"Welcome home, Mr. Milo," the servant said, his voice respectful and measured.

Milo managed a faint smile. "Thank you. Is Mr. Kiet home yet?"

The servant shook his head. "No, sir. The boss is still at the office. He should be back around 10 p.m."

Milo nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "Alright, thank you."

"Shall I serve you dinner?" The servant asked.

"No, I am not yet hungry."

"Alright, sir."

Then he walked through the grand foyer, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the expansive hall. 

Bedroom,

Milo entered the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. The room was quiet and still, offering a momentary escape from the chaotic whirlwind his life had become. As he walked further in, his eyes drifted to the bed, and vivid memories of the morning's intense moments with Kiet flashed through his mind.

His heart pounded as he remembered the way Kiet's hands had roamed over his body, the possessive grip, and the heat of his breath against his skin. Milo could almost feel the touch again—the gentle yet commanding caresses that had left him both terrified and strangely exhilarated.

"Will he touch me again?" Milo mumbled to himself, the question hanging in the air.

He felt a rush of emotions—fear, confusion, and an inexplicable blush creeping up his cheeks. Shaking his head slightly, Milo walked over to the table and placed his bag down, his movements slow and deliberate. He glanced around the room, half expecting Kiet to appear at any moment, and the thought made his pulse quicken. 

With a deep sigh, he moved to the bed and sat down, the soft mattress sinking slightly under his weight. He lay back, his mind still replaying the morning's events, and closed his eyes. The memory of Kiet's touch was so vivid that it was almost as if he could feel it all over again—the strength of Kiet's hands, the warmth of his body, the intensity of his gaze.

As he lay there, his mind began to drift, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. "I am tired."

The room grew darker as the minutes passed, and Milo's thoughts became hazy. He clung to the memory of the morning, the intense moment with Kiet replaying in his mind like a haunting melody. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

Midnight,

THUD!

CRASH!

Milo woke up with a start at the sound of a loud crash. Disoriented, he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness that enveloped the room. As he looked at the clock, the numbers glowed eerily: 2 am.

Another crash echoed through the house, louder this time and more puzzling. "What's that sound?" he mumbled to himself. 

He walked forward. His heart began to race as he got out of bed and walked out of his room. He opened the door, and he saw the house cloaked in darkness. "Did the lights go off?" he wondered aloud, moving cautiously through the shadowy hallway.

As he approached the stairs, Milo's breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened in shock, and he stumbled back, his heart pounding. What he saw was nothing short of a nightmare.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Kiet, alone in the dark, illuminated only by a dim, flickering lamp. He was drenched in blood. The floor around him was a gruesome pool of crimson, and six to eight men lay dead, their lifeless bodies scattered haphazardly.

Milo's body shook with fear. The scene was terrifying—a horrific tableau that seemed straight out of a horror movie. Kiet's half-drenched body, his shirt and pants soaked in blood, and his face splattered with it, made him look like a demon. His eyes glowed with a predatory intensity, like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey.

Milo's fear paralyzed him. He wanted to run and scream, but his body refused to cooperate. It's not like he didn't see Kiet's ruthlessness before, but right now the scene in front of him is scary—extremely scary.

Kiet noticed Milo's presence and turned towards him; his gaze locked onto Milo, and his expression was dark and unreadable.

"Go back to your room," Kiet commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

But Milo couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, trembling with terror.

"Are you deaf? I said, Go back to your room. NOW!" Kiet yelled, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

But Milo was frozen, paralyzed by fear, unable to move or speak. The sight of Kiet drenched in blood, surrounded by lifeless bodies, was too much for his mind to process. His legs felt like lead, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Suddenly, Kiet sprinted towards him, holding the blood-drenched lamp rod. Milo's eyes widened with shock. His mind screamed, "He's going to kill me; he's going to kill me!" Panic surged through him, and he felt himself shaking uncontrollably.

Just as Kiet reached him, he didn't strike Milo. Instead, he swung the lamp rod behind Milo, impaling someone who had been sneaking up with a weapon. Blood splattered across Milo, the warm droplets hitting his skin and clothes. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, making him gag.

Milo stared in shock at the man who had been ready to attack him, now lying dead at his feet. The horror of the scene, combined with the shock of being saved by Kiet in such a brutal manner, was too much for him. The world spun around him, and he felt dizzy.

As darkness closed in on him, Milo's last sight was Kiet's bloodied face, a mixture of fierce protectiveness and cold ruthlessness. He was about to collapse to the ground, but Keit held him in his arms.

Kiet sighed as he looked down at Milo's unconscious form lying on his arm. The boy's face was pale, a stark contrast to the blood that now stained his clothes. Arhit and a few guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs, their expressions serious.

"We cleared everything, sir," Arhit called out. "We took care of them all."

Kiet's gaze didn't waver from Milo as he responded, "Arhit."

"Yes, sir."

"Take Milo to his room."

Arhit's expression shifted to one of confusion. "Milo?" He then noticed the boy lying unconscious in Kiet's arms. "What is he doing here?" He quickly approached, his eyes widening as he saw Milo up close.

Kiet handed Milo over to Arhit, his face betraying no emotion. "He must have come out of his room when he heard the noise. Get him to his room and make sure he stays there."

Arhit nodded, taking Milo carefully from Kiet's arms. "I'll take care of him, sir."

Kiet watched as Arhit carried Milo upstairs, his expression unreadable. The chaos and bloodshed around him were momentarily forgotten as he focused on the unconscious boy. 

"Clean everything up," Kiet ordered others.

Bedroom, Later,

Kiet entered the bedroom, his clothes drenched in blood and his face a mask of grim determination. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks: Milo lay unconscious on the bed, his face pale and his body still. Kiet's eyes flicked to Arhit, who stood nearby, tension evident in his stance.

"Is he good?" Kiet asked, his voice rough with fatigue and concern.

Arhit glanced at Milo, then back at Kiet. "I don't think so. he looks pale. the sight must be too much for him, and he must have fainted in shock," he explained, his tone calm but serious.

"Okay," Kiet nodded, processing the information. "You can leave and find out about those men who sneaked into the house," he ordered, his voice steady but deadly serious.

"Yes, sir," Arhit replied promptly.

"There must be a rat in the house," Kiet continued, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Otherwise, who else would have dared to enter the Rattanakorn mansion with such tight security?"

I agree, sir." Arhit agreed, his expression reflecting Kiet's determination. "I'll look deep into the matter," he assured Kiet before turning to leave the room, his mind already working on how to uncover the traitor.

Left alone, Kiet turned his attention back to Milo. The sight of him lying there, so vulnerable and fragile, brought a sigh to Kiet's lips. He walked closer, looking down at the unconscious boy with a mix of frustration and pity.

"How are you going to live here, being so sensitive?" Kiet muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

With that, he walked into the bathroom, the events of the night weighing heavily on his mind. 

                                                                                   ***

Bedroom, Later,

Milo lay in bed, memories of the tragic scene flashing through his mind like a nightmare he couldn't escape. He saw Kiet, drenched in blood, his eyes cold and unfeeling. The murderous sight haunted him, and he opened his eyes with a gasp, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. Sweat soaked his forehead, and his entire body trembled with fear.

"He is... he is a demon," Milo mumbled, his voice barely a whisper as the terrifying image of Kiet loomed in his mind.

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open, and Kiet entered the room. His eyes immediately fell on Milo, who had sat up in bed, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror. Kiet noticed Milo's reaction, his body trembling more violently at the sight of him. Frustration surged within Kiet, but he took a deep breath, unwilling to vent his anger on someone so clearly terrified.

Milo's trembling intensified as Kiet walked slowly towards him, each step making his heart pound harder in his chest. Kiet stopped at the side table, picking up a glass of water. He held it out to Milo, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Here, you need to drink water. You'll feel better."

Milo's eyes darted between the glass and Kiet's face, his hand shaking as he reached out. But the fear was too much; his grip faltered, and the glass slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor and shattering into pieces.

The sound seemed to echo in the room, amplifying the tension. Kiet's eyes darted to the shattered glass on the floor, then back to the terrified, trembling Milo. His frustration, already teetering on the edge, finally boiled over. He crossed the room in two swift strides, his hand clamping down on Milo's wrist with bruising force.

"Do I look like a monster to you?" Kiet snarled, his voice a mix of anger and exasperation. Milo winced, his eyes wide with fear. "Why are you trembling?!" Kiet yelled, pulling Milo closer, his grip tightening painfully.

"Look at me. Look at me, Milo!" he yelled, and his hand moved to Milo's chin, forcing him to look directly into his fierce, unyielding eyes. 

"Listen carefully; this is the advice. You better get used to this because this is your future. Today was just the beginning. There will be more to come, and you can't afford to tremble and faint every time. Accept the situation you're in; it's the only way you'll survive in this house. Do you get it?" He yelled again, then shoved Milo roughly onto the mattress.

Milo lay there, his body still shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Why?" he sobbed, his voice breaking. "Why should I suffer this? What did I do to deserve this?"

Kiet scoffed, his expression cold and unfeeling. "What did you do? That's right, you didn't do anything, darling. But this is the price. The price you have to pay for your parents' wrongdoings, and you have to face it."

"I don't want to," Milo whispered at first, his voice trembling but resolute. "I won't accept this. I will never marry a monster like you."

Kiet's eyes darkened at the defiance in Milo's words. He stepped closer, his movements swift and predatory. Grabbing Milo by the hair, he yanked him up so their faces were inches apart. The intensity in Kiet's gaze was terrifying—a mix of anger and something deeper, more possessive.

"You're going to marry me because you're mine now," Kiet snarled, his voice low and menacing. "Your body, your soul, your destiny—all of it belongs to me. Accept this."

Milo's eyes filled with tears, the pain from Kiet's grip, and the weight of his words crashing down on him. Kiet released him roughly, and as he turned to walk away, Milo's voice, small but defiant, cut through the air. "Do you think I'm some kind of property that you own?"

Kiet smirked, glancing back over his shoulder. "That's right. You're my property. ONLY MINE." With those final, chilling words, he left the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence.

Milo lay on the mattress, tears blurring his vision. The weight of Kiet's words settled over him like a suffocating blanket. He felt utterly alone, trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Kiet's cruelty and his own helplessness merged into a profound, crushing sadness. He sobbed quietly, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper with every tear that fell.

Kiet walked out of the room, his fist clenched tightly and his other hand rising to touch his forehead as the stress weighed heavily on him. Just then, Arhit came running up, his face etched with worry.

"Sir... sir," Arhit began, his voice urgent.

Kiet cut him off sharply. "Not now, Arhit. I'm already stressed enough. We'll talk later." He turned, ready to walk down the stairs, when Arhit's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"Sir, Thanaya..."

Kiet turned back, his expression darkening. "What about Thanaya? Don't tell me she's caused another ruckus. Tell her if she keeps doing it, I will stop visiting her." He started down the stairs again.

"She is in the hospital," Arhit yelled after him.

Kiet froze, then slowly turned to face Arhit, the anger draining from his face to be replaced by a mixture of shock and concern. 

"It's an emergency, sir," Arhit continued, his voice steady but urgent.

Without wasting another moment, Kiet strode down the stairs with purpose. "Find out which hospital she is in. We're going there immediately."

Arhit nodded and hurried to make the necessary arrangements, while Kiet's mind raced with worry for Thanaya. The stress and frustration of moments ago were pushed aside as his focus shifted entirely to getting to her as quickly as possible.