The Second Family mansion was alive with opulence, every corner glowing with the light of crystal chandeliers and the glitter of jewels. The celebration was in full swing, with businessmen and investors mingling amidst the luxurious setting. Sarut stood at the center, a smug smile plastered on his face as a stream of guests congratulated him on his acquisition of the rarest blue diamond.

“This is a remarkable achievement, Sarut. Truly impressive!” one businessman exclaimed, shaking his hand vigorously.

“Thank you,” Sarut replied, his voice laced with pride. Beside him, Phaithun clinked his glass against Sarut's, their expressions a mirror of satisfaction and triumph.

“It's a great addition to your collection,” another investor added, eyes glimmering with admiration.

Sarut nodded, soaking in the attention like a king amongst his loyal subjects. The moment was theirs—or so they thought.

The atmosphere shifted suddenly, like a ripple cutting through calm water, as the sound of purposeful footsteps approached. Heads turned, and an audible gasp swept through the crowd.

Kiettisak Rattanakorn had entered the mansion.

Kiet entered with an air of undeniable authority, his aura commanding the room with a silent power. Thanaya clung to his hand, her small frame glowing in her pristine dress, while Milo walked beside him, his eyes scanning the room with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Following closely were Thanaya's grandparents and Tawan, their expressions a mix of stoic presence.

“It’s Kiettisak Rattanakorn,” a voice murmured in awe, breaking the silence that had fallen like a curtain.

Kiet’s entrance was like a magnet, pulling every eye toward him. As if on cue, the crowd that had been gathered around Sarut and Phaithun began to disperse, their interest shifting entirely to Kiet. Without a second thought, they abandoned the once-celebrated hosts and surged forward to greet the new arrival.

“Kiet, it’s an honor to see you here!” one businessman said eagerly, bowing as he extended his hand for a handshake.

“We’ve heard so much about your recent ventures,” another added, his tone dripping with reverence.

Kiet accepted their greetings with a cool nod, his demeanor calm and composed. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice carrying a subtle but firm tone that commanded respect.

Among the crowd, a voice piped up, “I heard you got married recently.”

Kiet glanced sideways at Milo, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s right. I got married.” He slid his hand to Milo’s waist, drawing him closer. “Meet my partner, Millin Channarat.”

Milo’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he returned the greetings with polite nods as the guests introduced themselves, eager to win favor with Kiet's newly introduced partner. Despite his initial nervousness, Milo felt a small surge of confidence as he stood by Kiet's side, the warmth of Kiet's touch on his waist grounding him.

Amid the sea of handshakes and polite exchanges, Kiet’s eyes flicked back to Sarut and Phaithun, who now stood alone with their wine glasses in hand. A subtle, triumphant smirk played on Kiet’s lips, his expression silently mocking them. 

The smirk on Kiet's face made it clear—he was reminding them, without a word, of where the true power lay.

Phurit, who had been standing in a corner with a glass of wine, observed the shift in power with a smirk of his own. "It must be pissing them," Phurit mumbled to himself.

Later, with a polite nod and a soft “Excuse me,” Kiet detached himself from the swarm of admirers, his steps measured and purposeful. The clamor of the party seemed to fade as he moved, all eyes following the commanding presence that cut through the crowd.

Kiet approached Sarut and Phaithun, who stood at the edge of the room, noticeably isolated after the crowd had abandoned them. His stride was deliberate, exuding an authority that was almost palpable. His hands were casually slipped into his pockets, his posture relaxed but radiating a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

“Good to see you, Uncle,” Kiet said, his voice smooth and deceptively polite.

Phaithun’s jaw tightened, the tension evident in the way his grip on the wine glass tightened further. He met Kiet’s gaze with a cold stare, his voice laced with controlled irritation. “Kiet,” he replied, his tone clipped and formal. “Quite an entrance you’ve made.”

Kiet chuckled softly, the sound rich with a trace of mockery. “I do try to make an impression,” he said, then turned his attention to Sarut, who stood silently, his expression a mask of careful neutrality.

“Congratulations on acquiring the rare blue diamond, Sarut. Quite the achievement,” Kiet said, extending his hand in a gesture of mock camaraderie. His tone was smooth, but there was an unmistakable edge to his words.

“Thank you,” Sarut said, his voice laced with a touch of menace as he clenched Kiet’s hand tightly, the grip a silent challenge that mirrored the tension in his gaze.

Kiet’s smile remained unflinching; his eyes locked onto Sarut’s with an intensity that spoke volumes. The handshake continued, a prolonged clash of wills, neither willing to be the first to relent. The room around them seemed to fade into the background as their silent battle raged on.

Finally, Kiet broke the silence, his voice smooth and composed. “What a lavish party,” he remarked, casting a casual glance around the grand hall. His tone was light, almost conversational, but the underlying mockery was impossible to miss.

“That’s right,” Phaithun responded, his voice carrying a note of strained pride. “We did everything to make this night memorable.” But as he continued, his eyes darkened, and the smile slipped from his face. “But... someone stole our limelight too.”

Kiet let out a light chuckle, his demeanor calm but his words sharp. “Limelight isn’t something that can be stolen,” he replied coolly. “It’s earned.” His gaze flickered back to Sarut, a taunt lingering in his expression that was impossible to miss.

Phaithun clenched his fist, then his eyes landed on something—maybe on someone. "Won't you introduce us to him?" he asked, his tone almost too casual.

Kiet’s eyes followed Phaithun's gaze to where Milo stood, surrounded by admirers. He nodded slightly and smiled. “Of course,” Kiet replied, then called out, “Milo!”

Milo looked up at the sound of his name. He excused himself from the crowd and walked over to Kiet, a polite smile gracing his lips. As Milo approached, Sarut’s eyes followed his every move, a look of intense obsession flickering in his gaze. The predatory smile that stretched across Sarut’s face was one that spoke volumes—I WANT HIM.

Kiet placed a firm hand on Milo’s waist, pulling him closer as he gestured toward Phaithun. “Let me introduce you to someone,” Kiet said smoothly.

“Milo, this is my uncle, Phaithun Rattanakorn.”

Milo turned to Phaithun, his polite demeanor intact. “Sawadee krab,” he greeted in Thai, his voice respectful. Phaithun nodded in acknowledgment, a smirk playing on his lips as he studied Milo.

Kiet then directed Milo’s attention to Sarut, his expression darkening slightly. “And this is my cousin, Sarut Rattanakorn.”

Sarut stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Milo with a disturbing intensity. Milo looked at him and was about to offer his greeting, but something made him pause. His smile faded, his expression shifting to one of unease. Something about Sarut's presence made Milo's heart race, but it wasn't just fear—it was something deeper, darker, clawing its way to the surface from the depths of his subconscious.

Suddenly, a memory hit him like a bolt of lightning.

A flicker of a memory flashed before his eyes, so quick and disjointed that it left him reeling. He saw himself as a little boy, bound and muffled, struggling against tight ropes digging into his skin. Blood trickled from a wound on his head, and his tear-filled eyes darted around a dim, shadowy room.

The echoes of a voice, dark and menacing, reverberated in his mind, repeating over and over, "BE A GOOD BOY. BE A GOOD BOY."

The room around Milo seemed to blur and sway as the fragments of the memory gripped him, choking his breath.  Kiet, ever observant, noticed the subtle change in Milo. The way his expression tightened, how his eyes lost focus, and how his hand gripped Kiet's tighter. Without hesitation, Kiet placed a firm yet gentle hand on Milo's shoulder, anchoring him back to the present.

“Milo,” Kiet's voice was steady, a lifeline cutting through the fog that clouded Milo's thoughts. His gaze, usually sharp, softened with concern as he searched Milo’s eyes. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Milo blinked, the haunting grip of the memory loosening slightly at the sound of Kiet's voice and at the feel of his reassuring touch. He nodded, but the unease lingered, like a shadow that refused to leave.

"I’m… I’m okay," Milo murmured, though his voice wavered with the remnants of fear.

Kiet didn’t look away, his eyes reading the unspoken dread etched in Milo’s expression. Concern etched his features as he glanced over at Sarut and Phaithun, their eyes fixed on him. Sarut’s smirk deepened, and he spoke with a mocking tone, his words laced with malice.

“Maybe he got nervous, or something triggered him. A memory, perhaps?” Sarut’s gaze bore into Milo, sending a cold shiver down Milo’s spine.

Kiet’s expression hardened at Sarut’s words. “We should get you something to drink,” he said to Milo, his tone leaving no room for refusal. He placed a protective arm around Milo's waist and gently guided him away from them.

Yet, as they walked, Milo couldn’t resist glancing back at Sarut, the figure looming like a dark specter at the edge of his vision. A chill ran down his spine, and he couldn’t shake the gnawing fear bubbling within him.

He didn’t understand why, but something about Sarut unnerved him to his core. The fleeting flashback he had seen earlier—a scene blurred by time and fear—hovered in his mind, just out of reach. He didn’t know what it meant, but his instincts screamed at him to stay away from Sarut as far as possible.