CAPTURING REDEMPTION

CHAPTER 3: THE DAY HE MET THE DEVIL

The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room as Yevgeny Bogdanov slowly blinked his eyes open. The warmth of the dawn gently caressed his skin, but the chill in his heart was unmistakable. He reached out beside him, expecting to find the comforting presence of his enemy, but his fingers grasped only empty sheets. He had brought the sleeping man upstairs—to his room, only to collapse beside him out of tiredness.

Confusion swept over him like a tidal wave as he sat up in bed, his mind still foggy with sleep. Where was he? His gaze swept the room, searching desperately for any sign of his presence. But the only evidence of him existence was the faint scent of the alcohol lingering in the air, a cruel reminder of that faint chance from God disappearing.

Panic began to gnaw at the edges of his consciousness as he stumbled out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He called out his name, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty room, but there was no response. Frantically, he checked every corner of the apartment, hoping against hope that he would appear again, out of thin air, maybe.

"Kwon Taekjoo?"

"Mr. Kwon?" He called out, darting his eyes, while reaching for his phone on the table beside his bed. As his trembling hand brushed against the smooth surface of the bedside table, he felt something that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins. There, nestled among the clutter of half-empty water glasses and forgotten trinkets, was a single piece of paper, and a few bills of thousands. His heart skipped a beat as he reached for it, fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

With trembling hands, the blond-haired person reached for the folded piece of paper on the bedside table, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a heavy cloak. Each movement felt slow and deliberate, as if he were wading through thick fog, unable to see what lay ahead.

As he unfolded the note, the elegant script danced before his eyes, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him. The words etched onto the paper seemed to leap out at him, each one a sharp dagger plunging into the depths of his already wounded heart. His breath caught in his throat as he read the message, the weight of its implications pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

"Here's the money. Never mention anything about the last night to anyone or press. I won't think twice before coming for your head."

The words sent a chill down his spine, his mind reeling with disbelief. Was this some kind of sick joke God had played on him? His fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, as if clinging to it for dear life, even as his heart screamed for release from the pain and confusion that threatened to consume him whole.

Kwon Taekjoo's name echoed in his mind like a sinister whisper, a shadow from his past threatening to engulf him once more, but this time—Yevgeny Bogdanov wanted it. It was a name he had tried to never forget, a memory he had never buried deep within the recesses of his mind.

And so, with a heavy heart and a steely resolve, he braced himself for the storm that was yet to come, knowing that the path to redemption would be fraught with danger and pain. But if there was one thing he had learned, it was that sometimes, the sweetest revenge was born from the ashes of betrayal, rising like a phoenix to claim its rightful place in the annals of history.

Kwon Hari's legs trembled at the thought of meeting the wrath holed up in his cabin since his arrival. It was time for his lunch, yet he did not step out, rather he ordered his food to be brought in his cabin by none other than his junior. And she was finding ways to hide since morning. Standing in front of the wooden door, the girl cleared her throat and brushed off the stray strands off her face. The images of that night flooded in her mind as she knocked softly.