Downstairs, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The staff stood in a line, their faces a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Arhit was at the forefront, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with questions.

Kiet descended the grand staircase with an air of unyielding authority, each step echoing in the silent hall. As he reached the bottom, he was met with a barrage of curious glances. Ignoring them all, he walked over to a luxurious sofa and sat down with the confidence of a man who owned everything in his sight.

Arhit stepped forward, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "Boss, are you really going to marry that man?" His tone was careful and respectful, but the underlying disbelief was clear.

Kiet leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his expression cool and composed. "Yes," he said simply, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Prepare a quick wedding."

The staff exchanged shocked glances, the weight of Kiet's words sinking in. Arhit, however, remained focused, though a flicker of surprise crossed his features. "A wedding, sir? Are you sure?"

Kiet's eyes narrowed, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "Do I need to repeat myself, Arhit?"

Arhit straightened, nodding quickly. "No, sir. I'll make the arrangements immediately."

Kiet waved a dismissive hand. "Good. I want everything ready within the week. No delays, no mistakes."

As Arhit turned to carry out his orders, the staff began to disperse, their whispers and murmurs filling the air. Kiet remained seated, his gaze distant, as if already planning his next move.

Upstairs, Milo finally found the strength to move. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his mind still reeling. The kiss, Kiet's words, the sudden turn his life had taken—it was all too much to process. He felt a cold dread settling in his stomach, a sense of foreboding about what the future held.

                                                                                               ***

Channarat house,

Whereas in Milo's parents house, the aftermath of the harrowing incident lingered in the air like a heavy fog. The living room, once a place of warmth and comfort, was now a scene of chaos. Broken furniture and shattered glass littered the floor, a stark reminder of the violence that had taken place.

Milo's mother lay unconscious on the bed, a cold cloth on her forehead in a futile attempt to soothe the pounding headache. Outside her room, Nuea, Som, and Waan were diligently trying to restore some semblance of order. They moved quietly, the silence only broken by the occasional sound of sweeping or the soft clinking of broken items being discarded.

Milo's father sat on the sofa, his face etched with worry and stress. His hands were clasped together, his knuckles white from the tension. He stared at the floor, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and fears for his son.

In the bedroom, Milo's mother stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she winced as the dull ache in her head intensified. She slowly sat up, and the events started flooding back to her. Her own desperate words echoed in her mind, making her heart race with fear and guilt.

"Please, take Milo with you and spare us," she had begged. The weight of her actions pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. With tears streaming down her face, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, her knees trembling.

She walked out of the room, her steps unsteady, and entered the living room. The sight of the wreckage made her stomach churn, but it was the absence of Milo that struck her the hardest. 

"Milo? Milo!" She looked around, her eyes wide with panic. "Where is Milo?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her husband looked up, his face a mask of fury and despair. He stood, his body trembling with rage. "Where is Milo?" he repeated, his voice rising. "You sold our son! You handed him over to that monster, and now you want to know where he is?"

Milo's mother recoiled, her tears flowing freely now. "What did I do? How could I do this to my own son? how?" she cried.

"It's too late now, Aunt. We lost him," Waan stepped forward, saying with tears.

Milo's mother flinched at his words, the reality of what she had done hitting her like a physical blow. "I... I didn't know what else to do," she said, her voice breaking. "I was scared. I just wanted to protect us."

"Protect us?" Milo's father repeated, his voice laced with bitterness. "At what cost? You sacrificed our son. You gave him to a killer!" 

Tears streamed down her face as she sank to her knees, her hands covering her face. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."

Milo's father let out a shaky breath, his anger dissipating into helplessness. He sank back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. "I failed him," he whispered. "I couldn't protect my own son."

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Milo's mother's sobs. The weight of the situation pressed down on them all.

"I never wanted this. I just wanted to protect our family. I never thought... I never thought it would come to this," Milo's mother cried.

Nuea, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward, his own eyes filled with pain. "Mom, please," he said softly. "This isn't helping. We need to think about how to get Milo back."

Milo's father knelt beside her, his anger giving way to despair. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she wept. "We'll find a way," he said, his voice trembling. "We'll find a way to bring Milo back."

Nuea joined them, his own tears falling freely now. "We have to," he whispered. "For Milo."

Som and Waan agreed to this, and they clung to each other, drawing strength from their unity, determined to find a way to save Milo and bring him home.

                                                                                                   ***

Rattanakorn Mansion, Bedroom,

Milo stood in the middle of the luxurious but unfamiliar room, his heart pounding in his chest. He searched his pockets frantically, the realization hitting him like a cold wave—he had left his phone at his parents' house. He needed to call them, hear their voices, and know they were okay. Desperation clawed at him as he glanced around the room, hoping to find a phone, but there was nothing.

Just as he was about to turn towards the door, it swung open, and Kiet stepped in. He moved with a predatory grace, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with an unsettling calmness. Milo froze, his breath catching in his throat. Kiet’s presence was overwhelming, and Milo instinctively took a step back, his eyes wide with fear.

Kiet's gaze locked onto him, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued to undress. The shirt slipped off his shoulders, revealing a fierce snake tattoo that coiled around his forearm.  The power and danger radiating from Kiet made Milo's stomach churn.

"You look scared," Kiet said, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "Don't worry, darling. You'll get used to it."

Milo's back hit the wall, his eyes darting around the room, searching for any possible escape. The realization that he would have to marry this man made his skin crawl. He swallowed hard, trying to summon the courage to speak.

"I... I left my phone," Milo stammered. "I need to call my parents. Please."

Kiet's expression darkened slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "Your parents are fine. You're mine now, Milo. Focus on that."

Milo's heart sank, the finality of Kiet's words settling over him like a suffocating blanket. He felt a surge of hopelessness, his body trembling. "Please," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "I just want to know they're okay."

Kiet took a step closer, and Milo flinched. The mafia leader's hand shot out, gripping Milo's chin with surprising gentleness but undeniable strength. He tilted Milo's face up, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I hate to repeat words twice or three times. So listen carefully, Milo. You'll do as I say," Kiet said, his voice dangerously soft. "I won't hurt you, as long as you obey. But defy me, and you'll regret it. Do you understand?"

Milo nodded, the fear in his eyes evident. Kiet released his grip, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He turned away, moving towards the bed with a casualness that made Milo's blood run cold.

"This is our room," Kiet said, stripping off the last of his clothes and slipping into a pair of lounge pants. "You’ll sleep here with me. Don't even think about trying to run. The guards won't be as lenient as I am."

Milo's breath caught in his throat. "Share... this room?" he echoed, the words sounding foreign and terrifying.

"You belong to me now, remember? And that means you'll stay by my side. Always."

Milo felt a cold sweat break out across his skin. He was trapped, with no way out and no way to contact his family. The reality of his situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and he could only watch in silent terror as Kiet settled into bed, looking at every bit of the predator who had ensnared his prey.

Kiet turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness. "Time to get some sleep," he said, his voice a soft command in the stillness.

Milo stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind racing. He could barely process the events that had led him here—to this room, to this bed. With trembling steps, Milo lay on the edge of the large bed, his body stiff with fear. The luxurious sheets felt foreign and suffocating against his skin. He could hear Kiet’s steady breathing beside him, a stark reminder of the danger that now enveloped his life.

Suddenly, Milo felt the mattress shift as Kiet moved. He tensed even more, his eyes squeezing shut as if that would somehow make him invisible. His heart raced, and he tensed, feeling vulnerable despite the darkness. 

Then he heard Kiet's voice, calm yet firm. "The marriage is in a week. I hope you'll be ready, both physically and mentally."

Milo's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. "In... in a week?" he managed to whisper, his voice trembling with disbelief and fear.

Kiet's response was unwavering. "That's right. There will be no delays. I hope you understand and accept the situation you're in now. You belong to me, Milo, and I am your future. Do you understand?"

Milo felt a chill run down his spine, a mixture of dread and an unsettling, unfamiliar sense of anticipation. He couldn't speak; he couldn't even move. The weight of Kiet's words settled heavily on his shoulders, the reality sinking in deeper with each passing second.

"Yes...," He nodded slowly, feeling trapped and powerless in this new reality that was closing in on him.

"Good," Kiet murmured. 

Milo's throat felt tight as he tried to swallow his anxiety. "I'll make sure everything is taken care of," Kiet said, his tone softer now. "You just focus on preparing yourself for our future together."

"Get some sleep," Kiet said softly, almost gently. "You need it."