The sharp crack of a whip echoed painfully through the damp, dimly lit room.
Sean sat with one leg crossed, leisurely smoking his favorite nicotine stick as he listened to the screams and desperate pleas of the victim before him.
"Tell me where you hid the drugs!"
He rose from his seat, flicked the cigarette to the floor, and slowly crushed it under his heel. With one muscular hand, he grabbed the bloodied victim by the hair, forcing the man to look up at him.
"TELL ME WHERE YOU HID MY STUFF, TRAITOR!" Sean growled through gritted teeth. The deadly gleam in his eyes pierced through any defenses left in the man.
"In... in the cold storage," the man choked out. He could no longer endure the relentless torture—his body had already suffered twenty lashings.
"Good," Sean said, gently patting the man's bruised cheek. Once a trusted subordinate, the man had betrayed him—an offense Sean could not forgive.
"Listen carefully, all of you," he said, turning to the others in the room.
"If any one of you even thinks about messing with me, you'll suffer the same fate."
"Get rid of him," he ordered, his baritone voice thundering through the space.
Everyone bowed and obeyed the cold-hearted young master without question.
Sean closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the fresh air. After years abroad, he was finally back on his home turf.
Six luxurious black cars pulled up in front of the towering empire that bore his name:
"RAJENDRA COMPANY"
Sean stepped out of the car and removed his black sunglasses. A small smile curved on his lips as he took in the familiar sight of the majestic building.
Instantly, a chilling atmosphere fell over the entire office. Everyone lowered their heads in respect—no one dared meet the cold gaze of the charismatic CEO. His mere presence sent a wave of fear through every employee. The tranquility they had known vanished now that their infamous boss had returned and was already seated in his grand leather chair.
Sean ran his fingers over his engraved nameplate before placing it gently back on the luxury-designed desk.
His moment of peace was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," he said coolly.
A fashionable woman entered, clutching several reports. She kept her eyes down, unable to look directly at the CEO with the reputation of being ruthless and sadistic.
Sean snatched the documents and flung them across the floor.
"Get rid of all this!"
"Call the person responsible, or you're fired," he snapped arrogantly. Clearly, he had no tolerance for incompetence in his domain.
With trembling hands, the woman bent down to gather the papers. She was nearly in tears. If it weren't for the high salary, she would've resigned on the spot.
Sean turned his gaze toward the panoramic city view beyond the glass wall of his 58-floor skyscraper. Everything below looked insignificant—just the way he liked it. Unless someone was useful to him, he saw no value in keeping them around.
Not long after, two guards dragged a man into the room.
Sean turned, a smirk playing on his lips. "Mark Davidson... so it's you?" He sneered and crouched down, gripping the man's jaw tightly.
Tears welled up in Mark's eyes as Sean's hawk-like stare bore into him.
"I don't tolerate trash in my company. Kneel and apologize—if you want to live."
Sean then hurled a flower vase, shattering it next to Mark, who was now visibly trembling.
Mark quickly knelt, begging for forgiveness. He confessed everything—he had embezzled company funds. He never imagined his crimes would be discovered so quickly, especially with Sean having only returned a day ago.
After stepping down as CEO years ago, Sean had remained a mystery to many. But Mark had no idea who he was really dealing with. Sean Rajendra wasn't just another spoiled heir—he was a predator who ruled his territory with absolute power.
"Pick up every shard of that glass with your mouth... or would you prefer a bullet to the head?" Sean said, pointing his favorite pistol at the man.
Mark nearly wet himself as he scrambled to obey, picking up the shards one by one with his mouth. He would rather bleed than die.
"Watch him until he's done," Sean instructed, slipping on his black blazer and walking out, satisfied by the brief display of justice.
He climbed into his luxurious billion-dollar car, the door held open by his subordinate.
The convoy of six black cars sped through the city and stopped on a stretch of white sand, dotted with small stones.
"Leave me alone," Sean ordered, walking away toward the edge of the beach.
This was where he used to spend hours escaping the nagging voices of his parents, who constantly scolded him for getting into trouble back in school.
Sean flicked his cigarette away and gazed at the sun, now beginning its descent.
Sometimes, he wondered... did he still have a heart?
Because in moments like this, he came close to tears, haunted by the tragic memory of his parents' deaths in a car accident years ago.
---
"What's wrong with the boss?" one guard whispered.
"Maybe he's heartbroken or something," another replied.
"Shut up!"
"You better keep quiet before he hears us."
"What, you guys tired of living or something?"
"I swear I can already smell dirt being thrown over your graves."
"You bastard!"
They all fell silent when Sean turned around, as if he had actually heard everything.
---
Flashback
Sean sat on the white sand, knees drawn to his chest, sobbing silently.
His high school uniform was stained with blood.
He had watched the car crash unfold right before his eyes. Without thinking, Sean had rushed to pull his mother—bleeding and covered in shards of glass—from the overturned vehicle.
He managed to save her just before bystanders arrived. But his father was trapped. The car exploded before Sean could reach him.
The trauma devastated him. At only 18, he began spending every day at the beach, isolated in grief.
One day, a girl about his age approached and sat beside him, smiling softly.
Sean quickly looked away.
She handed him a pink handkerchief. But he didn't respond.
"Life isn't easy. Even when we try our best, the world doesn't always let us be happy. But happiness still exists—as long as we can breathe, right?"
She stood, leaving the handkerchief beside him.
Only after she left did Sean turn to glance back, watching her walk away with a small bicycle and a basket filled with flowers.
"What a know-it-all," he muttered, picking up the handkerchief. In one corner, embroidered in neat letters, was her name:
Alana Seika.
"A beautiful name," he murmured, and for the first time in a long while, the corners of his lips lifted into a faint smile.
---
"Wounds from the past never truly disappear.
They simply wait for the right moment... to return."