The Whispers (Underworld 6) VK

39: The Letter

It was a quiet, ordinary morning at the Midnight mansion, the kind that seemed almost mundane despite the subtle undercurrents of power that thrummed beneath the surface. Seungcheol was seated at the head of the dining table, leisurely scrolling through his phone with his coffee in one hand. The soft clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the room, blending with the faint murmur of voices. Across from him, Jeonghan watched with a familiar expression of exasperation, sighing as he eyed Seungcheol's phone.

"You know, for a man with so much to lose, you're awfully distracted," Jeonghan muttered, leaning forward to pluck a piece of lint from Seungcheol's suit jacket, as though he could pick away at his habits just as easily. "How many times do I have to tell you? No phones at the table. Honestly, I might as well be talking to the wall."

Seungcheol barely looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his coffee. "You know, Angel, if you spent less time lecturing and more time eating, you might enjoy your mornings a bit more."

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about bad habits and needing manners. It was a scene that played out every morning—a small, almost domestic ritual that felt oddly comforting despite their line of work.

Meanwhile, Seokmin was seated beside them, listening intently as his secretary whispered updates in his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was focused, but a keen observer would notice the way his attention kept drifting over to Seungcheol, his boss and older brother in everything but blood.

"The shipment from the Midnight Gang has cleared customs without a hitch," Seungcheol murmured casually, finally putting his phone down to address Seokmin directly. "Looks like they're as reliable as ever. Tell them we'll set up the next meeting as planned, but let's keep it under the radar. No need to attract extra attention right now."

Seokmin nodded, giving his secretary a brief look before he scurried away to make the necessary calls. "I'll see to it, hyung," he replied, glancing at Seungcheol with a faint, respectful smile. "Though, if they keep up this level of efficiency, I think we might need to send them a little thank-you gift. It wouldn't hurt to keep them loyal."

Across the table, Joshua quietly moved in to refill Seungcheol's coffee, his movements smooth and practiced as he served breakfast with an air of grace. He set down a plate of food in front of Seungcheol and nodded politely, his calm demeanor an ever-present contrast to the tension that often lingered in the air.

Seungcheol offered Joshua a grateful nod as he took a bite, his gaze shifting to the notes Seokmin had been scribbling. He was just about to comment when the door to the dining room opened, and a suited man entered, his expression carefully neutral as he approached Seungcheol with a letter in hand.

"Sir," the man said, bowing slightly. "This arrived just now. Hand-delivered, no return address."

Seungcheol's brows lifted, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as he took the envelope, his fingers brushing against the thick, expensive paper. It was weighty, almost too formal, and there was something unsettling about the way it was folded—too precise, too deliberate. He turned it over, noticing a faint, embossed mark in the corner. A simple "Z.Y."

Jeonghan, having picked up on the shift in mood, leaned over with a curious frown. "Who sends letters these days?" he muttered, watching Seungcheol's reaction closely.

Seungcheol didn't respond, instead carefully tearing open the envelope. He pulled out the single sheet of paper inside, unfolding it to reveal a short, ominous message:

"You and your son took my precious possession. Now I'll take your lifeline.

— ZY"

The silence that followed was palpable, a heavy stillness settling over the room as Seungcheol read the words again, his gaze narrowing. He felt a slow surge of anger rise within him, his jaw tightening as he processed the meaning behind the cryptic threat. His fingers clenched the letter tightly, the edges crumpling under his grip.