Nuea walked along the road, balancing a bag filled with groceries in his arms. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the neighborhood. As he approached his house, a sleek black car caught his eye, gliding smoothly to a stop in front of the driveway. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized it—the same car his brother Milo had once stepped out of.

Hope surged through him, and a broad smile spread across his face. "Milo," he whispered to himself, quickening his pace towards the car.

Just as he neared the vehicle, Arhit stepped out and moved to open the door. In his haste, Nuea tripped over his own feet, and he was about to fall when Arhit caught him.

"Careful there," Arhit said, steadying him. their eyes locking in the process.

"Are you okay?" Arhit asked, concern lacing his voice.

Nuea nodded, slightly flustered. "Yeah, I was just excited. I am sorry."

Arhit nodded back, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's okay. Be careful."

Nuea smiled warmly. He glanced towards the car door, his excitement returning. "Is my brother here?" he asked eagerly.

Meanwhile, Kiet stepped out of the car, his sharp eyes immediately catching sight of Nuea. He shot a glance at Arhit, who was standing beside him. 

"Let's go inside," Kiet said, his voice low and commanding. Arhit nodded without a word and followed closely behind. Nuea, with a puzzled expression, trailed after them.

"Why are you here?" Nuea asked, his confusion evident in his tone.

Kiet didn’t bother looking back. "You’ll find out soon enough," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of menace.

As they entered the house, Milo's parents were startled by the unexpected intrusion. Milo's father immediately stepped forward, his face a mix of anger and anxiety. "Kiet, what are you doing here again?" he demanded.

Kiet was about to respond when something on the wall caught his attention. He walked towards a framed family picture and picked it up, examining it with a mocking smile. "What a nice family," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Milo's mother stepped forward, her voice trembling with both fear and anger. "Why are you here? You've already taken Milo from us. What do you want now? "

Kiet turned to face her, his expression cold and unyielding. "You speak as if I forced Milo out of this house. Don't forget, you were the one who sold him to me. And he walked out of here on his own two legs."

Nuea couldn’t hold back any longer. He stepped forward, his voice shaking with indignation. "It's because you threatened to kill all of us!"

Kiet’s eyes darkened, and he took a menacing step towards Nuea. "That was not a threat," he said, his voice eerily calm. "That was bound to happen."

A chill ran down everyone's spine. The tension in the room was palpable—a suffocating presence that seemed to tighten around their throats.

Kiet sighed, almost as if bored with the conversation. "But that's not why I’m here."

Milo's father, his voice barely steady, asked, "Then why are you here?"

Kiet reached into his pocket and pulled out an invitation card, placing it deliberately on the table. "This is an invitation," he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

Milo's mother, her voice barely above a whisper, asked, "Invitation? For what?"

Kiet's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. "Of course, for the marriage. Two days from now, Milo will be officially mine, and I want you all to be there on time."

Nuea, his face pale and his voice shaky, asked, "So, are you really going to marry my brother?"

Kiet looked at him with a mixture of amusement and cruelty. "Isn't that why I took him from here in the first place?"

The room fell into a heavy silence, each word sinking into their hearts like daggers. Kiet glanced at his watch. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door. "See you at the wedding, then," he tossed over his shoulder.

As soon as Kiet left, Milo's mother broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Nuea rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her. "Mom, please don't cry," he pleaded, his own voice thick with emotion.

Milo's father stood frozen, staring at the invitation card on the table as if it were a harbinger of doom. Summoning his courage, he bolted after Kiet, catching up to him just outside the house. 

"Kiet, please stop," he called out.

Kiet paused, turning slowly to face him. He slipped his hands into his pockets, his expression unreadable. "Speak," he said, his tone cold and detached.

Milo's father hesitated, the weight of his words pressing heavily on his chest. "I know why you're doing this," he began, his voice trembling. "But... but can you leave Milo out of this? That boy, he didn't do anything wrong."

Kiet's eyes flickered with a mix of anger and something darker. "You're right," he said softly. "He didn't do anything wrong. But, Uncle, aren't you the one who told me that kids suffer for their parents' wrongdoings? Did you forget?"

Milo's father flinched, the truth of Kiet's words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with tension. "But... he is still a young boy."

Kiet's smirk returned, more menacing than before. "It's funny," he said, his voice a sinister whisper. "Milo, that naive young boy, thinks he's in this situation because of some stupid video he recorded. But the truth is darker—much darker. Right, Uncle?"

Milo's father recoiled, the horror of Kiet's words sinking in. He could barely breathe, the weight of his past crushing him. Kiet's eyes bore into him, merciless and unforgiving. 

"I hope you realise that Milo's suffering isn't because of the video. It's because of you."

With that, Kiet turned away, leaving Milo's father standing there, shattered and helpless. he watched Kiet's retreating figure, feeling the weight of guilt and regret crushing him. He couldn't move and couldn't speak; the realization of his own actions paralyzed him. The truth Kiet had thrown in his face echoed in his mind, a relentless torment that threatened to consume him.

He sank to his knees, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. The air around him seemed to grow colder, and he could hear his wife’s sobs and Nuea’s comforting whispers in the background, muffled and distant.

Kiet sat in the backseat of his car, staring out at the city passing by. He sighed heavily, the weight of his thoughts pressing upon him like a physical burden.

"Are you okay, sir?" Arhit's voice broke through the silence, filtering through the rearview mirror.

Kiet hesitated for a moment, then replied with a terse nod. "Yeah."

But inwardly, a storm raged within him. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself against the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, despite his efforts to bury the past, a vivid flashback pierced through the walls he had erected in his mind.

It was a dark night with one flickering streetlight. Kiet's car lay upside down on the side of the road, the metal twisted and broken. Kiet himself was drenched in blood, barely conscious, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked around in a daze, his vision blurred by pain.

Nearby, a pregnant woman lay on the ground, still breathing but in agony. Her face was twisted with pain and fear. She reached out a trembling hand towards Kiet, her voice a desperate whisper. "Kiet... Kiet... the child... please... please."

Kiet struggled to move, his body screaming in protest. He managed to drag himself out of the wreckage, every inch of movement a battle against the searing pain. As he crawled towards the woman, his eyes caught sight of a tall figure standing under the flickering light, half-hidden in the shadows.  And that tall figure was Milo's father, his face a mask of fear and indecision, illuminated by the sporadic flickers of light from above.

"Uncle, Please... please help us," Kiet begged, his voice breaking with desperation.

Milo's father stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror. For a moment, their gazes locked, and Kiet saw the conflict, the horror, and the guilt in Milo's father's eyes.

"Please... please help us," Kiet pleaded again, his voice strained and desperate. He could feel blood trickling down his forehead as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

Milo's father still stood frozen, his hands trembling at his sides.  He took a step back and walked away, his footsteps drowned out by the storm, leaving Kiet and the woman behind.

Kiet’s strength began to wane, and he collapsed onto the ground, his hand still reaching out towards the woman. Her voice grew fainter, each cry for help a dagger in Kiet’s heart. "Please... the child... save the child," she murmured, her eyes filled with pain and fear.

Kiet looked at Milo's father running away, and his vision began to blurr, and the world seemed to close in around him. Darkness encroached, and his consciousness slipped away, leaving only the echo of the woman’s pleas in his mind.

Back in the present, Kiet's eyes flashed open. The memory played out like a vivid nightmare in his mind's eye—the crash, the pleading voice of the pregnant woman, and the silhouette of Milo's father standing in the shadows, frozen in indecision.

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with tension, as he struggled to contain the emotions surging within him. The pain of that night, both physical and emotional, still lingered, a constant reminder of the past that shaped him into the person he had become.