Malign

He stood cloaked in tailored black, flawless, calm, composed, visibly shaped by power and privilege.

He had always mastered the art of restraint. But tonight, a crack formed in that façade.

The room hung in silence, the kind that built tension like storm clouds before its downpour.

Tae Joo's gaze stayed fixed on his second youngest son. Steady and unreadable.

His clenched jaw, twitching fingers, and sharp eyes betrayed the quiet wrath simmering beneath his exterior.

"I always knew," he began, voice low and deliberate.

"That one of my sons would grow bold enough to betray me. When legacy and inheritance are in play," he paused.

"Blood would mean nothing," he finished, coldly.

He looked down at Tae Ha - not just with anger, but something more final.

No theatrics. No need to shout.

Then he struck.

A blur. One clean blow.

His fist collided with Tae Ha's cheekbone. The snap echoed like a gunshot.

Tae Ha crashed onto the cold stone. A scarlet flush bloomed across his cheek, blood trickling from a split in his skin.

Yet not a sound escaped him.

He rose slowly, blood painting his teeth as he gave a crooked, amused grin. His eyes glared back - not as a son, but as a rival.

He wiped the blood with a sleeve and scoffed, half-laugh, half-challenge, as if it is worn with pride.

Tae Joo, on the other hand, didn't flinch as a verdict settled in his chest: he sees him as a menace that must be erased, and whatever part of him still breathed, he'll crush it.

One hand slackened, the other flexed. He reached for the gun at his belt.

The safety clicked off with sharp precision.

He raised the gun, the barrel levelled at his son's head.

The metal caught the light.

Tae Joo's eyes didn't hesitate, and his finger remained lightly on the trigger,

"What I didn't see coming," he said at last, "was that you'd crawl into bed with the same woman I already took as mine."

This time, fury didn't just flash in his eyes; it was simmering with disgust.