The black car glided smoothly to a stop in front of Mr. Antonio's luxurious residence.
The house stood grand and majestic, like the throne of an old king who refused to bow to time.
Tall pillars rose proudly, and crystal lights shimmered on the porch, as if the house itself was flaunting its authority to anyone who dared to look.
The rear door of the car opened.
Aegypt stepped out with calm yet commanding grace, one hand adjusting the lapel of his black suit.
His steps were steady, cold, and calculated. From the front seat, Lexus got out as well—his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings—while the driver, as ordered by Aegypt, remained inside the vehicle.
As soon as they entered the main hall, several house staff bowed their heads in respect.
Aegypt only replied with a brief nod—no smile, no warmth. He was as expressionless as a marble statue that had long forgotten what it meant to feel.
Lexus followed half a step behind, moving with quiet loyalty, like a shadow bound to its master.
Not long after, they arrived at the living room.
There, Mr. Antonio sat in a soft armchair, surrounded by the faint aroma of warm tea and the gentle glow of the chandelier that fell upon his aged face.
"You took your time," Antonio snapped, wasting no words on courtesy.
Aegypt's gaze was flat. "I'm not unemployed, Grandfather. I had matters to settle."
Antonio scoffed, pointing at the sofa. "Sit."
Aegypt obeyed with effortless elegance, leaning back as if he owned the place.
Lexus remained standing behind him, tall and alert—his posture a silent vow of vigilance.
Suddenly, a cough broke the silence.
"Cough! Cough!" Antonio clutched his chest, his wrinkled hand trembling slightly.
Aegypt glanced at him. "Have you taken your medicine?" His tone was cool, but the question cut deep.
"What business is that of yours?" Antonio retorted sharply.
"I'm your grandson. Of course I'd rather you not die too soon," Aegypt said, expressionless.
His voice was like a blade—cold, but hiding a trace of concern.
Antonio fell silent, then exhaled a weary sigh. "Enough. I'm sick of talking about my illness."
Aegypt gritted his teeth inwardly. Always the same. He thinks ignoring it will make it disappear.
"Aegypt," Antonio's voice broke through his thoughts.
"I called you here to ask—how's the progress on the branch office construction in Indonesia?"
"Almost done. Just a few percent left," Aegypt replied.
A faint smile crossed Antonio's face—a rare one. "Good. Then tomorrow, we're going there."
Aegypt raised an eyebrow. "And who's going to run it?"
"You, of course," Antonio answered without hesitation.
"What?" His voice rose slightly in surprise. "And the one here?"
"You'll handle that too," Antonio said easily, as if managing empires was a trivial thing.
Aegypt exhaled sharply, as though the air itself had grown too heavy.
Antonio took another sip of tea, his sharp gaze glinting with unspoken intent.
"Also, I want to introduce you to Santomo's daughter."
Aegypt frowned. "His daughter? Which one? And… for what reason?"
"The daughter whose room you once occupied," Antonio said evenly. "I want you to be with her."
Aegypt froze. "What? You're arranging a marriage for me?!"
Antonio simply nodded and sipped his tea again.
"No! I refuse," Aegypt shot back instantly.
"As you wish," Antonio replied casually. "If you don't want to, that's fine."
Aegypt narrowed his eyes. Strange. He's not forcing me this time? Usually, his every word is law.
But then Antonio's frail voice pressed on.
"So, you're refusing your grandfather's last wish, then? If I die, I'll die restless—knowing my only grandson denied me that."
Aegypt stiffened, his blood running cold.
"Grandfather, stop talking about death. That's nonsense."
"Aegypt," Antonio's tone softened, though trembled with age. "I'm old. Sick. Speaking of death isn't foolish—it's reality, one that's not far away."
Aegypt felt a tightness in his chest, a heaviness that crushed the air out of him.
He turned his eyes away, unable to bear the sight of that frail face any longer.
---
Later that night, Aegypt had already returned to his own residence.
The night air crept along the solid walls, slipping through the wide glass panes facing the courtyard.
Inside his bedroom, Aegypt had just finished his shower.
His brown hair was wet, beads of water trailing down the carved lines of his muscles under the warm light.
He wore nothing but tight black boxers. After drying his hair with a towel, he sat at the edge of the king-sized bed.
In the corner, his pet cheetah—named Ocean—lifted its head, golden eyes gleaming with alertness and loyalty.
"What is it, Ocean? You've eaten. Go back to sleep. Don't bother me," Aegypt said sternly.
The cheetah halted, staring at him with an expression that—if it were human—would've looked like a scoff.
Then it turned away, flopping lazily back to its resting spot.
Aegypt sighed deeply, the weight of the world pressing invisible chains around his chest.
"Should I really grant Grandfather's wish?" he muttered.
His heart felt like a prisoner torn between duty and freedom.
He knew Antonio didn't have much time left—but he also knew he was being used as a pawn in the family's game of power.
With a sharp motion, he threw himself onto the bed, his hand reaching for a small baby bottle filled with warm milk.
The moment his eyes fell upon it, his cold demeanor softened.
Without hesitation, he placed the bottle to his lips, sucking slowly—like a child seeking warmth from an embrace he never truly had.
Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy. That small, quiet ritual was the only shield he had against the nightmares that awaited in the dark.
From the corner of the room, Ocean watched him with piercing eyes.
If the beast could speak, it would surely mock its master—
a man feared by many, yet still seeking solace in a milk bottle like a lonely child craving love.