Chapter 7:A dangerous game

Sergei stepped outside into the icy evening air, his expression as rigid as the frost clinging to the earth. The sleek black car waited at the front of the estate, its polished surface gleaming under the weak sunlight. His hand tightened around the keys, the metal cool against his skin, grounding him as he climbed into the driver's seat.

The engine roared to life, and Sergei drove with the same ruthless precision that defined everything he did. The city blurred past the tinted windows, a cold and unforgiving landscape that mirrored the darkness coiling within him.

He rarely visited his father's mansion. The place was a fortress — imposing, monstrous, a monument to Mikhail Ivanovich Valery Karpov's power.

Sergei's fingers tightened around the steering wheel as memories threatened to surface. Mikhail had taught him everything he knew, had molded him from a broken boy into a man forged by cruelty and vengeance. Emotions were a weakness, Mikhail would say. Mercy was a death sentence.

His father's voice still echoed in his mind, a constant, insidious presence that had shaped him into the man he was today. It was that voice that reminded him of his purpose. Of why he couldn't allow himself to falter. Not now. Not ever.

The tires crunched over gravel as he pulled up to the mansion's gate. Guards patrolled the area, their gazes cold and calculating. But the moment they saw him, they straightened, recognizing who he was. The gate swung open, groaning under its own weight.

Sergei drove down the winding path that cut through the expansive grounds, his gaze fixed on the imposing structure looming ahead. It was a mansion in name but a fortress in reality, its stone walls and towering pillars casting dark shadows over the manicured gardens.

He brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance, his gaze flickering up to the grand, double doors carved with intricate designs of Russian folklore. It was all a facade, meant to convey grandeur and authority, but Sergei knew the truth. The real power lay not in aesthetics, but in fear. And Mikhail wielded it like a master.

As Sergei stepped out of the car, the icy wind bit at his skin. The mansion's grand doors opened, and he strode inside, his expression carved from stone.

The familiar corridors stretched before him, opulent and sterile. The underlings he passed averted their eyes, their footsteps quickening to avoid lingering in his presence. He climbed the wide staircase and made his way to his father's office.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside."I'm back"

Mikhail was seated at his desk, a glass of whiskey in hand, his piercing gaze already fixed on Sergei. silver hair gleamed under the dim lights, his tailored suit perfect as always.

Mikhail's lips curled into a smirk. "So, how is your little puppy doing?" His tone was laced with mockery, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

Sergei's jaw tightened. "It's none of your business."

Mikhail's eyebrows rose, his smirk growing. "Ah, but you made it my business, didn't you? Using my name as leverage. Do you think I don't know what you're doing, Sergei?"

Sergei's gaze remained unwavering. "I'm handling him."

"Handling him?" Mikhail chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that echoed in the vast room. "You mean torturing him. All over some twisted grudge you refuse to let go of. But let's not pretend this is about the money. We both know it's not."

Sergei's fists clenched at his sides. "He's indebted to you. I'm making sure he pays."

"Ah, yes. The debt." Mikhail swirled the whiskey in his glass, his gaze never leaving Sergei's. "It's fascinating how you twist the truth to suit your own desires. You've always been good at that."

Sergei's stare darkened. "I'm doing what you asked me to do."

"No." Mikhail's smirk vanished, replaced by a chilling seriousness. "You're doing what you want to do. And you're using me as an excuse. But don't think I'm fooled by your little charade. I couldn't care less about the money, Sergei. This is all your twisted little game."

"It's not your concern," Sergei replied icily. "What I do with him is my business."

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with malice. "Is that so? You're forgetting something, boy. When you drag my name into your sick revenge, it becomes my concern. And mark my words, Sergei, you'll regret this. Your obsession is making you reckless. Sooner or later, it will come back to bite you."

"I'm not obsessed." The denial slipped from Sergei's lips with cold precision, though the flicker of doubt was there, buried deep.

"Of course you are," Mikhail replied with a bitter laugh. "You can pretend all you want, but I see the truth. You think you're in control, but you're not. The past has its claws in you, and you're too blinded by rage to see it."

Sergei's gaze remained steely. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

Mikhail's smile returned, cold and taunting. "No. I also wanted to remind you not to let your guard down. Whatever sick satisfaction you're getting from breaking him, it's a dangerous game. And you're no longer a child who can afford to play with fire and expect not to get burned."

"I don't plan to get burned."

"Good. Then prove it. Because if you fail, if you let your emotions cloud your judgment, you'll be the one paying the price." Mikhail's eyes narrowed, the threat unmistakable. "Now get out of my sight."

Sergei turned sharply, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he left the room. His father's words dug under his skin like needles, but he wouldn't show it. Wouldn't let the bastard see the cracks in his facade.

As he descended the stairs, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the message from one of the mansion's staff:

"The prisoner has been cleaned and returned to the bedroom, as you requested."

Sergei's fingers twitched. "Good."

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and made his way to the car. As he slid into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition, his father's words echoed in his mind.

"You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment....Don't let your guard down... Sooner or later, you'll regret it."

The old man's warnings were like poison, slowly seeping into Sergei's thoughts. But he wouldn't let them fester. He couldn't.

The moment Jiwon had reappeared in his life, everything had shifted. The boy he once was had died long ago, replaced by something far colder, far more dangerous. And if Jiwon had to suffer to understand that truth, so be it.

He pressed down on the gas pedal, speeding through the night with nothing but vengeance in his veins