You're Mine, I'm Yours II

Part 18

Khaotung stepped through the grand double doors of his father's sprawling mansion, the weight of the place pressing down on him as it always did. The vast marble foyer stretched out before him, its high ceilings and opulent chandeliers exuding an air of cold grandeur. His polished shoes clicked against the glossy floor, each step echoing like a countdown in the silent house.

The familiar scent of cigar smoke reached him before he even entered the living room. It was a scent tied to countless tense conversations and veiled threats, a signature of his father's presence. As he rounded the corner, his father came into view, seated like a monarch on his high-backed leather armchair. The soft light from the chandelier above cast sharp shadows across his angular features, making him appear even more imposing.

A cigar rested between his fingers, its glowing tip smoldering as he exhaled a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air. His expression was unreadable-calm, composed, but always calculating. Behind him stood New and Jim, his father's ever-loyal enforcers. Their postures were rigid, their faces blank masks that betrayed nothing, but Khaotung could feel their eyes on him, studying his every move.

"You're back, son," his father greeted, his voice smooth but laced with authority. The kind of voice that didn't ask questions but expected answers.

"Yeah, I'm back," Khaotung replied, keeping his tone neutral. He met his father's gaze head-on, refusing to show any sign of discomfort.

His father leaned back slightly, the leather chair creaking softly under his weight. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, as though he were amused by something only he understood. "You've grown more confident. That's good. I expected no less after handling things overseas."

Khaotung felt the twist of unease in his stomach but didn't let it show. Instead, he moved further into the room, casually leaning against the edge of the couch. His arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed, though every muscle in his body was tense. "Why did you call me back?" he asked bluntly. "You said I'd be there for at least a year. It's only been six months."

His father's eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk lingering as he took another slow drag from his cigar. The silence stretched between them, heavy and deliberate. Finally, he exhaled, the smoke curling upwards like the unspoken words between them. "You've done well, Khaotung," he said, his voice calm but measured. "The business overseas has flourished under your care. I'm proud of you."

Khaotung's eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling at the edges of his mind. Praise from his father was rare, and it always came with strings attached. "That's it?" he said, his tone edged with disbelief. "You called me all the way back just to say that?"

His father's smirk deepened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It's important for a man to acknowledge his son's achievements, isn't it?"

Khaotung held his father's gaze, searching for the hidden meaning behind the words. His father's compliments were never simple. They were weapons, meant to disarm or manipulate. "You've never been the type to hand out praise unless there's something you want in return," he said, his voice low but steady.

Behind his father, New and Jim exchanged a brief glance, their expressions as unreadable as ever.

"You've grown perceptive," his father remarked, setting the cigar down in the crystal ashtray beside him. The gesture was deliberate, calculated. "But for now, let's leave it at that. There's more to discuss, but it can wait. Tonight, I want you to relax. You've earned it."

Khaotung clenched his jaw, his instincts screaming that there was more to this than his father was letting on. But he knew better than to push. His father thrived on control, and any sign of resistance would only play into his hands. "Fine," Khaotung said, standing straighter. "But don't think I'm not aware that there's more to this."