The Silence Of Metawin.

Thai Beauty Thai Psycho

Clubs were never really her thing.

She was seasoned in the art of hunting, though. The patience required in waiting on the prey to expose themselves, the stealth that came with tracking them, and the concentration necessary to make the kill efficient, those were her strong suits.

But night clubs weren't the same thing.

She had found her target soon enough, camera in hand, snooping around the herd of people like the insect he was. Most likely taking pictures of patrons grinding on and dry humping each other, pictures to be exposed to the public at her leisure, in the form of blackmail no doubt.

She sipped her drink and watched.

Her target slipped into the bathroom, unseen by all except her. She grabbed her friend, whom she had paid a hefty amount of money to play her small role in this great production, and dragged her into the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom, she made sure her target was in a stall before saying, "But Prim, I know Gunsmile is cheating on me but-"

"You can't honestly be considering taking those pills, Love!" Her friend interrupted beautifully, just like they had practiced. "Who knows what they can do!"

"I'm going to take them. He said he'll take me back if I do," she popped open the can of pills loudly for dramatic effect, hyper aware of her audience of one. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Please," came Prim's choked reply. Her concern sounded authentic and Love couldn't help but mentally applaud her for her acting. "Please, don't do this."

"I'll be out back if you want to join me," she reached the door, "but don't try and stop me."

She left her friend, who she knew would break into tears, to go outside. She sat down by a nearby dumpster and waited. During the past week, she had patiently awaited for her target to expose his love of exploiting others, relied on her stealth to seek out the nightclub she frequented, and all that remained was the concentration of executing her plan to the best of her abilities.

Maybe clubs were her thing.

It took less than five minutes for Gun Atthaphan to find her, hunched over, grasping a near empty bottle of pills, crying her eyes out.

Bright would have been proud to see how beautifully she had set the scene.

Love pretended not to sense Atthaphan approach her, for no professional drug user would have been so aware of their surroundings.

Atthaphan gently touched her shoulder. Love screamed and jerked away. Atthaphan, with a genuine look of understanding, knelt down to meet her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay kid. Really, I get it." The expression on his face was pained, as if he was reliving a past occurrence. Love would remember to tell Bright such an interesting fact. "Here," he stood up, holding out his hand, "let me help you."

With the hand not clutching the pills, Love took his hand. Atthaphan pulled her up and allowed her to lean on his shoulder as he took his back to his car. Not once did he snap a picture. Love was impressed.

As she had already expected, Atthaphan was a lot wealthier than he seemed. To the average person, she didn't seem to sit on a lap of luxury, as he consistently melted into crowds, unnoticed despite his mess of hair. Usually those who had more cash to burn gave off this air of arrogance so pungent that it offended any nose with its pretentious fumes.

Exhibit A: Bright.

Atthaphan, on the other hand, was smarter with his money and dressed more modestly. Good for him. Maybe it worked for his image to be seen as the novice journalist, 'barely getting enough here and there for his next meal so do him a favor and let him interview you,' or maybe he just preferred to not be pampered.