---
Dominic clamped his hand on the desk. "Every single detail," he said, his dark blue eyes filled with anger, a smirk forming on his face—cold as the deep blue sea.
"But sir, the description you gave us wouldn't be enough to pinpoint or identify exactly who you're speaking of," the tall man in the black suit—apparently their leader—spoke cautiously.
Dominic's gaze turned deadly cold. "And that's why I'm paying you," he replied. "What are you here for? That is your job."
"No, sir. What I'm trying to say is... the description you gave us—there's nothing unique or striking. We have no picture, no distinct details to work with," the man explained hesitantly.
Dominic's jaw tightened. "She is annoying and someone I must ruin. That's enough details for you. Now, bring me results soon, or you won't like what I do."
With that, he dismissed them.
Two days later...
The men in suits returned, presenting various photographs taken from the community. Dominic scanned through them, his expression darkening with every picture.
Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he threw them onto the table.
"This is rubbish!" he snapped. "Their pictures are not here! What are you doing?"
His voice thundered through the room as he glared at the men. Without another word, he sacked them on the spot and grabbed his phone.
Dialing quickly, he pressed the device to his ear. Dominic ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his jaw tightening as he held his phone. He didn't have time for incompetence.
The line rang twice before a calm but firm voice answered, "Sir Flamont."
"Mr. Flamont," Dominic growled, pacing the length of his dimly lit study. "I need people who actually know what they're doing. Your men failed me. Find me someone better."
A brief pause. Then, "Understood, sir. Who exactly are we looking for?"
Dominic exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of his desk. "A girl. Annoying. Defiant. Thinks she can challenge me." His fingers curled into a fist. "I want every detail on her. Everything."
There was another pause before Mr. Flamont spoke, his tone unreadable. "Understood. I will personally see to it. Expect results soon."
The call ended. Dominic slammed his phone onto the desk, his dark blue eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous. This time, there should be no mistakes.
---
A few days later, Mr. Flamont brought a new set of pictures to Dominic, collected by the newly hired spies. Dominic flipped through them, his expression darkening as he failed to find what he was looking for. Frustration built in his chest.
Then—his eyes stopped.
"Yes…" he murmured, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.
In the picture, a girl with silver hair, glowing like the moon, was bargaining with a seller, her lively demeanor unmistakable. And at the other end of the same image—there she was.
The one who looked like the sun.
The same figure who had dared to challenge him.
His fingers traced the edge of the picture as amusement flickered across his features. Finally. These were the faces he had been searching for. He had found them.
Dominic's mood instantly shifted, his earlier irritation melting into a rare moment of satisfaction. He turned to the men.
"Get me every single detail," he ordered. "Down to the food they eat, the number of times they go out, what they say, their strengths, their weaknesses. Everything."
The spies nodded and immediately set off to work.
Dominic was about to leave when Alistair and Isadora, his parents, approached him.
"Dominic, we need to have a conversation," Alistair said firmly.
Dominic shot them a sharp glare. "I don't have time for this."
Isadora quickly stepped forward, blocking his path. "No. This time, we have to talk. You can't keep shoving me away."
Dominic's expression hardened into something cold and unyielding. His voice dropped. "Move."
But Isadora stood her ground. "Enough, Dominic! I'm your mother. You can't keep doing this."
Alistair exhaled. "We brought you here for a reason. Maybe you've spent too much time around wealthy people and don't understand how the real world works. We thought bringing you here—to see people, to interact with the middle class—would change something in you."
She hesitated before continuing. "We wanted you to feel something. To learn and maybe understand what love and compassion is all about."
Dominic let out a low chuckle—cold, mocking. "That's the most commendable thing you've ever done. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad."
Isadora's face tensed. "No, Dominic. We didn't bring you here to give you a negative purpose like you've always had. We brought you here to get your mind off… whatever it is you've been obsessing over which I know is definitely not good."
Her voice wavered. "At first, it was only business, business, business acting like a cold tyrant. But now… I don't know what you're planning, and to be honest, I don't like it."
Dominic's smirk faded. "I do not care what you like."
Isadora grabbed his wrist. "For the last time—"
Without hesitation, Dominic shoved her aside, stepped into his car, and slammed the door shut. With a cold, emotionless glance at his mother, he sped off, leaving her behind.
Isadora fell to her knees, sobbing. Alistair bent down and gently helped her up, his expression grim.
"He left," Alistair muttered. "Just like that."
Isadora wiped her tears with shaking hands. "Maybe he's our punishment… for the sins of the past."
Alistair's jaw tightened. "If so… I regret what I've done and wish that day had never happened. Does that mean I'd leave the rest of my life this way?? I'd rather die."
Isadora kept looking at a blank space with obvious regret written on her face and hands on her chest clenching it tightly while sobbing bitterly.