Bought by the Devil

He Is Here

That evening, as I made my way home from university, an unusual sight greeted me: a line of sleek, black cars parked outside our modest building, their polished surfaces gleaming under the dimming light of the afternoon. Several security guards stood near the vehicles, their presence ominous and imposing. A chill ran through me, and I couldn't help but fear the worst-was my father involved in something dangerous again?

With a sense of foreboding, I entered the house. But the sight that awaited me inside shook me to my core. There, on his knees, was my father-his hands clasped together in a gesture of desperate supplication, his head bent low. Before him stood a man, tall and striking, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. His presence was commanding, his posture unyielding, and his eyes-dark and sharp-seemed to cut through everything around him like a predator sizing up its prey. His short beard only added to the severity of his appearance, and there was a coldness in his gaze that made him feel distant-almost as though he were from another world entirely, one far removed from the poverty and struggles that had marked my father's life.

I couldn't place the man's face, though there was something strangely familiar about it. But it wasn't until I heard my father's voice-filled with dread-that the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

"Boss..." my father pleaded, his voice shaking, "Please, spare me. I'll do anything... Just this once, please."

The man's response was swift, his words cutting through the air with an authority that left no room for argument.

"After everything you've done, you still have the audacity to beg for mercy?" His voice was a low growl, tinged with disdain. "Shameless."

"I... I made a terrible mistake," my father stammered, his voice faltering. "The gambling, the debts... It all spiraled out of control. I never meant for things to go this far."

The man's anger seemed to deepen, his eyes narrowing with frustration. "Because of your recklessness, I lost something crucial last night. Do you think that money can fix this? Even if I took everything from you, it wouldn't come close to covering what you've cost me."

It was becoming clear that this was not simply a matter of money. The man before me was no ordinary figure; his wealth and influence were vast, and it was apparent that his ire was rooted in something more personal. If this were purely a financial dispute, he would not be here, confronting my father face-to-face in our humble home. No, there was a deeper, more profound sense of betrayal behind his words.

"You've lost everything," he said, his tone cold, almost disgusted. "You have nothing left to offer... except your life."

My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Unable to contain my rising panic, I stepped forward, calling out to my father.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with fear and confusion. "What is this? What is happening?"