Chapter Text
Thunder rolled over Bangkok like an omen that night.
Rain lashed against the windows of the Theerapanyakul mansion as the city drowned in silver light. Inside the minor family’s hall, the air was heavy with incense and grief.
Vegas stood still in front of his father’s portrait — the man who had built an empire but died with nothing but bitterness in his heart. His father’s final words echoed in Vegas’s mind, over and over, until they felt carved into his skin.
“They took everything from me. Don’t forgive. Don’t bow. Make them pay, son… make them all pay.”
When the last guest left, Vegas stayed behind, staring at the flickering candles. His hands clenched until his knuckles went white.
The main family — Kinn and his father — had always treated the minor family like tools. Disposable. Inferior.
Every deal Vegas’s father tried to make was sabotaged. Every attempt at peace was turned into humiliation.
And now his father was dead — drowned in liquor, pride shattered.
Vegas whispered into the dim light,
“I’ll make them watch everything they love fall apart.”
His plan wasn’t impulsive; revenge never was. It had to be elegant — silent enough to slip under their guard, painful enough to bleed them from the inside.
But how do you destroy a family that lives in power and paranoia?
You don’t attack their fortress.
You break their heart.
And Vegas knew exactly where to strike — Kim Theerapanyakul.
---
Kim was the quiet one.
Unlike his brothers, he avoided business and bloodshed. He spent most of his time in his studio, writing music or disappearing into the city unnoticed. The main family didn’t see him as a threat — but Vegas did.
Kim was the weak link, the only one with a heart still intact.
And that made him the perfect weapon.
For days, Vegas studied him. Every schedule, every route, every late-night routine.
He learned Kim liked the café near the riverside — small, dimly lit, always quiet.
He ordered the same drink — black coffee, no sugar.
He sat near the window, always sketching notes in his leather-bound songbook.
Vegas would sit three tables away, pretending to read or take calls, watching him.
Kim never noticed.
Or maybe, he did — and simply didn’t care.
One afternoon, Vegas saw Kim leaving the café and decided to follow.
Not too close, just enough to read his movements — cautious, calm, but guarded. Kim was used to being watched; that much was clear.
He moved like someone who didn’t trust easily.
Perfect, Vegas thought. Breaking trust was what he did best.
---
The opportunity came a week later at a charity gala hosted by the main family.
Vegas hated such events — the fake smiles, the silent wars behind every handshake.
But tonight wasn’t about politics. It was about strategy.
Kim was there, standing alone near the glass balcony overlooking the city lights. His suit was black, simple yet elegant, and his hair fell loosely over his eyes. He looked untouched by the chaos inside — too calm for a Theerapanyakul.
Vegas approached, glass of wine in hand.
He stood beside him, close enough for their reflections to meet in the glass.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Vegas said casually, his tone light, teasing.
Kim didn’t turn. “You sound disappointed.”
“On the contrary,” Vegas smirked, eyes drifting to the skyline. “I’m curious.”
“Curiosity,” Kim replied, finally glancing at him, “gets people killed in our family.”
Vegas chuckled quietly. “You speak like you’ve already buried someone.”
“I’ve buried enough.” Kim’s voice was soft, but there was a trace of steel beneath it — something cold, wounded, and tired.
Vegas studied him carefully. This wasn’t arrogance. This was defense — a man who had built walls out of silence.
And Vegas found himself wanting to know what lay behind them.
But this wasn’t about wanting.
It was about revenge.
So he said, with a perfectly crafted smile, “Maybe I like danger.”
Kim looked at him then, really looked — his eyes calm, assessing, not easily impressed. “Or maybe,” he said quietly, “you’re just pretending to.”
The air between them shifted — not warmth, but tension, sharp and electric.
Vegas held his stare a second longer before breaking into a half-smile. “Maybe you’re right.”
He raised his glass slightly in a mock toast and walked away.
Behind him, Kim turned back to the skyline — unaware that he had just become the center of Vegas’s war.
That night, Vegas couldn’t sleep.
He sat in his study, lights dim, a glass of whiskey untouched beside him.
His assistant had already sent reports on Kim’s habits, family ties, and public appearances. Everything he needed was there.
But the image that refused to leave his mind wasn’t data. It was Kim’s eyes — distant, unflinching, and lonely.
Vegas muttered under his breath, almost irritated,
. He’s just a tool.”
He picked up the file again, flipping through the pages until his eyes fell on Kim’s photo.
Something twisted in his chest — something dangerous.
He pushed the file aside, stood up, and looked out the window, watching the rain blur the city lights.
“You’ll regret trusting me,” he whispered to the empty room.
“Just like I regret trusting him.”
Vegas didn’t notice how long he’d been standing by the window until the first signs of dawn crept through the rain clouds. His phone buzzed on the desk — Macau’s name flashed across the screen.
He hesitated before answering.
“Didn’t think you’d still be awake,” came Macau’s sleepy voice.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Still thinking about him?” Macau asked quietly. He didn’t need to say Father. The silence said enough.
Vegas exhaled. “He didn’t deserve the way they treated him. He begged for respect, and they laughed.”
“They always do,” Macau muttered bitterly. “The main family thinks we exist to serve them. To bleed for them.”
Vegas’s tone darkened. “Then maybe it’s time they learn how it feels.”
“Vegas—”
He cut him off. “No. Listen. I’m not talking about a gun or a knife. That’s too easy. They have too many guards, too much protection. But what they can’t protect is their heart.”
Macau stayed quiet. He knew that tone — the one his brother used before every dangerous move.
“You mean Kinn,” he said at last.
“Yes,” Vegas replied, eyes cold. “Kinn’s the crown of that family. But to get to him, I’ll go through the one person he doesn’t expect anyone to touch.”
“…Kim.”
Vegas’s smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly.”
Macau frowned. “Kim’s not like them. He keeps his distance. He doesn’t even get involved.”
“That’s why it’ll hurt more.” Vegas leaned back, voice low and deliberate. “When you destroy something pure, it breaks louder.”
Macau didn’t respond. He only whispered, “Just don’t lose yourself in it.”
Vegas let out a humorless laugh. “I already did, the day our father died.”
He hung up before Macau could say anything else.
---
Later that morning, Vegas drove to the riverside café again. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened, reflecting pale sunlight. He parked across the street, watching through the window as Kim sat in his usual spot — black coffee, songbook open, lost in thought.
Vegas watched for a long time, his expression unreadable.
He should’ve felt satisfaction — his target was right there, within reach.
But instead, he felt… something else.
Something like hesitation.
He hated it.
He got out of the car, fixed his jacket, and walked inside.
The bell above the door chimed softly. Kim didn’t look up.
Vegas ordered a drink he didn’t care for, then walked past Kim’s table as if by chance.
When his gaze brushed Kim’s notebook, he caught sight of a lyric line, scribbled in neat handwriting:
“Even the coldest flame burns when you breathe near it.”
Vegas paused.
Something about those words hit deeper than he wanted to admit.
Kim finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You again?”
Vegas smiled faintly, controlling his voice. “You make it sound like a crime.”
“Depends on your reason for being here.”
Vegas tilted his head slightly. “Maybe I’m just here for the music.”
Kim blinked. “Then you’re wasting your time. I don’t play for anyone.”
Vegas smirked, eyes glinting. “You will.”
Kim frowned, clearly confused. “And what makes you think that?”
Vegas turned away, slipping his hands into his pockets.
His tone dropped, soft but certain.
“Because I’m not leaving until you do.”
He walked out before Kim could reply — leaving behind a silence heavier than any threat.
Outside, Vegas lit a cigarette, the smoke curling upward like the ghosts of his past.
His father’s voice still echoed faintly in his head.
“Make them pay.”
He looked back at the café window — at the figure sitting alone inside.
“I will, Father,” he murmured.
“Even if it means destroying the only part of me that still feels alive.”
Later that night, Kim returned to his room, shutting the door behind him.and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly as though trying to push the whole world out.
Everything felt too heavy — his family’s expectations, their silence, the way they never truly saw him for who he was.
He moved toward the mirror, each step echoing faintly in the dim light. His reflection stared back at him, expression blank, eyes too tired for his age.
One by one, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt. The fabric fell from his shoulders, whispering against his skin as it slid to the floor.
He was naked and feel regret, guiltHis hands hesitated before they went lower, tracing the faint line down his torso until his fingers brushed over pussy
He froze.
That sight always made something twist inside him — not shame exactly, but confusion, a quiet ache that he could never name.
He touched gently, almost as if testing if he was real.
Different.
That word had followed him since childhood — murmured in the corners of his home, buried in polite smiles.
No one ever said it out loud, but he could see it in their eyes.
He wasn’t like Kinn.
He wasn’t like anyone.
Kim’s gaze met his own in the mirror — vulnerable, almost trembling.
He whispered to the reflection, “Is this what they hate? This part of me?”
His fingers brushed against public mound, tracing absent circles as if trying to understand himself.
Every breath he took felt heavier, fogging the mirror before him.
He didn’t cry — he never did — but his chest ached with the kind of pain that never needed tears.
He sat on the bed, back against the headboard, pulling his knees close.
The room smelled faintly of rain and music sheets, scattered across the floor from the afternoon.
Kim closed his eyes and pressed a hand over his heart.
Inside, everything felt tangled — loneliness, shame, defiance.
“I didn’t ask to be like this,” he whispered. “I didn’t ask to disappoint anyone.”
He leaned his head back, the faint tremor in his voice breaking through the quiet.
Outside, thunder rumbled like an answer he didn’t want to hear.
Minutes passed — or maybe hours.
The candle on his nightstand flickered, and shadows rippled across his bare skin. He reached down again, brushing his fingers lightly against clit, not in desire but in a strange, fragile acceptance.
Maybe this was who he was.
Maybe the problem wasn’t him — maybe it was the world that refused to understand.
He took a long, slow breath, staring at his reflection once more.
The boy in the mirror looked lost, yes — but there was strength in his eyes too.
“Untouchable,” he whispered bitterly. “But not invisible.”
The rain grew louder, washing against the window as if trying to drown out his thoughts.
And in that quiet storm, Kim made a silent promise to himself — that one day, he would stop hiding, no matter who couldn’t accept him.