The early morning mist hung low and suffocating over the elite avenues of the city, swallowing the pale dawn light. At the iron-wrought gates of the Kingston Paradise Residence, the air felt thick with an impending storm.
A sharp, biting wind swept through the courtyard as Easton stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a heavy black jacket, its collar pulled high, but it was the handkerchief tied securely across his face that masked his features. Only his eyes were visible—bloodshot, wild, and radiating a dangerous, trembling fury.
Every step he took toward the estate was weighed down by the bitter, corrosive memories that had poisoned his mind for years.
Leo.
It was always Leonardo. In Easton's mind, Leo had always played the saint, effortlessly rising above him, always being praised as the better man. Worse, Leo had taken it upon himself to act as judge and jury, punishing Easton for every misstep, every corner cut, and every failure. The humiliation of those past reprimands burned like open fire in Easton's veins.
He stopped abruptly, his breathing ragged beneath the cloth mask. He was standing directly in front of the polished, gleaming house nameplate. Cast in solid brass, the name Leonardo Kingston stood out in bold, elegant lettering, topped by an intricately sculpted King's crown that seemed to mock Easton's very existence.
A dark, venomous hatred flared in Easton's chest. Trembling, he pulled a half-empty bottle of expensive wine from his jacket pocket. He took a heavy, desperate swig, letting the alcohol burn his throat, before violently tossing the remaining liquid directly onto the nameplate. The dark red wine splashed across the brass crown, dripping down the immaculate surface like fresh blood.
"I will exact every revenge because you have caused me enough troubles," Easton hissed to himself, his voice muffled by the handkerchief but dripping with malice. "I am the King, Leo. Not you."
He gripped the empty bottle until his knuckles turned white, staring at the defaced nameplate.
"If you are meant to be, I will steal everything from you... even if I have to kill you for that. The game is just begun. I will finish it with your blood."
"HEY!"
A sharp, authoritative shout shattered the morning silence.
The estate's head butler had just walked out of the side doors to inspect the grounds. His eyes widened in absolute disgust as he took in the sight of the masked, clearly intoxicated man standing in a drunken posture before the gate. As the butler walked closer, he noticed the expensive brass nameplate dripping with dark wine.
"WHO ARE YOU?" the butler demanded, his face contorting with rage. "What are you doing here?"
Before Easton could even process the intrusion, the butler closed the distance. Appalled by the desecration of the family name, the butler raised his hand and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across Easton's face, knocking the handkerchief slightly askew.
"HOW DARE YOU TO POUR WINE ON KINGSTON SIR NAME PLATE!" the butler roared, turning toward the guardhouses. "SECURITY! What are you doing?!"
Easton's face flushed a violent, humiliated red beneath his mask. Panicking as the sound of heavy security boots began to echo down the driveway, he turned on his heel and fled blindly into the fading morning mist, disappearing into the public streets.
The Executive Director's Sins
Breathless, humiliated, and shaking from the lingering effects of the alcohol, Easton ducked into a secluded alleyway. He pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and dialed the one person who had always cleaned up his messes.
Across town, in her lavishly appointed office, Margaret "Maggi" Kingston-Vance answered the call.
"I am here at Kingston Paradise," Easton blurted out, his voice cracked and desperate.
Margaret's heart dropped. She stood up from her leather chair, her voice tight with immediate panic. "How can you? Why did you come to here, son? I was already worried because you stole a lot of money from your uncle Richard! He already came to know about that."
She rubbed her temples, pacing the length of her office. "I just covered Richard saying some lies that you used it to your own business... which is never even you have started!"
"I want to come home," Easton whined, leaning heavily against the brick wall of the alley. "I don't want to roam in streets, mom. Your loving nephew made all my credit cards and debit cards blocked. I have no money! And also... I took a hefty loan using your name from some mafia called Mr. X."
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the alley. "He is much more angry on me because I didn't even pay their money. I will come home."
"Oh God!" Margaret gasped, dropping back into her chair as a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. "Again? More money from that X? Haven't you forgotten that last time he may have killed you if I didn't pay them back?"
Her voice lowered to a harsh, desperate whisper, terrified that her office walls might have ears. "I had to steal money directly from my brother Richard's locker! I even made a big scam by stealing money from the hospital charity trust—where my brother donates money in hospital charity by following my dad's principles! Just to make our rich lifestyle more going, I am stealing more money from hospitals by being a director of Roseview Hospitals and Kingston Hospitals!"
She gripped the phone tighter, a bitter edge entering her tone. "As you already knew that my sister-in-law resigned from the director position, I took it to my advantage. I've jeopardized everything for you!"
"Yes, mom, I know it," Easton muttered impatiently, dismissing her panic. "But I really needed 50 million right now."
Margaret's breath hitched completely. "What? 50 million... Why?!"
"I've took more money from Mr. X for my gambling business," Easton admitted carelessly, "and also I used some money in taking my revenge."
"I don't know what revenge!" Margaret cried out, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. "What sin did I do that you was born to me? I hate to say it, Easton, but Leo is far better and greater, and there is no comparison him and you! Even being a billionaire's son, he earned a lot of fortune using his talent and hard work, and never he is dependent on my brother!"
"MOM!" Easton shouted into the receiver, his voice echoing off the alley walls. "I HATE IF YOU PRAISE THAT BASTARD LEO!"
Margaret sighed, the exhaustion deep in her bones. "I will try to help," she whispered brokenly, and cut the call.
The Two-Week Ultimatum
The line went dead, leaving Easton standing in the cold alley. But before Margaret could even set her phone down on her mahogany desk, it began to vibrate violently again.
An unknown, blocked number flashed across the screen.
A sudden, paralyzing fear gripped her chest. Her fingers trembled as she slid the screen to answer, her voice barely a squeak. "H-hello?"
"Hello, mam. How do you do?"
The voice that boomed through the speaker was terrifyingly cool, deep, and heavily resonant. It was a voice that commanded empires in the underbelly of the city—the voice of the mafia don, Mr. X.
Margaret squeezed her eyes shut, trying to maintain her composure as a director of two major hospitals. "I am fine, Mr. X."
"Have you remember that you and your son have took hefty loans from me, that too by making a promise to me?" the don asked, his tone dangerously casual, like a cat playing with a mouse.
"Yes, Mr. X," Margaret pleaded, her professional facade completely crumbling. "I will keep my promise. Please, give us some time."
A loud, booming laugh echoed from the other end of the line, devoid of any real warmth. "You have only two weeks' time, mam."
Margaret shook visibly, her knees growing weak at the absolute finality in his voice.
"You guys took bigger, hefty loans from me," Mr. X continued, his tone dropping the casual edge and turning icy cold. "You didn't even pay an interest to me."
"I am having some problem at this moment," Margaret stammered, gripping the edge of her desk for support. "I will pay within three days, Mr. X. I promise."
There was a brief, agonizing pause on the line before Mr. X spoke a single, crushing number.
"150 million."
Margaret's heart nearly stopped. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The debt had tripled because of Easton's reckless gambling and unhinged vendettas. "I... I will pay all the money, Mr. X," she whispered, her voice cracking under the sheer weight of the astronomical sum.
"Yes, you have to pay," Mr. X warned, his voice low, steady, and lethal. "Or else I will kill you and your son very brutally, Miss Maggi. I will not tolerate if people go against me."
The line crackled with his heavy breathing.
"Keep your promise that you gave me before taking hefty loan from me. I want things which I wanted."
"I understand," Margaret whimpered.
With a soft click, the mafia don severed the connection, leaving Margaret alone in her silent office, staring blankly at the wall as the reality of her impending ruin settled over her.
The Fortress of a Broken Heart
Meanwhile, far away from the chaotic greed of his aunt and cousin, Leonardo Kingston sat quietly in the dim light of his private bedroom. The vast room was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
Leo sat on the edge of his massive bed, his head resting in his hands. The weight of his world—the corporate battles, the family betrayals, and the constant threat of those who wished to see him fall—pressed heavily upon his shoulders. But tonight, it wasn't the empire that weighed on his mind.
It was Elsa.
"I feel already guilty," Leo whispered to the empty room, his voice heavy with a profound sadness. He looked up, staring aimlessly at the dark curtains. "I don't know, but I feel Elsa is already feeling something for me."
He stood up, pacing the floor as the internal turmoil tore at him.
"Is Elsa has feelings for me? I should reveal truth to her that I don't love her. I don't want to get her hurt later."
He stopped by the window, looking out over the sprawling city lights. He felt a sharp pang of remorse deep in his chest. Elsa was innocent. She was a pure soul caught in the crossfire of his complicated world.
"She is not at fault," he murmured, his reflection in the glass looking tired and worn. "I'm the stupid who dragged Elsa into my problems and my life. I don't want Elsa to feel bad because of me, which hurts not only her but me also. Elsa is not at all fault."
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, his breath fogging the pane.
"Because there is no space for love in my life. Because I already shut down my heart long ago."
The admission unlocked a tightly guarded chamber of his memory. Suddenly, the darkness behind his eyelids was filled with a vision from his past—a beautiful, radiant woman. He could see the bright, unforced curve of her lips, and he could almost hear the melodic sound of her laughter echoing through the quiet spaces of his mind. She had been his entire world, his peace, and his anchor.
And she was gone.
A single, hot tear escaped his eye, tracing a slow path down his sharp jawline. Leo didn't sob; he merely let the grief wash over him, a familiar, agonizing ache that he carried every single day.
Lifting his hand, Leo wiped his tears silently, hardening his features once more as he locked the memory away, pulling the iron shutters back down over his broken heart.