The conference room was too quiet. The kind of silence that wasn't born out of peace, but the kind that came from tension—of a bomb waiting to explode.
Taeho sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable. He wore black. A sleek, tailored suit, sharp enough to cut through the words of the cowardly men seated before him. His fingers were laced on the table, and not a single strand of his neatly combed hair was out of place.
Across from him, an older businessman cleared his throat. "Young Master Park, we understand your grief, but this incident has escalated beyond personal matters. We urge you to consider—"
Taeho didn't even blink. Instead, he pulled a folder from the case beside him and slid it forward. As the man opened it, a photo slipped out. The bloodied altar. A still frame from a security camera, frozen in time—Taehyun, mid-scream, reaching toward his father as Baek Hyun collapsed.
"You call that grief?" Taeho's voice was low. Deadly. "This is war."
The officials exchanged nervous glances. One leaned forward. "We have spoken with the Korean and Russian governments. They want peace."
"Then they should tell that to Vasilliy Romanov," Taeho snapped. "My brother was kidnapped in front of the world. And now you're asking me to play nice?"
No one dared to speak again.
---
Half a world away, in a secret underground chamber beneath Moscow, a group of powerful men sat beneath the golden crest of the Romanov Syndicate. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like fog.
"Он потерял контроль. Если мальчик умрёт — умрёт и Россия," an elder muttered. (He has lost control. If the boy dies — so does Russia.)
Another man tapped his cane on the floor. "Vasilliy's obsession has turned into madness. Kidnapping a Park heir in the middle of a wedding? It's suicide."
"He says Korea is destined to fall," someone scoffed. "'Why not today?' he said. Foolish."
None of them dared say it out loud, but fear flickered in their eyes. Vasilliy Romanov wasn't a man they could threaten. He was the threat.
---
Back in Korea, the media was ablaze.
"Youngest Park Takes Helm Amid Crisis." "Where is Taehyun Park?" "Russia Silent as Tensions Rise."
Taeho stood behind a podium in the Park family's private media center, facing the press with controlled intensity.
"My family has suffered a great injustice. My father remains hospitalized. My brother—" his voice faltered for the briefest second, "is missing. We ask the nation for patience. But make no mistake: we are not powerless. We will protect our blood."
He didn't take any questions. Just walked off.
Behind him, Haru waited. The secretary's face was pale, but determined. "You sounded like your father back there."
Taeho's lips curled slightly. "I'm starting to understand him now."
They walked side by side until Taeho's office door came into view. But as Taeho reached for the handle, something caught his eye. A white envelope on the floor.
No seal. No name.
He opened it. Just a single slip of paper.
"I found something you need to see. About Vasilliy."
Haru read it over his shoulder, jaw tensing. "Who—?"
"We'll find out," Taeho murmured, eyes sharp as blades. "No more shadows."
---
Meanwhile, in Russia…
Vasilliy's boots echoed on the marble floor of his private estate. The mansion stood cold, palatial, and silent. Servants and guards bowed as he passed—but none dared meet his eyes.
In the lavish room Taehyun was locked in, destruction reigned.
The velvet curtains had been ripped down. The flower vases lay shattered. Glass, porcelain, torn cushions—all signs of the storm that had passed through.
Taehyun stood in the center of it all, his blood-stained wedding clothes wrinkled and filthy. His fists were raw, eyes wild.
He didn't speak when Vasilliy entered. Just glared.
"You should eat," Vasilliy said, placing a tray on the table. He didn't flinch at the destruction. "I made sure it wasn't poisoned."
Taehyun's laugh was cold. Broken. "You think I care about poison? You murdered my father."
"He's alive."
"He collapsed because of you! You ruined everything!"
Vasilliy took a step closer. "I saved you."
Taehyun launched at him—scratching, kicking, screaming. He clawed Vasilliy's cheek, leaving a mark.
Vasilliy didn't stop him. Not until Taehyun's knees buckled from the fury.
He caught him. Held him. Arms wrapped tight around the trembling boy.
"Let go of me! I hate you!"
Vasilliy's breath ghosted over his ear. "No one will take you from me again, moya lyubov'."
My love.
Outside the door, Vasilliy's top lieutenants waited. One of them whispered, "He's spiraling. We have to do something."
Another nodded. "Or we all burn."
But inside that room, Vasilliy didn't care.
All he held, all he saw, was Taehyun.
His obsession. His war. His love.
To be continue...