Inside the cold waiting room on the third floor of **FIN-TEX CO**, Christine sat restlessly.
A faint antiseptic smell mixed with the stale aroma of coffee from the vending machine in the corner.
The air from the AC hummed softly, yet it made her shiver.
Her phone vibrated quietly.
A message came in from **Patrick**.
“Operation successful. Target is secured. Awaiting further instructions.”
Christine stared at the screen for a long moment before slowly locking it.
The target they meant was Flora.
The young woman who should already be in their hands.
Now only one final step remained: delivering her to Peter.
But that last step was the hardest.
Because Celestine Terano—her aunt—had suddenly told her to wait.
Christine let out a sharp breath, suppressing her frustration.
She knew refusing Celestine was not an option.
That woman was more than just an aunt—she was Christine’s lifeline.
The source of money, connections, and protection.
Every expense—the operation, the apartment, even her car—came from Celestine’s wallet.
“Christine,” Celestine’s voice echoed in her mind.
“You are nothing without me. So obey.”
That sentence always surfaced whenever she felt the urge to resist.
Christine glanced at the wall clock.
It had been almost two hours since she arrived.
The waiting room grew emptier, golden lights reflecting between black-framed glass panels.
Outside, the sky was turning grayish orange—night would soon fall over the city.
She reopened Patrick’s message, then replied briefly:
“Take good care of her. Don’t hurt her yet before I arrive.”
Patrick replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a line of mocking laughter.
Christine knew that group was celebrating.
She could imagine Patrick sitting on a worn-out chair inside that old house, holding a bottle of beer, laughing loudly with his men.
And in an upstairs room, Flora lay unconscious—likely still under the influence of sedatives.
Christine stared at her phone before slipping it back into her bag.
She didn’t know what made her more uneasy—waiting for Celestine, or the fact that they were now holding a helpless woman for the dirty games of the Terano family.
Meanwhile, elsewhere—
An old house on the outskirts of the city.
Its walls were peeling, and the roof was covered in moss.
A chandelier in the living room swayed gently whenever wind slipped through the cracked windows.
Inside, Patrick and four of his men were partying.
Music blasted from a small speaker, bottles clinked, and rough laughter filled the room.
“To our success!” Patrick shouted, raising his plastic cup.
“To the big money from that woman!” one of his men replied with a laugh.
They drank cheap beer, unaware that someone was watching from the trees behind the house.
*Braddy.*
He crouched among the bushes, his breathing slow but steady.
His eyes locked onto the house.
The black sedan parked in front was immediately familiar.
The same car that appeared during the attack on the old house days ago—when Felix was shot and nearly died.
“Patrick, you bastard…” Braddy muttered.
He waited for full darkness.
His weapon was ready.
Two bullets in the magazine had been marked—reserved for Patrick and his men.
But this time, it wasn’t just revenge.
There was someone to save: Flora.
Braddy glanced at the upstairs window—the curtain slightly open, revealing a dim light.
Someone was inside.
Back at **FIN-TEX CO**, time crawled slowly.
Christine had already finished three cups of vending machine coffee and two cigarettes on the back balcony.
She was about to call Patrick again when hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
The elevator doors opened with a soft *ding*.
Celestine Terano stepped out—and this time, her appearance startled Christine.
Celestine looked disheveled.
Her hair was messy, her face pale like someone who had just woken from a nightmare.
Her eyes were tired, her hands trembling.
Behind her stood a half-naked middle-aged man wearing only a towel.
“Aunt?” Christine called, standing quickly.
“What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted between Celestine and the man.
Her mind raced with questions.
What had her aunt been doing with that man?
Celestine stared blankly for a few seconds before finally speaking in a low, tense voice,
“We have to go home immediately. John… he collapsed at the airport.”
Christine froze.
“Collapsed?”
“Yes. They brought him home by ambulance. I just got the news from his assistant.”
Celestine hurried past her without explaining further.
The scent of her expensive perfume lingered faintly—now mixed with sweat and fear.
The man disappeared back into the elevator.
Christine had no choice but to follow, her thoughts in chaos.
The plan to deliver Flora to Peter had to be postponed.
The sky sank into an orange haze.
At the Terano family estate, two vehicles entered the gates: an ambulance and a police patrol car.
Red and blue lights flashed against the white marble walls.
Servants stood on the terrace, confused.
Two paramedics wheeled John Terano out on a stretcher.
His face was pale, sweat soaking his temples.
Celestine rushed toward him before the vehicle even stopped.
“John! Oh God, John!”
The paramedics explained calmly that John had suddenly collapsed in the airport arrival hall after a long flight from the Middle East.
No external injuries, but his blood pressure was dangerously low.
“He regained consciousness briefly,” one of them said, “but he hasn’t fully recovered yet.”
Christine stood at the doorway, silently watching.
She saw Celestine’s panic—and at the same time, how fragile the Terano family’s power was if its head fell ill.
As John was taken upstairs, Christine looked at the grand family portrait in the living room—Celestine beside John, both smiling perfectly.
A stark contrast to tonight’s reality.
Hours later, the mansion grew quiet.
The paramedics had left, the police had finished their report.
The family doctor reassured Celestine that John was simply exhausted.
But Celestine couldn’t sit still.
She paced the corridor, gripping her phone.
Christine watched from a chair near the stairs.
“Aunt,” she said softly, “if you want, I can handle the FIN-TEX matter from earlier. So—”
Celestine snapped her head toward her.
“No! I don’t want anyone to know about John yet. No one must know he’s sick. Understand?”
Her tone was sharp like a blade.
Christine swallowed and nodded.
Deep down, she realized—Celestine wasn’t just afraid of her husband’s condition, but of how vulnerable their position had become.
Too many eyes were watching.
Night deepened.
At the old house, the party had died down.
The music stopped, leaving only faint laughter and the sound of empty bottles hitting the floor.
Outside, Braddy waited until 11 PM.
All lights downstairs were off—only the upstairs room remained lit.
He exhaled slowly and checked his weapon.
Inside, Patrick slouched in a chair, his face flushed with alcohol.
One man staggered to the kitchen, another slept on the sofa.
Patrick glanced at the stairs.
“Still unconscious, right?” he muttered.
He climbed slowly.
The wooden floor creaked under each step.
At the door, he peeked inside.
Dim light revealed Flora lying on the bed, her hands tied.
Her face pale, but her breathing steady.
Patrick approached and sat beside her.
“Such a pity,” he murmured.
“You got caught in the wrong game.”
A dark intention crept into his mind.
He began unbuttoning his shirt, moving closer—
Suddenly, outside the window, a crow flew past, making the curtain sway.
Patrick glanced briefly, unaware that beyond the trees, Braddy had already begun moving.
Silently, Braddy circled to the back door.
The handle was rusty but unlocked.
He pushed it open carefully, holding his breath as the hinges creaked.
Inside was quiet.
He stepped in.
The kitchen was a mess—plates, bottles, cigarette butts everywhere.
He moved toward the stairs, hearing footsteps above.
Patrick.
Braddy straightened, finger tightening on the trigger.
He remembered Felix’s wounded face.
Tonight, he would settle that score.
But just as Patrick moved toward the bed, a faint voice broke the silence—
Flora was waking up.
Below, Braddy froze.
That voice came from upstairs.
His revenge gave way to caution.
If he acted recklessly, she could get hurt.
Carefully, he climbed the stairs.
Inside the room, Patrick checked the rope binding Flora’s hands.
He didn’t notice the shadow appearing behind the door.
Flora’s eyes fluttered open.
She saw a blurred figure.
Patrick smiled crookedly.
“Welcome back to the real world,” he said.
“Let’s have some fun.”
Flora tried to move, but her body was weak.
“W… where am I…” she rasped.
“A safe place. For me—not for you,” Patrick replied coldly.
Before he could say more, a **soft thud** sounded outside.
He grabbed his gun and moved to the door.
The moment he opened it—
A shadow lunged.
Braddy slammed into him, knocking the gun away.
They struggled in the narrow room, bodies crashing into the walls.
Flora stared in shock.
Patrick threw a punch—Braddy blocked and countered.
A heavy blow struck Patrick’s stomach, forcing him back.
“Who the hell are you?!” Patrick shouted.
“Someone here to collect a debt,” Braddy replied flatly.
Footsteps thundered from below—one of Patrick’s men rushing up.
Braddy reacted first—he fired, hitting the man’s leg and sending him tumbling down the stairs.
Patrick panicked, reaching for his gun again—but Braddy kicked it away.
A shot fired into the ceiling, dust raining down.
Braddy lunged, striking Patrick hard.
Patrick stumbled, then fell down the stairs—unconscious.
Flora let out a weak cry, trembling.
“Easy,” Braddy said quickly, approaching her.
“I’m on your side.”
She looked at him through blurred vision.
“Who… are you?”
“A friend,” he said briefly, cutting her bindings.
“We need to leave. Now.”
Outside, distant sirens echoed.
Braddy pulled Flora with him.
They jumped from the second floor, landing on the grass.
She nearly fell, but he caught her.
They ran through the trees.
Behind them, Patrick’s men shouted.
From the back of the motorcycle, Flora looked once more at the house fading behind them—and realized: her old life was over.
Meanwhile, at the Terano mansion, Christine stood half-asleep on her balcony, staring at the city swallowed by night fog.
Her phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
“Problem. Target escaped.”
Christine froze.
Her hands trembled as she read it again and again.
No mistake.
Flora had escaped.
Behind her, footsteps approached.
Celestine appeared in the doorway, exhausted.
“Christine,” she said flatly, “tomorrow you handle the report delivery to Peter. I don’t want even the slightest mistake.”
Christine looked at her, lips dry.
“Aunt… something happened.”
Celestine narrowed her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Christine handed over the phone.
Celestine read it slowly, then stared out toward the city lights flickering like distant flames.
“Was Braddy involved?” she asked coldly.
“I don’t know.
But it looks like another group… debt collectors.”
“What do they have to do with Flora?”
“She had a loan.
Small amount—but the interest exploded.”
Celestine fell silent.
Then finally said in a cold, firm tone:
“Then starting tomorrow morning… we hunt them. No witnesses left.”
The city sank deeper into the night.
On one side, the old house slowly burned after the brief shootout.
On the other, the Terano mansion returned to silence.
But something had changed—
The chain of command that once seemed unbreakable had begun to crack.
And at the center of it all, one name became the target:
**Flora.**
Unaware that the secret she carried… could bring everything down.