Chapter 9 : The Storm

Jiwon woke up with a sharp, throbbing pain that wrapped around his entire body like a vice. His eyes cracked open, vision swimming with blurs of color and shadow. His head felt heavy, his mind clouded from the brutality of the previous night. Every part of him ached, as if he'd been torn apart and pieced back together by cruel hands.

The sheets clung to his sweat-drenched skin, their silkiness only adding to the sickening sense of vulnerability. His breathing was ragged, shallow gasps slipping from his parted lips as he forced himself to sit up. His muscles protested with every small movement, the dull ache from deep within making his chest tighten.

He was alive. Somehow.

The luxurious bedroom he found himself in was eerily quiet, the air thick with an unnatural calm. Panic clawed at his throat, the memory of Sergei's cold gaze and merciless actions still fresh and vivid. His heart thumped wildly, desperate and fearful.

He needed to get out.

His gaze darted around the room. The door was shut, and the prospect of facing Sergei again made his stomach churn. His eyes shifted to the only other potential escape. The window.

Despite the burning pain in his limbs, Jiwon swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. The long chemise he wore was a mockery of comfort, brushing against his bruised inner thighs with every shaky step. But the pain was a good thing—it kept him grounded, kept him focused.

With trembling hands, he reached the window and fumbled with the lock. His fingers were weak, clumsy, but desperation made him persistent. A soft click, and the cool evening air poured into the room.

Jiwon stared down at the ground. It was far. Too far. But he couldn't afford to hesitate.

Taking a shuddering breath, he swung his legs over the edge. Without allowing himself a moment to reconsider, he let go.

The air rushed past him, a sensation so brief and yet terrifyingly eternal. He hit the ground hard.

"AGHHH!" The scream tore from his throat before he could swallow it. The pain was instant, white-hot and brutal. His left ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, the flesh already swelling. His vision swayed, nausea rising like bile in his throat.

But he couldn't stop.

Even as his body protested, even as his ankle burned with every heartbeat, Jiwon forced himself to move. His breathing was shallow, his eyes wild as he dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his right leg. The world tilted around him, but he pushed forward.

The garden stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving. Its pristine beauty mocked him, taunting his misery with its serenity. Lush greenery and expertly pruned bushes surrounded him, but none of it mattered.

He stumbled forward, half-limping, half-dragging himself toward what looked like an exit. His ankle was useless, pain shooting up his leg with every strained step. But fear was stronger. Fear kept him moving.

The main gate loomed ahead, but even through his haze of pain, he could see the guards standing like statues—alert, armed, and blocking his only chance of freedom.

Jiwon's heart sank. His pulse roared in his ears. If he tried to get past them, he would be caught in an instant.

He turned sharply, his eyes darting for any other way out. The garden's labyrinthine layout offered little help. His breathing grew erratic, his chest heaving with every desperate gasp. His ankle was practically useless now, each step making him bite down on his lip until he tasted blood.

He stumbled through the maze of plants and bushes, his hands grasping at anything to steady himself. His feet scraped against rocks and dirt, the pain nearly paralyzing.

Then he saw it.

A small dog house nestled between a cluster of thick bushes against the mansion's outer wall.

He limped toward it, his body practically folding in on itself as he dropped to his knees and crawled inside. The space was cramped, the scent of dried hay and dog musk filling his nostrils. It was disgusting. Humiliating. But it was a hiding place.

He pressed his back against the rough wooden wall, trying to slow his breathing. Trying to quiet the erratic beat of his heart. His ankle throbbed mercilessly, a dark bruise already forming beneath the skin. He gripped his leg, fighting the urge to cry out from the agony.

Sweat beaded along his brow, his hair matted and clinging to his forehead. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, his entire body shivering from shock and exhaustion.

But he was alive.

Somehow, against all odds, he was still alive.

But as the darkness closed in around him, one terrifying thought kept pounding through his mind.

Sergei would come for him. And when he did, there would be hell to pay.

At these moments the cigarette had barely left Sergei's fingers when a sharp, blood-curdling scream tore through the air. It sliced through the mansion's silence like a blade, and Sergei's entire body tensed, his eyes widening in alarm.

He knew exactly where that scream had come from. His bedroom. The one place Jiwon was supposed to be kept secure.

"What the—"

His chair scraped violently against the floor as he shot to his feet, the cigarette crushed mercilessly between his fingers before he tossed it aside. Panic mixed with fury twisted his expression as he bolted toward his room, his footsteps echoing down the pristine hallways.

By the time he threw the door open, his gaze darted around wildly, desperate to locate the pathetic figure he expected to see curled up on the bed. But it was empty.

The sheets were tangled, proof that Jiwon had been there. But the man himself was gone. His eyes snapped to the open window, the cool breeze from outside blowing the curtains like ghostly fingers.

"FUCK!"

The roar ripped from his throat, pure rage sizzling beneath his skin. How had the bastard managed to slip away? His mind raced, a whirlwind of calculations and conclusions. But he didn't have time to waste.

He stormed out of the room, phone in hand as he barked orders into the receiver.

"I want everyone outside. Now! Search the grounds, the perimeter, every goddamn inch of this place. If you see him, bring him back alive. But make sure he can't run again."

He ended the call and stalked down the corridor, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

No. This wasn't going to happen. Not on his watch. Not when he still had unfinished business with that bastard.

He began his search from the inside. His gaze scanned every little corner, every shadowy crevice of the mansion. From the dimly lit storage rooms to the lavishly decorated lounges, nothing was left unchecked. His anger simmered beneath the surface, but there was something else there, too. Something cold and unrelenting.

The hunt.

Sergei prowled through the mansion with a purpose, his eyes sharp, his breathing steady despite the murderous rage boiling within him. His search led him outside, past the gardens blooming with flowers that mocked him with their serenity.

He stalked through the winding paths, his expression twisted with fury. The scent of roses and fresh earth filled the air, but he didn't give a damn about any of it. Not when the only thing he could think about was dragging Jiwon back

Then he stopped.

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over the greenery. His lips curled into a grin—a dark, twisted grin that held no warmth.

A laugh spilled from his lips, a loud, cruel laugh that echoed through the stillness of the garden.

It was the laugh of a predator who had just found the scent of his prey.