CHAPTER 12
The Bangkok night, usually a symphony of light and sound, was suddenly muted.
The suffocating humidity of the capital, thick as a blanket, was broken only by the distant, frantic barking of dogs.
For the men like Kawin and Thirawat, the darkness was their ally.
It was a chance. It was their five-minute window.
The air around the Thanawanich estate was thick with a new, oppressive silence.
The sprawling mansion, moments ago a beacon of scattered, distant lights, was now swallowed by a profound, almost suffocating blackness.
Kawin, pressed against the rough bark of a massive banyan tree, felt a quick burst of triumph that he quickly pushed down.
This was it. The five-minute window, their only chance.
“Go!” Tawan’s voice surged in his earpiece, urgent now.
Kawin sprang forward, his movements fluid and practiced.
Beside him, Thirawat was a shadow, a blur of motion.
They sprinted, low to the ground, toward the high, fancy wall that separated the Thanawanich grounds from the outside world.
The tactical gear, specially designed for this mission, made almost no sound.
They moved like ghosts through the thick plants and trees, the leaves brushing against their uniforms with hushed whispers.
Kawin reached the wall first, his grappling hook a whisper of metal against stone.
It found a strong hold in the carved granite, and he scaled the wall with practiced ease.
He didn’t hesitate at the top, dropping silently to the other side.
Thirawat was a shadow behind him, a quiet thud confirming his landing.
The security cameras, now lifeless eyes, offered no resistance.
They moved through carefully trimmed hedges and past silent fountains, their progress swift and quiet.
A lone guard, caught completely off guard by the sudden power cut, fumbled with his flashlight near a service entrance.
The beam of light danced erratically, a frantic firefly in the dark.
The man was a sitting duck. Kawin moved like a phantom, a swift, silent blow knocking the man unconscious before he could even realize they were there.
They dragged him into the bushes, disappearing back into the deeper shadows.
“Clear,” Kawin breathed into his communication device, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs.
Every second counted. He had to keep pushing forward.
Noi was waiting. The image of Noi's face, his bright, hopeful eyes, pushed him on, gave him strength. It was the face he saw in his dreams, the one he was fighting for. They reached the main house and slipped inside through a servants’ entrance, their movements a silent, deadly ballet.
The interior of the mansion was a maze of dark corridors and twisting staircases, their only guide the faint green glow of their night-vision goggles.
Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist, every rustle of leaves a potential threat.
They moved from room to room, their rifles held high, searching for any sign of resistance.
“Second floor, south wing,” Thirawat whispered, his voice a low rumble.
Kawin nodded, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
The adrenaline buzzed under his skin, a low, constant vibration.
This wasn’t just a mission; it was about saving Noi.
He was a professional, but this mission was different.
It was personal. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way. He wouldn’t let Inthorn win.
As they reached the second floor, a small flicker of light appeared from a room ahead.
A flashlight beam, a tell-tale sign of a guard.
Kawin and Thirawat exchanged a silent look, their movements perfectly in sync.
They split up, Kawin taking the left, Thirawat the right.
They moved on either side of the door, their bodies pressed against the wall.
Kawin took a deep breath, and on the count of three, they burst in.
The guard was a young man, barely more than a boy.
He gasped, his eyes wide with fear as he saw the two figures in the doorway.
He fumbled with his gun, but it was too late.
Thirawat, a blur of motion, disarmed him with a single, brutal move.
The gun clattered to the floor, and the guard’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the ground.
“Just a kid,” Thirawat said, his voice quiet.
He picked up the guard’s gun and put it in his bag.
“Let’s go. We’re losing time.” They continued on, their progress swift and quiet.
The five-minute window was a ticking clock, and every second was a precious commodity.
They had to move fast. They had to be silent.
They had to find Noi. They had to be his hope in the darkness.
_____
Noi lay huddled under his bed, his entire body trembling.
The horrifying image of the jarred eyeballs still burned into his mind, and Bunbun, a flimsy shield, was damp from his tears.
He could still hear Inthorn’s low, chilling chuckle echoing in the room, the monster’s twisted affection a fresh wound.
Safe, Inthorn had purred. Always safe. With me.
The words now felt like the tightest chains, the most terrifying threat.
Suddenly, the room was plunged into absolute darkness.
The soft glow of the nightlight vanished, and the subtle hum of the mansion’s power grid died.
Noi gasped, instinctively pulling himself further into the already small space under the bed.
His breath hitched in his throat. Was this another of Inthorn’s games?
Another punishment? The darkness felt heavier, colder, more frightening.
Then, a new sound cut through the suffocating silence – a faint, almost imperceptible thump from somewhere far below, followed by what sounded like a distant, muffled shout.
It wasn’t Inthorn's voice. It wasn’t the usual mansion sounds.
A sliver of something fragile, yet persistent, ignited in Noi’s chest. Hope.
It was a terrifying thought, but it was there, a tiny spark.
Someone was doing something. This wasn't Inthorn. This was… outside.
He slowly, cautiously, slid out from under the bed.
The darkness was absolute, making him feel disoriented.
He fumbled toward the hidden panel behind the dresser, his fingers brushing against the cool wood.
He pushed, and the familiar creak was a comfort now, a sign of a possible escape.
He squeezed into the small cavity, pressing his ear against the thin wall, straining to hear.
A faint, metallic scraping. A hushed whisper, too unclear to understand. It was real. Something was happening.
A desperate, almost frantic energy surged through him.
He had to be ready. He had to escape. He thought of the things he had seen, the things he had endured.
He thought of the terror, the loneliness, the pain.
He thought of the jarred eyeballs, the twisted affection, the cold, calculating cruelty.
He thought of the beautiful, menacing home that was his prison.
He thought of Inthorn, the man who was both his captor and his tormentor.
He had to get out. He had to find his way back to his brother.
He had to be free. The thought was a powerful current, a wave of determination that washed away his fear.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them, the darkness no longer felt so suffocating.
It felt like an opportunity. He was a prisoner, but now, maybe, just maybe, he was a prisoner with a chance.
He waited, listening. The sounds were faint, but they were there.
The metallic scraping, the hushed whispers.
He pressed his ear against the wall again, straining to hear.
He could hear footsteps now, a quiet, purposeful tread.
They were getting closer. He held his breath, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs.
He had to be ready. He had to be silent.
He had to be strong. He had to be a survivor.
“Master?”
“Power grid down. Cameras offline. Find out who is responsible,” Inthorn commanded, his voice low, like a snake’s hiss. “Activate all backup generators. Seal the main gates. Double patrol the outer walls.”
“Understood,” Dae replied, already turning to give orders.
Inthorn paced, his movements precise, like a predator circling its prey. His jaw tightened. He knew who this was. Pramote. The old fool finally making a move. He would regret this.
Inthorn’s lips curved into a thin, predatory smile.
Let them come. He had a few surprises of his own.
He walked to the window, staring out into the inky blackness that had swallowed his estate.
The darkness was a challenge, a test. He would not fail.
He would not be defeated. They think they can challenge me?
he thought, a cold fury building in his chest. They think they can touch what's mine?
He thought of Noi, of the boy he had claimed as his own.
He thought of his pale skin, his wide, frightened eyes, his trembling body.
He thought of the way the boy had looked at him, a mixture of fear and fascination.
He thought of the way the boy had cowered under his bed, a fragile, broken thing.
He was his. He was his to protect. He was his to punish. He was his to keep.
A flicker of a smile touched his lips. He would find them.
He would make them pay. He would show them what happens when you try to take what is his.
He would show them the true meaning of fear.
The blackout was a minor inconvenience, a temporary setback.
It was a challenge, but he was a man who thrived on challenges.
He would turn their attack into a trap. He would use their own tactics against them.
He would make them wish they had never been born.
He turned from the window and walked to his desk.
He opened a hidden drawer and took out a small, ornate box.
Inside, on a bed of velvet, was a single, silver-handled pistol.
He ran his thumb over the cool metal, a small, private smile on his lips.
This was not a weapon for a fight. This was a weapon for a hunt.
He would find them. And he would enjoy it.
He would make them suffer. He would make them regret their insolence. He would make them scream.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Dae,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Give me a status report. And tell the guards to be on high alert. I want them to be ready for anything.”
He listened for a moment, his face a mask of grim anticipation. “Good. Very good. Now, tell me, where is the boy?” There was a moment of silence. “He’s still in his room, Master. We have a guard posted outside.”
Inthorn smiled, a cold, deadly edge replacing his calm composure. “Good. Make sure he stays there. He is my most prized possession. And I will not let anyone take him from me.”
_____
The forest was alive with the sounds of their hidden compound, the crackle of a fire, the low murmur of voices. Pramote Thanawanich raised his glass, a dark, satisfied glint in his eyes. He had waited for this moment for a long, long time.
“The lights are out,” he announced, his voice raspy with triumph. “Our ‘unseen hand’ has begun their work.”
Sarut clapped his hands together, a childish joy on his face. “Excellent! Soon, Inthorn will be weak, and his little bunny will be ours!” He turned to Thanit, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Imagine, darling. So soft. So fresh.”
Thanit chuckled, his arm wrapping around Sarut’s waist. “We’ll get to play with him for a long, long time.”
Wimondevi watched them, her expression unreadable, then turned to a large, rolled-up map spread across a nearby table.
“The first phase is complete,” she murmured, her voice smooth and chillingly calm.
She ran a perfectly manicured finger over a section of the map, detailing attack routes and strategic points.
“The disruption will sow chaos. It will blind him. And then, on the anniversary, we will strike. We will reclaim what is ours, and we will burn his empire to the ground.”
She looked up, her eyes glinting with a dark, ruthless ambition. “Prepare the men. Final checks on all equipment. The night of the orchid bloom will be Inthorn's last.”
The night of the orchid bloom. The anniversary of the day their family was broken. The day Pramote stole everything from Inthorn. The day he stole his mother. It was the perfect day for their revenge.
Pramote raised his glass again. “To the orchid bloom,” he said, his voice a low growl. “And to the end of Inthorn.”
The others raised their glasses, their faces a mixture of grim anticipation and sadistic glee. They had been waiting for this moment for a long time. They had been planning. They had been preparing. They would not fail. They would reclaim what was theirs. They would get their revenge.
The blackout was just the beginning. It was the first move in a long, brutal game. A game of revenge. A game of power. A game of blood. And they were ready to play.
They would show Inthorn what happens when you cross the real Thanawanich family. They would show him the true meaning of pain. They would make him regret everything. They would make him scream.
The forest was silent now, a stillness that was more terrifying than any noise.
The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the faces of the Thanawanich family.
They were a family of predators, a family of monsters.
And they were hungry. They were ready for the hunt.
They were ready for their revenge. They were ready for the orchid bloom.