skipped a beat. The world went silent. Mark hadn't killed for the shipping lines or the real estate."He... he did that for us?"
..
..
Mark and David threw themselves into the business, building an empire from the ashes of Ethan's legacy. But while David focused on the ledgers, Mark was hunting a ghost. He scoured cities and crossed international borders, pouring millions into donations and "charity" for orphanages, but his generosity bought him nothing but silence.
The frustration began to rot him from the inside out. He became a shadow of a man, his eyes perpetually bloodshot and hollow. He never slept more than three hours a night, his mind a racing engine of "what ifs" and "where is he?" He forgot to eat for days, his expensive suits beginning to hang loosely off his chiseled frame. His once-stoic silence turned into a hair-trigger temper; the smallest sound-the click of a pen or a minor mistake from an employee-would send him into a blind, terrifying rage. Everyone in the office learned to walk on eggshells, fearing the Master's wrath.
..
David's suspicion grew as he observed the orphanage. It didn't feel like a sanctuary; it felt like a cold, industrial prison. Groups of silent, hulking men-who looked more like mercenaries than caretakers-patrolled the hallways. The children moved like ghosts, their eyes wide with a deep, marrow-chilling fear. Aside from one toddler who sat in a corner staring at a wall, no one played. The silence was heavy and unnatural.
Concerned that Mark was on the verge of a total physical collapse, David called Daniel.
..
When Daniel arrived, the air was thick with the scent of rain and rot.
In the dead of night, they confronted "The Mother." Her office was a claustrophobic cage of peeling wallpaper and the smell of stale tea. Mark stood in the corner, his shadow looming large and menacing against the wall, his hands trembling slightly from a lack of sleep. Daniel slid a heavy suitcase across the desk. The click of the latches sounded like a gunshot in the small room. Stacks of cash glowed under the flickering desk lamp.
The Mother's eyes glinted with a greedy, feverish light. She scribbled a location on a piece of parchment. "If you can't find him there," she whispered, her voice like sandpaper on wood, "it means they have moved on. Forever."
They exited the stifling office, the cold night air hitting their faces. As they reached the heavy stone archway of the front door, they found a small girl standing in the shadows. She looked tiny and fragile, yet she stood with her chin tilted up. In her hand, she clutched a branch of white-and-yellow plumerias. The sweet, waxy scent of the flowers fought against the smell of the damp orphanage.
Mark stopped, his gaze locking onto the blossoms. The sight of them triggered a memory, a flash of the "ghost" he was hunting. "Where did you find those?" he demanded, his voice a harsh, impatient rasp.
The little girl didn't flinch. She stared into the eyes of the man everyone else was terrified of and narrowed hers. "Why would I tell you?" she retorted, her voice small but iron-willed.
Mark stared at her. For the first time in years, his anger didn't explode. Instead, he felt a strange, painful spark of curiosity. She had the same fire, the same refusal to break. He looked at her tattered clothes and then back at the dark hallway. A protective instinct, long buried under his grief, surged to the surface.
He turned to Daniel, his voice dropping to a low, absolute rumble. "Do the paperwork. I am adopting this girl. She won't stay here another night."
..
..
"David uncle.... David uncle... We arrived, let's go!"
Meera's voice chirped with a high-pitched, infectious excitement that echoed through the vast, polished expanse of the parking garage. The air here didn't smell like typical exhaust; it was filtered and infused with the subtle, expensive scent of sandalwood and new leather-the signature fragrance of the 'Mathew Global Plaza'.
David scooped Meera into his arms, her small shoes kicking with joy. As he stepped toward the private glass elevators, the transition was immediate. This mall wasn't just the city's largest; it was a crown jewel in Mark's empire.
Mark stepped onto the marble floors of his own kingdom, his gaze sweeping over the luxury boutiques and soaring glass ceilings. Here, he wasn't just a shopper; he was the landlord of their dreams and the master of their livelihoods. The mall manager, who had been alerted the moment the car entered the gate, waited for a signal that was never given.
Mark had given strict orders before they arrived: No bowing. No clearing the floors. Act as if I am a stranger. He wanted Win to feel like a normal person, not a trophy in a cage.
..
Mark turned to David, his voice low and authoritative. "Take Meera to the kids' section. Buy her whatever she wants." Meera was so thrilled she began whispering a list of toys to herself as they walked away.
Then he turned to Win, his gaze softening from steel to velvet. He reached out, his large hand completely swallowing Win's smaller one, his long fingers curling around Win's palm with a possessive, gentle weight. As he led Win toward a quieter, shadowed corridor, the top of Win's head barely reached Mark's shoulder, making their stride a rhythmic contrast of long, powerful steps and Win's quicker, shorter ones.
Once they reached the seclusion of the hallway, Mark stopped, but he didn't let go. He kept their joined hands held between them; because of the height gap, Win's arm was lifted slightly, while Mark's arm hung relaxed and long at his side.
A rare, slight curl appeared on Mark's lips-a ghost of a smile that Win had to look up significantly to catch. Then, the giant of a man began to move. He didn't just lean in; he bowed his entire upper body, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead lights as he descended into Win's space.
He lowered his head until his lips were inches from Win's ear, his tall frame folding over Win like a protective shadow. In a low, gravelly whisper that vibrated against Win's skin, he confessed, "Was I good at kissing? Honestly... it was my first time."
From this close, Win could feel the heat radiating from Mark's chest, which was positioned right at Win's eye level. He was trapped in the intimate cocoon of Mark's massive stature, looking up into the eyes of a "devil" who was suddenly waiting, breathless, for a grade on his performance.
Win's heart skipped a beat. He jerked his hand away, his face erupting in a deep crimson blush. "What are you talking about?" he stammered, his eyes darting around to see if anyone had heard. He quickly scurried toward the clothing section to hide his embarrassment. Mark followed him, a faint, uncharacteristic heat rising to his own cheeks.
Win picked up a crisp shirt, trying to focus on the fabric. "It will look good on you," Mark said, stepping into Win's space. "Do you like it?"
"Umm.. it's good. I like it," Win murmured, his voice small.
"And what about my kiss?" Mark pressed, his voice dropping to a seductive rumble.
"Why are you being so shameless?" Win hissed, his eyes wide, though a smile tugged at his lips.
..
Suddenly-whoosh-someone lunged from the crowd and hugged Win from behind. Mark's eyes turned cold instantly. In a flash of movement, he grabbed Win's arm and hauled him back against his own massive chest, marking his territory.
"Win! Where have you been? I've been searching for you all this time!" the stranger cried.
"Justin..." Win said, a genuine, wide smile breaking across his face.
The Master watched Win smile at this stranger-a smile so bright it made Mark's chest tighten with a sharp, ugly jealousy. He wrapped a firm arm around Win's waist, pulling him so close their bodies flushed together.
Justin stared at Mark, swallowing hard as he felt the sheer weight of Mark's "death stare." He forced a faint, nervous smile. "Win... where have you been? Why is your phone switched off? And... who is this person?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?" Win laughed, trying to ease the tension. He looked up at Mark. "Mr. Mark, he is my university friend, Justin. And Justin, he is-"
Mark didn't let him finish. He stared Justin down, his voice like grinding stones. "Hi, Justin. I'm his boyfriend.. Mark."
Win's breath hitched. He nudged Mark's shoulder shyly. "Why are you being so shameless again?" he muttered, his face heating up for the tenth time that hour.
Justin's forced smile vanished. Deep down, a hot anger began to boil. "Are you dating him?" he asked Win, his voice rising. "Didn't you say you weren't into stuff like dating?"
"I did say that..." Win said, his lips curling into a coy, happy smile. "But I really like him."
Justin's temper snapped. "How could you trust anyone after just three days? Are you stupid? You never mentioned him before, and now suddenly you 'really like him'!"
Mark's protective rage flared. He took a heavy, predatory step toward Justin. "Don't you dare raise your voice at him," he growled, his voice vibrating with a threat of violence.
Win quickly stepped forward, grabbing Mark's arm to hold him back. "Don't be rude, Mr. Mark. He's only worried about me." He turned to Justin, his voice soft but resolute. "Don't worry about me, Justin. I've known him for a very long time... and I really love him a lot."
Hearing Win say the word "love" in front of a rival made the darkness in Mark's heart lift slightly. He looked down at Win, his possessiveness satisfied for now. "Let's go. We have to be somewhere else," he said, ignoring Justin entirely as he led Win away.
As they walked toward the parking lot, Mark made a curt call to David. "We're going home. Buy a new cell phone for Win and meet us there."
Win looked up at Mark's stony profile. "Are we going home already?"
Mark said nothing.
"Are you angry?" Win peered into his eyes.
Mark remained silent, his jaw set.
..
The Master didn't speak to him the entire way home. When they finally arrived, the heavy silence of the car felt like a physical weight. He opened the door for Win, his expression unreadable. Win stepped out, pouting and looking up at the Master with big, pleading puppy eyes, his soft features illuminated by the porch light. The Master didn't soften; his jaw remained set as he simply grabbed Win's hand, his grip firm and possessive, and pulled him toward the entrance.
Win didn't struggle, but he couldn't help but protest. "Weren't you just angry with me? And now you're pulling me along? What do you think you're doing?"
Mark offered no reply, his silence only heightening the electric tension between them, he wasn't angry at Win-he was just counting the seconds until they were alone in the lift.
He pulled Win into the lift and shoved him back against the cold, mirrored door. Because of Mark's towering height, Win's feet nearly left the floor from the force of the impact. Without a word, Mark crowded into his space, his massive frame completely eclipsing Win's reflection in the glass.
He began kissing him roughly, his lips crashing down against Win's. To reach him, Mark didn't just lean in; he tilted his head down, his heavy brow shadowing Win's face. Win was forced to arch his spine and crane his neck upward, his throat straining as he tried to meet the aggressive pressure of Mark's mouth.
Mark's hand shot up, his large palm wrapping almost entirely around the back of Win's neck. His fingers tangled deep into the hair at the nape, tilting Win's head further back until the smaller man was looking almost straight up. Meanwhile, his other hand dropped low, his arm angled sharply downward to find Win's waist. His palm felt enormous there, his fingers digging into Win's side as he pulled him flush against his hips.
Their tongues danced a frantic, aggressive rhythm against the gnashing of their teeth, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the small space. Win felt trapped between the unyielding glass and the wall of Mark's chest, his hands reaching up to grip Mark's shoulders just to stay grounded as the "giant" above him took everything he had to give.
"Ughhh... ughhhh..."
Still sulking, Win bit down on Mark's tongue, but the sharp flash of pain only aroused the Master more. Mark lifted him effortlessly, Win's small frame feeling light as a feather against Mark's solid chest. Win wrapped his legs around Mark's waist as they continued to kiss passionately, the lift ascending with a quiet hum that echoed the vibration in their chests.
Tinggg.
The doors slid open on their floor. Win struggled to get down, but the Master held him tightly, refusing to break the kiss even for a second. Two guards stationed near the lift saw the display; they immediately averted their eyes and cleared the hallway, ordering everyone else to stay back so the two could have their absolute privacy.
This time, Win bit Mark's lip so hard that blood began to flow, the metallic taste filling both of their mouths and staining their teeth. The Master didn't hiss in pain; he seemed to relish the sting. A few drops of blood escaped, trickling from the corner of Mark's lips like a dark ruby. Win reached up, pulling the Master's hair from behind to force him to look at him. He sneered, frowning deeply. "Put me down, or I won't let you kiss me anymore."
The Master didn't dare oppose that threat. He set him down, and Win immediately grabbed Mark's hand, leading him toward the bedroom, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.
..
Win was about to say something, but the Master already had another plan. He scooped Win up again, laying him across the bed before climbing over him with aggressive desire. He began kissing Win's neck, pinning both of Win's wrists above his head with a single, massive hand, while his other arm held him firmly at the waist.
"Aaghhh... Aghhhh... Why are... ugh... you being so mean to me?" Win complained through his moans, his eyes wincing in a mix of pleasure and protest.
The Master slid his lips to Win's ear, his hot breath making Win shiver. "Don't blame me for this. You provoked me, Uhmmm... but baby, you are too sweet,"
Win breathed, his body arching toward the heat.
Mark continued kissing and nibbling at Win's thin skin. Win's body felt so fragile in his arms, his skin like porcelain compared to Mark's tanned, rugged physique. Looking down at him, Mark gulped in hunger, his eyes hot with a predatory light. He unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft hiss. Holding Win's hand, he let his man feel the hard, rippling lines of his chest.
The shirtless Master was the epitome of chiseled perfection. His tanned skin glowed with a warm, golden sheen that accentuated the sharp definition of his muscles. His biceps and triceps stood out in stark relief, like marble statues come to life. His abs were a work of art-a chiseled six-pack that seemed to ripple with each subtle movement.
Mark's fingers trembled as he unbuttoned the shirt, gently turning Win onto his back. As the fabric parted, the breath died in his throat. Win's silhouette, though beautiful, was a map of past agonies-his skin marked by scars Mark hadn't been there to prevent.
A shadow of visceral guilt fractured the Master's stone mask. Without a word, he leaned down, his lips seeking out every jagged line and faded welt with a desperate, holy reverence. He kissed each mark as if he were offering a prayer, trying to drown the memory of the trauma in the heat of his devotion. It was a silent, tearful apology-a vow to replace every old pain with the weight of his love.
Win tried to turn back around, but a firm, gentle push from the Master kept him pinned into the mattress.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Win's waist, making him bury his face deep into the pillow while his hands gripped the bedsheets until they wrinkled. He was in so much
pain, but at the same time, it was a source of great pleasure because it was being given by the only person he had ever loved.
As long as it was him, Win felt it was worth living through any pain.
..