Lin Coen stood outside the door, his brows furrowing as he knocked once more. "How many sisters do I have? I thought you all weren't home. I knocked for half a day, and no one answered." There was a strange uneasiness in his voice as he detected something amiss. In the past, his mother and sisters had never been defensive toward him. But now? Now they shut the door in his face.
Lin Xia quickly put on a composed expression and opened the door slightly. "Oh, just now, Mom was feeling a bit unwell, so I called a doctor to check on her," she said casually. "What do you need, Coen?"
Lin Coen blinked, the suspicion in his gaze lingering for a moment before he smiled. "Mom, how's my study abroad application going?" Without hesitation, he strode toward Joy Fang, as he always did, slipping his hand into hers in a spoiled manner.
But this time, Joy Fang coldly pulled her hand away, her expression unreadable. "I'm a little tired. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Lin Coen frowned slightly, sensing something off. "Mom?"
"Little Coen, it's late. If there's nothing urgent, you should go back to your room and rest," Joy Fang added, her voice eerily calm.
Joy Fang forced herself to maintain a motherly facade, but inside, her heart burned with fury. The son she had raised for so many years was nothing but a fraud—a child planted in her family by that man, Lin Jindong. Yet, she couldn't reveal her true emotions now. She had to wait, had to endure, until she obtained Lin Jindong's trauma cream formula. Only then could she make her move.
"But, Mom, you haven't told me a bedtime story yet." Lin Coen pouted like a child, his innocent act making Lin Xia and Lin Ruan suppress the shivers crawling down their spines. It was repulsive.
Joy Fang, however, turned away, refusing to even look at him. She had no interest in entertaining this boy any longer.
Seeing the awkward tension in the air, Lin Xia forced a smile. "Little Coen, Mom is really tired today. Let's leave the story for another night."
"That's right! Mom needs rest," Lin Ruan quickly chimed in. "Go back to your room, okay?"
Though he felt something was strange, Lin Coen didn't push further. "Alright then. Good night, Mom. Good night, sisters." He turned to leave, his heart heavy with suspicion.
As he walked down the dimly lit corridor back to his room, his mind spun. Something was off. His mother's eyes had been red and swollen. Had she been crying? Was it because of Sha Mo? Could it be…? A chilling thought crept into his mind.
Sha Mo had always been a threat. Now that he was out of the family, things should have been smooth sailing. But if Joy Fang was wavering—if she was feeling remorse—then everything he had worked for could crumble. He had to eliminate Sha Mo completely.
Reaching his room, Lin Coen clenched his jaw before pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he scrolled through his contacts and dialed a number labeled with an unassuming name.
The call connected after a few rings. "Hello?" A rough, lazy voice answered.
"Black Tiger, is this a good time to talk?" Lin Coen's voice dropped into a cautious whisper.
"Quin? Any new orders?" Black Tiger, a notorious thug Lin Coen had met in a seedy KTV club, exhaled a puff of smoke, lounging comfortably in a massage chair at a foot spa. A cigarette dangled from his lips, his tone lazy but alert.
Lin Coen's voice was firm. "There's no one else around, right?"
Black Tiger scoffed. "Relax. I'm alone now. Spit it out."
Lin Coen hesitated for only a second before speaking, his voice laced with malice. "It's still about Sha Mo. This time, I want you to cripple him. Make sure he never walks again."
There was a brief silence on the other end before Black Tiger chuckled darkly. "Damn. Didn't think you'd be this ruthless. He's your brother, after all."
"Don't talk nonsense. Just tell me if you'll do it or not," Lin Coen snapped, irritation creeping into his voice.
Black Tiger whistled lowly. "Well, well, if you're that serious, I won't say no. But Quin, this isn't like the small setups we pulled before. This is big. My guys and I are taking a risk."
"One million. Is that enough? I'll send you a hundred thousand upfront. The rest when it's done."
Black Tiger's eyes lit up at the number. That was more money than he could make in years of running shady clubs and protection rackets. "Brother Coen, look at what you're saying! Of course, I'll take care of it. What kind of relationship do we have? Money talks, my friend."
Lin Coen's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "That's the answer I wanted to hear. Just remember, the job must be clean, and the people you use must keep their mouths shut. Call me when it's done."
"Got it, Quin. Consider it handled."
Without another word, Lin Coen hung up the phone, his fingers tightening around the device. His eyes darkened with malice as a twisted satisfaction settled in his chest.
Sha Mo's existence had always been a threat. Once he was crippled, he wouldn't be able to interfere in anything anymore. No more obstacles. No more competition.
In Lin Coen's mind, this was not cruelty—it was survival.