Kian

Night had already swallowed the city by the time I returned to the mansion.

The gates closed behind my car with a dull metallic sound. Guards stood alert along the perimeter—silent, trained, invisible unless needed. I lived alone, but never unprotected. Solitude was a choice. Safety was a rule.

Inside, the mansion was cold, just the way I liked it. No unnecessary lights. No warmth pretending to be comfort.

I went straight to the bathroom.

The cold shower hit my skin like punishment. I welcomed it. Let it burn. Let it strip away the noise of the day—the meetings, the lies, the power plays, the silent betrayals crawling through my empire. I stood there unmoving, water running down my back, jaw clenched, thoughts sharp.

Control. Always control.

Later, dressed in black, I entered my home office. The smell of freshly brewed espresso filled the room as I poured it into a cup. Strong. Bitter. Necessary.

I took a sip and walked toward the bookshelf lining the far wall.

To anyone else, it was just wood and books. To me, it was truth.

I pressed a hidden mechanism. The shelf shifted silently, revealing a narrow doorway behind it. I stepped inside.

The secret room was dim, cold, untouched by time. In the center stood a steel locker. I entered the pin without hesitation—muscle memory.

The locker opened.

Inside, among documents and sealed files, lay something completely out of place.

A small, cute bow.

I picked it up carefully, my fingers tightening around the soft fabric. It didn’t belong in this world. It never had.

My jaw hardened. My grey eyes darkened.

“I will find you,” I said quietly, voice low and steady.

“And when I do… I’ll keep you.”

Not as a threat.

As a promise.

I placed the bow back where it belonged, closed the locker, and sealed the room once more. The bookshelf slid back into place, hiding everything—just like always.

But some things refuse to stay buried.

I took another sip of espresso, staring into the darkness of my office.

The hunt wasn’t over.

It had already begun.The morning sun hadn’t even fully risen when my phone buzzed in the mansion.

A call from one of my men. I picked it up without hesitation.

“Sir… your brother. He’s doing something… unusual,” the voice reported, careful, measured.

I let a slow smirk curl on my lips. “Unusual?” I repeated, voice cold, calm. “Observe him. Every move. Record everything. Don’t let anything escape notice.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied, and the line went silent.

I hung up, staring at the city outside the window.

What are you up to, brother? I murmured under my breath, letting the words echo through the empty mansion.

There was always a game in motion, always someone trying to undermine me—or think they could. I never lost track of these things. Never.