The Miracle: A Collection by THE PINKLIVINGROOM 

THE MIRACLE Project : TIME: When Time is Not Time  ,  Hello Miracle: Rena's Handwritten Magic

November 15, Year '70

A sprawling pool of blood on the concrete floor of a derelict house at the end of an alley stood as the sole evidence of Cherine Pithithak’s mysterious disappearance. Amidst the storm of online speculation and legal scrutiny, the verdict had already been reached by the court of public opinion. Even without a body for autopsy, the world had judged this a cold-blooded cover-up. The name of the prime suspect was on everyone’s lips: Suparuj Pithithak, the icy heir apparent.

Inside a lavish reception room where only the ticking of a clock broke the silence, Suparuj sat with regal poise on a large velvet sofa. His sharp, refined features and prominent bridge of his nose gave him a striking, handsome appearance. His long, jet-black hair was pulled back tightly, revealing an ear adorned with a uniquely crafted earring. The room’s lighting caught the modern grey suit he had chosen to wear, casting shadows over his deep, inscrutable eyes.

Across from him sat Badin, his father and the reigning Chairman, in a dignified brown suit. Though time had etched lines upon his face, his clouded eyes still held the piercing sharpness of a man who held the reins of power. He glanced at the power of attorney documents on the table.

"I have surrendered everything to you as agreed. Powersoft BK is yours," Badin stated, his voice booming with authority. He leaned forward, staring deep into his son's eyes. "But before this is settled... answer the one thing that haunts me. Cherine is dead, isn't she?"

The corner of Suparuj’s mouth twitched into a faint, enigmatic smile. He lowered his gaze slightly, letting a calculating grin play across his thin lips.

"Do you suspect me of being the executioner, Father?" The question was laced with caution; every word was filtered as if he were moving a vital piece on a chessboard.

"If not you, then who?" Badin pressed, his eyes searching for even the slightest crack in his son's armor.

"The person you yourself likely know best... someone who would do anything to get what they desire," Suparuj countered instantly, leaving no room for a breath to pass. His steady gaze met his father’s in a silent challenge.

Badin let out a dry, raspy chuckle, his eyes flickering with a mix of dark satisfaction and lingering paranoia. "And who, exactly, are you referring to?"

Suparuj’s grin widened into a cold sneer. "I will handle this matter personally. You have no need to worry."

"By 'handling it,' do you mean disposing of your sister's body, or eliminating the group of people you want gone?" Badin pushed, desperate to pry open the thoughts hidden deep within his son’s mind.

Suparuj looked up, locking eyes with his father. "I mean... the person I truly wish to meet."

That answer gave Badin pause. He tilted his head, analyzing the hidden meaning beneath the words. "And just who... do you mean?"

"Are you pretending to be ignorant, Father? Or do you know the truth in your heart, yet simply refuse to accept it?" Suparuj’s smile broadened, his eyes gleaming with the secret he now held firmly in his grasp.

Silence once again claimed the room. The two men stared at each other as if trying to pierce through to the other's soul. The mystery of Cherine and the clues to the murder were merely pawns in this grand game of power. The first to reveal the truth might find only death, but the victor would be the one who could hold that truth the longest. Suparuj was certain he would never let this slide again. This time, he would be the one who stood alone at the end.