Chapter 23:“He already found you”

Jiwon flinched.

Sergei's gaze bore into him, unblinking.

"You said it yourself—you left him."

His words were slow, deliberate.

"Years ago."

Jiwon's breathing became shallow.

"You think a child can survive alone for this long?"

Jiwon's lips parted, but nothing came out.

Sergei tilted his head slightly, watching him, drinking in his reaction.

"Tell me, Jiwon."

His voice was taunting now, cold and sharp.

"When you abandoned him… did you ever look back?"

Jiwon's heart slammed against his ribs.

His mind screamed at him to answer—to defend himself, to tell Sergei that it wasn't like that, that he hadn't abandoned him. But the truth twisted around his throat, suffocating him.

Because no.

No, he hadn't looked back.

Not that night.

Not when he walked away, when he forced himself to keep moving, to not turn around even though every part of him wanted to.

He had told himself it was for the best. That it had to be done. That one day, he would make things right.

But he never did.

Jiwon's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His shoulders trembled.

Sergei watched him, waiting.

And then, after a long, heavy silence, Jiwon whispered:

"I didn't have a choice."

Sergei let out a low, humorless chuckle.

"There's always a choice."

Jiwon shook his head, his voice almost breaking.

"You don't know anything."

Sergei's eyes darkened.

Jiwon looked up at him, searching his face. There was something in Sergei's expression—something unreadable, something almost... pained beneath the anger.

Jiwon swallowed. " Help me."

Sergei's jaw tensed.

Jiwon pushed forward.

"If it's really too late, then prove it."

His voice trembled, but his eyes didn't waver.

"Find him."

Silence.

Sergei didn't answer.

He just stared at Jiwon, his face blank, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Jiwon's breath was shaky, but he refused to back down.

"If you can find me, then you can find him too."

Sergei let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping against his knee.

Then, finally, he stood up.

Jiwon's heart pounded. "Sergei—"

But Sergei didn't look at him. He turned toward the door, his movements stiff, tense.

Jiwon's hands trembled as he reached out. "Please—"

Sergei paused at the doorway. His back was to Jiwon, his posture rigid.

And then—

"Go to sleep."

Sergei slammed the door behind him. His breaths were uneven, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He walked down the hall with heavy steps, his jaw tightening with every passing second.

[Kiddo. Just Kiddo.]

The word echoed in his mind like a cruel joke, scraping against the raw edges of his patience. That was all Jiwon remembered? That was all he had to say about the boy he left behind? No name, no face, no guilt—just some vague ghost haunting his dreams. As if that was enough. As if that excused anything.

Sergei pressed his back against the cold wall of his study, dragging a hand down his face. He should've known. He should've expected this. Jiwon wasn't looking for him—he was looking for a phantom from his past, someone he had conveniently forgotten, someone who existed only in shadows and distant memories.

He scoffed bitterly.

"Haa!.You want him back ? You have no idea."

The boy Jiwon abandoned didn't exist anymore. That child—weak, desperate, pathetically clinging to the hope that someone would come back for him—had died long ago. And in his place, Sergei was born. Ruthless. Unforgiving.

Yet here he was, standing outside that room like a fool, letting old wounds reopen.

[Why does it still burn? Why do I still care?]

His fingers itched to break something—to grab Jiwon, shake him until he remembered, until he begged for forgiveness.

But even then, what would it change? What difference would it make if Jiwon suddenly recalled everything? Would that erase the years Sergei spent alone, consumed by hatred and grief?

Would it undo the nights he spent cursing the name of the man who abandoned him?

No. Nothing could fix that. Nothing could bring back the child he once was.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away, locking it behind the walls he had built so carefully over the years. Jiwon had already taken too much from him. He wouldn't let him take more.

[Let him rot in his guilt. It's the least he deserves.]

Sergei pushed himself off the wall and walked toward his desk, reaching for a cigarette with steady hands. The flame flickered as he lit it, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at the smoke curling toward the ceiling.

Then, with a humorless smirk, he muttered under his breath.

"You want to find him, Jiwon? Too bad."

"He already found you."

———————

The servant knocked once before stepping inside, bowing slightly.

"Sir, Alexei has arrived. He's waiting for you in the study."

Sergei didn't respond immediately. He was leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping against the armrest.

The weight of his earlier conversation with Jiwon still lingered, pressing against his mind like a dull ache. He inhaled slowly, pushing it aside, before nodding.

"Send him in."

Minutes later, Alexei strolled into the study, dressed in his usual oversized hoodie and loose pants, an intentional contrast to the lavish decor surrounding him. He collapsed onto the chair opposite Sergei, throwing one leg over the other.

"You always have your men greet me like I'm some honored guest. Feels strange."

Sergei ignored the remark, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

"Why are you here?"

"Business, of course." Alexei leaned forward, his smirk fading slightly.

"You know the shipments from the Varennikov family? There's been... interference. Word is, someone's been leaking information. Could be an inside job."

Sergei's expression darkened.

"Do you have proof?"

"Not yet," Alexei admitted.

"But I have suspicions. A few of your men have been meeting with someone from the outside. I don't think it's just about money."

Sergei swirled the whiskey in his glass, contemplating.

"Names?"

Alexei shook his head.

"Not yet. But give me time. I'll find out."

There was a tense silence. Then Alexei leaned back, his smirk returning.

"Anyway, aside from work... I've been curious. What's the name of that rabbit you have locked away in your mansion?"

Sergei's fingers froze around his glass for a brief second before he lifted it to his lips. "Why does that interest you?"

"Oh, just wondering." Alexei shrugged.

"Is he the same uncle I met the other day?"

Sergei remained cold, unreadable. He took a sip of his drink, setting the glass down without a sound.

"You talk too much."

Alexei chuckled.

"And you avoid too much. Well, since you're not in the mood, I'll take my leave."

He stood up, stretching lazily.

"See you around, Sergei."

Sergei watched him go, his expression unreadable. But he knew Alexei too well. The bastard was like a fox—curious, relentless. And he never left without finding something worth his time.

As expected, Alexei didn't head straight for the exit. Instead, he wandered, taking his time through the hallways.

He was light on his feet, silent, slipping past servants with ease. Eventually, he reached the upper floors, where the air was heavier, quieter.

Then he stopped.

One particular door stood out, different from the others. Alexei's smirk deepened as he reached for the handle and pushed it open.