Kiet walked out of the mansion, flanked by numerous guards, each step radiating lethal intent. His demeanor had shifted completely; he was no longer just a father or a fiancé—he was an angry tiger, ready to eliminate anyone who stood in his path.

As they reached out of the mansion, a car screeched to a halt, and Arhit stepped out hurriedly. The menacing aura emanating from Kiet was palpable, making Arhit's heart race. He gulped and stepped forward, holding a tablet in his hand.

Kiet's eyes fixed on Arhit with a piercing gaze. "Update," he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

Arhit swallowed hard as he handed the tablet to Kiet. "Sir, we've retrieved the surveillance footage from the wedding chamber. There's something you need to see."

Kiet snatched the tablet and watched the video intently. The footage showed the other side of the wedding chamber. An unknown man with a candle appeared, glancing around furtively. He peeked inside the chamber, lit the candle, and then threw it inside before sprinting away.

Kiet's grip tightened on the tablet, his knuckles turning white. His eyes blazed with an even fiercer determination.

"Did you find him?" Kiet asked, his voice a low growl filled with barely contained fury.

Arhit nodded. "Yes, sir. He was one of the workers."

Kiet's eyes blazed as he processed the information. "And what about Milo?" he demanded.

Arhit hesitated for a moment before replying, "There is another footage, sir. It shows Milo being taken away by his parents in a van."

Kiet's eyes darkened further as he watched the footage. His fists clenched as he saw Milo's unconscious form being carried into the van. "Did you find out where they went?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"We are still tracking them down, sir," Arhit responded.

Kiet nodded, a cold determination settling over his features. "Let's go," he ordered.

As the car started and they sped away from the mansion, the atmosphere inside the vehicle was charged with tension.

                                                                                           ***

Abandoned Warehouse,

The car stopped at a secluded warehouse, its headlights cutting through the darkness like a predator’s eyes. Kiet stepped out, his gaze blazing with fury. Every step he took was measured and deliberate, echoing his pent-up rage. He recalled the image of his daughter trapped inside the fire, her small voice begging for help, and his resolve hardened further.

As he approached the entrance, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing an intricately detailed, angry snake tattoo coiling up his forearm. The sight of it was enough to make his guards stand straighter, recognizing the signal of their boss's lethal intent.

Kiet glanced at one of his guards and extended his hand. “My knife.”

The guard immediately pulled a sharp, gleaming knife from his jacket and handed it to Kiet. The weapon glinted menacingly under the dim light, an extension of Kiet’s wrath.

Turning to Arhit, Kiet's eyes were cold and resolute. “Until I take care of that worker, find out where that van went.”

Arhit nodded, his expression serious. “Yes, sir.”

Kiet walked forward, his grip on the knife tightening, and the guards flanked him with matching expressions of grim determination. As they entered the warehouse, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows across the room, adding to the oppressive ambiance.

In the center of the warehouse, a worker was tied to a chair, his eyes wide with fear. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he struggled against the bonds, but there was no escape. The moment he saw Kiet, his struggles intensified, his muffled pleas for mercy barely audible through the gag in his mouth.

Kiet approached him slowly, his steps echoing ominously on the concrete floor. He stopped in front of the terrified man, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

Kiet twirled the knife in his hand, the blade catching the light. “You think you can harm my family and get away with it?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

The worker's eyes darted around, looking for any means of escape, but there was none. Kiet leaned in closer, the blade of the knife just inches from the man’s throat. “You’re going to regret ever crossing me,” he whispered, his voice laced with lethal promise.

Kiet straightened up, his gaze never leaving the worker's. “Hold him steady,” he ordered, and the guards immediately complied, gripping the man's shoulders tightly.

With a deliberate motion, Kiet drew the knife across the worker’s cheek, the cold steel pressing against his skin. He smirked, his eyes dark with menace. “Alright, let’s make this interesting,” Kiet said, stepping back and twirling the knife in his hand. “I’ll give you a chance, a chance to escape this nightmare.”

He leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Why did you set the fire in the bridal chamber?”

The worker's eyes widened in terror, but he remained silent, his fear evident. Kiet turned to one of his guards, who promptly removed the gag from the man’s mouth. The worker’s breath came in ragged gasps as he began to speak, his voice trembling.

“I—I was paid to do it,” he stammered, his eyes darting around. “A man gave me money to set the fire. He said it had to be done when no one was around.”

Kiet’s eyes narrowed further as he glanced at another guard, who stepped forward with a phone. The screen displayed a picture of Milo’s father. Kiet held it up in front of the worker.

“Was this the man who paid you?” Kiet demanded.

The worker’s eyes fixed on the image, and he nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes! That’s him! He came to me the day before the wedding. He said he needed the fire set in the bridal chamber and told me to be discreet.”

Kiet’s expression darkened; his rage was palpable. “And you didn’t see the child when you set the fire?” he asked, his voice ice-cold.

The worker shook his head frantically. “No! I didn’t see anyone. I swear! I only did what I was paid for. Please, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I’m begging you, please—”

Kiet’s eyes were like steel, his resolve unshaken. He leaned closer, his face inches from the worker’s. “You know what you’ve done,” he said softly, but with an edge that cut through the worker’s pleas. “You’ve put my daughter in danger. For that, there’s no forgiveness.”

"No...No please..."

With a swift, deliberate motion, Kiet drove the knife into the man’s abdomen. The blade pierced through flesh and muscle with a sickening crunch. The worker’s scream echoed through the warehouse, a raw, guttural sound that reverberated against the cold concrete walls.

Blood erupted from the wound, splattering across Kiet’s face and clothes. The warm, sticky liquid painted his features in a macabre portrait of vengeance. Kiet’s eyes, however, remained cold and focused, his expression unchanging as he twisted the knife, causing the man to writhe in agony.

The worker’s struggles grew weaker as his life drained from him. Kiet maintained his hold on the knife, his grip unwavering. Blood continued to spray, coating Kiet’s face in dark, glistening streaks. The vibrant red of the blood contrasted sharply with the stark white of Kiet’s shirt, making the image of his brutal efficiency as clear as day.

As the worker’s cries grew faint, Kiet finally withdrew the knife, his face splattered and smeared with blood. The worker slumped forward, his body lifeless. Kiet stood over him, breathing steadily despite the carnage around him.

His eyes were cold and merciless, reflecting the harsh reality of his wrath. The scene was a brutal testament to the price of betrayal. Kiet wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further but showing no sign of repulsion.

He turned to his guards and said, who stood nearby, their expressions a mix of shock and respect for their leader’s ruthless efficiency. "Take care of him."

"Yes, sir," one of the guards said, and Kiet walked past him.

Kiet strode out of the warehouse, his presence commanding and menacing. The cool night air felt sharp against his skin, mixing with the warmth of the blood that still stained his body. His shirt, now a gruesome canvas of red, clung to him, heavy and soaked.

As he emerged into the dim glow of the streetlights, Arhit rushed up to him, a bundle of clean clothes in his hands. Kiet accepted the garments without a word, his eyes fierce and focused. He glanced at Arhit, his expression a deadly mix of resolve and fury. “Did you find anything?”

Arhit, breathless but steady, responded quickly. “Yes, sir. The van left Bangkok, and we’re still tracking their location.”

Kiet’s gaze remained fixed on Arhit as he methodically began to remove his blood-soaked shirt. His abs, defined and glistening in the nightlight, were starkly visible, adding a savage edge to his intimidating presence. The night’s cold air brushed against his skin, but Kiet seemed impervious to the chill, his focus solely on the task at hand.

He wiped the blood from his face with a towel Arhit had handed him, his eyes reflecting the cold, calculating intensity of a predator. The contrast between his pristine, powerful physique and the dark splatters of blood was jarring—a visual representation of his relentless drive for vengeance.

Kiet pulled on the new shirt with swift, decisive movements. The fabric was fresh and clean, a stark contrast to the blood-stained one he left behind. He adjusted the collar and looked at Arhit, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

“Let’s go,” Kiet said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “I need to bring my wife back.”

He turned and walked towards his sleek, black car, the vehicle a symbol of his power and authority. Arhit and the other guards followed, their footsteps echoing in the silent night, ready to assist their leader in his relentless pursuit.

                                                                                         ***

Midnight,

The remote village of Pak Nam Pran,