Rent Boy | Hyunlix

Contaminated mind

As I stormed through the corridor, my mind was a storm of rage and grief. My father's death was still a raw wound in my heart, a wound that had barely begun to heal. Each step I took was fueled by an unrelenting fury, the kind that only comes from profound loss. The young people who scattered before me were mere shadows in my path as I pushed open door after door, searching for the man who had ordered my father's assassination.

When I finally found him, he was lounging amidst a haze of smoke and laughter, a king in his own twisted kingdom. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands trembling not just from anger but from the weight of my sorrow. I had trained for this, prepared for it, but nothing could prepare me for the depth of my own grief.

I pulled the gun from my belt, its cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of my rage. Time felt like it was crawling, and every second seemed to stretch into an eternity. The man, oblivious to the storm brewing, continued his indulgence with the girls around him.

In a sudden, violent motion, I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. My breath was ragged, each inhale a battle as I raised the gun. My hands were steady despite the tumult of emotions tearing through me. The sight of the man laughing so easily while my father lay dead haunted me, his death a painful echo in my mind.

Without a word, I fired. The first bullet struck him in the chest, the shock on his face a fleeting image as he fell back. I continued to shoot, each bullet a punctuation in my silent scream of anguish. The second shot hit his shoulder, the third punctured his abdomen, and the fourth, a final testament to my fury, struck him in the head. His body convulsed with the impact, the room filling with the screams of the girls who fled in terror.

As the man slumped to the ground, my emotions erupted. I dropped the gun, my hands shaking violently. The room was silent except for the distant sounds of chaos. I fell to my knees beside the man's lifeless body, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably.

The pain of losing my father, the anguish of seeing his murderer's face, all of it overwhelmed me. I could barely breathe, each sob a wrenching release of the pent-up grief I had tried so hard to suppress. I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with the intensity of my sobs.

In the midst of my grief, I found myself whispering to the dead man, my voice breaking with each word. "You took him from me... You took my father..." The words were a guttural mix of anger and sorrow, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold onto my composure.

The man's blood stained my clothes, mixing with my tears, a grotesque reminder of the price I had paid for revenge. I let out a final anguished cry before I rose unsteadily to my feet. The room seemed to spin as I walked away, the weight of my father's death still heavy on my heart.

I staggered out into the hallway, my heart a broken vessel, knowing that no amount of vengeance could ever bring my father back. My grief was a consuming force, a reminder of the emptiness that now defined my existence. The whispers and gasps of those who witnessed the scene were nothing more than a backdrop to the crushing void within me.

The world outside was a blur as I made my way through the house, my soul in tatters, my heart heavy with the unbearable pain of loss.

I walked away from the scene, the weight of my father's death now a public spectacle. The whispers spread like wildfire. I had claimed control of the Hwang empire, but at a cost that left my heart locked away, buried under layers of numbness and detachment. I no longer cared for the house. It was a ghost of what it once was, a monument to a legacy that I had inherited but not wanted.

Months passed in a blur of cold efficiency. My world became a series of meetings and indulgent gatherings with the city's most dangerous figures. The transition from heir to leader had stripped me of any remaining warmth. Even Minho, my friend, noticed the change.

"You've changed," he said one evening, a smirk playing on his lips. "So cold and dark, Mister Hwang."

I smirked back, pushing him lightly aside. We were seated on a plush sofa in the meeting room, surrounded by the trappings of excess and opulence. Mandatory discussions about business and power played out while we sipped our drinks, but I was distant, my mind elsewhere.

"Boring man," Minho yawned, clearly unimpressed.

The doors to the room opened, and Margaret made her entrance, followed by a parade of scantily clad boys and girls. Candles flickered, filling the room with a seductive aroma meant to numb the mind and tempt the senses. Despite the spectacle, I had no interest in the scene.

I excused myself, slipping away from the gathering. As I walked down the long hall, I passed by Felix again. He was searching for someone, his eyes scanning the crowd. I avoided him, not wanting to face the emotions that stirred within me.

I exited the building, stepping into the garden. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat of the party.

A hand touched my shoulder, and a sweet vanilla scent filled my senses. I turned to find a figure pressed close, their head resting on my shoulder.

"I didn't know you couldn't speak," they said softly, their voice trembling. "I'm so sorry. Don't go."

Their hands clung to me, one resting on my stomach, the other brushing over the bandaged scar on my neck. The touch was gentle, almost comforting, but it stirred something painful within me. I hated the scar, the reminder of my own vulnerability.

I couldn't bear the closeness. I gently pushed their hands away, but they grasped at me desperately. "Please, let me stay like this for a moment more."

Their plea was nearly heartbreaking. I felt trapped, their presence a torturous reminder of my isolation. I pushed them away and walked off, their breath echoing in my ears.

"Lucky man," a lecherous voice called from the end of the hall. "I wish he'd look at me like that."

Fury ignited in me. I turned and slammed the man to the ground, my anger a tangible force. "Shut the fuck up," I hissed, my voice a low, menacing growl. The man trembled, nodding in terror. I let him go, my guards watching with disapproval.

"Fucking losers," I muttered under my breath as I left, heading for the forest trails that had become my refuge.

The pursuit of revenge had consumed me, leaving a hollow shell in its wake. The new contracts, the fear I instilled in others, all contributed to a reputation more fearsome than my father's ever was. Society now saw me as a monster, a reflection of the darkness that had always lurked within.