Originally translated from the Thai language.
The harsh Shanghai afternoon sun struck the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxury suite, illuminating the Pudong skyline—a jagged horizon of glass and steel. Adisorn stood before a full-length mirror. His reflection showed a man in a crisp white shirt, pressed to a razor's edge. With practiced composure, he donned a tailored navy-blue suit that radiated authority.
He adjusted his collar and the knot of his silk tie with a surgeon's precision before fastening a luxury timepiece to his wrist. As he stared at his own reflection, his eyes began to shift. The warmth drained away, replaced by a stillness that was glacial and piercing. It was the moment the mask of AP Markrim was fused onto his soul.
Suddenly, a vibration from his personal phone broke the silence. A brief message lit up the screen. For a fleeting second, the granite hardness in his eyes softened as he saw the sender's name—the woman who remained the only oasis in his parched heart.
He stood frozen. A desperate urge to respond surged through him, but he grit his teeth, forcing the feeling down. 'Not now,' he warned himself. In the world he was about to enter, tenderness was a lethal vulnerability.
Adisorn turned toward the teak wardrobe and opened a concealed safe. He placed his personal phone inside. The mechanical clack of the lock echoed through the room like a final goodbye—a severing of ties from his true self and the world he once knew.
He retrieved a second device—an encrypted mobile with top-tier security—and slid it into his inner breast pocket. He let out a low, controlled breath to exhale the remaining pressure. This mission was more than a deal; it was a gamble for the right to breathe as a free man once again.
His gaze flickered over the schedule Rosé had meticulously curated for the following morning. Every move was calculated, every contingency accounted for. There was no room for error, not even a square inch.
Adjusting his jacket one last time, he stepped out of the room with a stride of absolute certainty. Adisorn was officially dead. Only AP Markrim remained—a master pawn ready to send shockwaves through the financial foundations of the CK Group.