Mr. Nine had a rule: never let them see you hesitate.That rule had carved his name into the marble walls of corporate empires, turned whispers into silence in boardrooms, and turned doubt into dollars. It was the reason he became the youngest CEO in the history of SAKDA Group, a ruthless subsidiary under the VALORE conglomerate. It was the rule that kept wolves in sheep's clothing at bay—shareholders, enemies, even his ghosts.
But today?
Today, as the soft echo of leather shoes approached his office, Nine hesitated. Only for a moment. But that moment, quiet, unseen, uncharacteristic—would become the first tear in the surface of his carefully constructed world.
The sound of the door creaking.
A face peeked through. Young and youthful
And wide-eyed.
He wore the blue intern badge like a secret he wasn't sure he wanted to keep, and his tie sat slightly crooked like he'd rushed to impress someone he hadn't met yet. His hair was combed neatly, too neatly, as if trying to erase traces of who he was before stepping into this polished world of glass and luxuries.
Nine didn't turn. He let his fingers trail the black and white keys of the piano instead, not playing, just… touching. Like he needed to remind himself of something soft before his always-busy day began.
"You're early," Nine said.
The intern took one careful step into the room. "I didn't know people used the piano in a corporate penthouse."
Nine's lips barely moved, but the corners twitched upward. "Most don't."
There was a quiet pause. The air inside the office didn't feel like it belonged in the building. It wasn't sterile or fluorescent like the halls outside. It felt… different. As if the world outside were suspended, held back by floor-to-ceiling windows and walls lined with shadows. The scent of wood polish and faint cologne lingered in the air. Outside, the skyline of Bangkok shimmered under the morning haze—tall, indifferent, and busy.
But inside, time felt still.
Nine stood and turned. His dark suit was unbuttoned, sleeves slightly rolled, and his collar open in a way that shouldn't have looked elegant but did. He looked like a fallen angel in a noir film. Not quite real. Not quite reachable.
The intern's breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat skipped, then raced.
"You're my assistant now," Nine said, eyeing him carefully.
The intern straightened his spine. "Yes, sir."
"Rule number one," Nine said, taking a step closer, his voice smooth and slow. "Don't call me sir."
"Sorry… Mr. Kanawut."
"Just Nine."
The intern blinked. "Okay. Nine."
And just like that, something unspeakable settled between them.
Kao didn't like offices. he never had. Too much glass. Too much pressure. Everything reflected at you. Everything echoed.
He hadn't come here to belong. He hadn't even really planned to be an intern. The application had been a last-minute impulse—he'd seen it online, clicked through, filled the form half-heartedly, and hit submit with no real expectation. There had been no recommendation letter. No personal note. Just his name, a scholarship record, and a resume typed on a borrowed laptop.
And yet here he was. At SAKDA Group.
Hand-picked.
By whom he didn't even know
The man everyone in the business circle referred to in hushed tones as Mr. Nine.
Kao wasn't sure if he was here to work… or just to survive his intern year.
Later that day, Kao was handed a company-issued tablet and a leather file portfolio. Everything in the office was automated, sleek, and impersonal, except the documents. Nine preferred physical files for sensitive matters. He said digital things were easy to erase.
Inside the folder: schedules, board meeting memos, and high-profile client dossiers. Most of it looked like regular CEO clutter until Kao spotted one red-flagged alert among the meeting notes.
Code Red: Black Lotus Intercepts.
The name was repeated again and again.
BLACK LOTUS.
It sounded like a gang. Or even something worse. Some files included references to import hubs in the southern docks. Illegal movements. Names blacked out. Photographs of crates. Surveillance.
Kao's brows knit together. "Are we… working with these people?" he asked hesitantly.
Across the room, Nine was standing by the bar cabinet, pouring something dark into a glass—coffee or maybe whiskey, Kao wasn't sure. He didn't look up.
"We're surviving," Nine said after a moment.
"I'm sorry?"
Nine turned then. The light hit his face differently now. Gone was the mysterious pianist with the sad smile. What remained was something colder; he looked very dangerous
"You'll learn quickly, Kao," he said. "Or you won't last."
By 8:00 p.m., the building had emptied. The offices, once bustling with whispers and briefcases, now felt hollow. Kao stayed behind, organizing the last few reports. He liked working when no one else was around; it felt safer. No one would be staring at him. no unnecessary questions. No pressure to pretend like he belonged.
He gathered some financial reports and returned them to Nine's private cabinet. But as he slid them in, he felt something jam behind the row of files. Something hidden.
He reached in—and pulled out a slim, deep red folder.
There was no label.
Just a wax seal of the Sakda family crest—a tiger head outlined in gold.
Kao hesitated. His fingers trembled slightly. He knew better than to open sealed folders. He knew that. But curiosity was louder.
He cracked the seal and unfolded the first few pages.
Photos. Dozens of them.
Most were grainy surveillance shots. Others were night-vision captures. Dark alleys. Underground deals. Unnamed men with guns. Some photos had timestamps. Some were smudged with red. Blood. Real blood.
And then, toward the middle, one photo stopped his breath.
Nine.
Half-naked. Blood-soaked. Holding a gun.
He looked feral. he didn't look scared. He wasn't looking like he regretted it either. He looked calm. Focused. Like he had done this before. Many times.
Kao's mouth went dry.
The piano. The quiet morning. That smooth voice.
Was all of it just a mask?
He looked again. The image didn't lie. Nine wasn't just a CEO. He was something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
The room suddenly felt smaller. The air is thinner.
Kao pushed the folder shut and slid it back where he found it, heart pounding in his ears.
Outside, Bangkok buzzed as it always did—neon lights, motorbikes weaving through traffic, and steam rising from street food stalls. But Kao felt disconnected from it all. Like he had stepped through a crack in reality and couldn't find his way back.
He walked aimlessly for a while, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. Maybe he misunderstood. Maybe there was a context he didn't get. Maybe it was old, Fabricated. A setup. Or was he an actor? did that picture come from a movie he starred in? many questions consumed his thoughts
But deep down, he knew better.
The Nine he saw in that photo wasn't fake.
It was real.
Real in a way that scared him.
He looked up.
From the sidewalk below, he could see the Sakda Penthouse, lights still on. One window, in particular, glowed softly against the night sky.
And standing there, unmoving, was Nine.
Hands tucked into his pockets. Face unreadable. His silhouette framed by moonlight.
Watching.
Just watching.
As if he knew.