The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness for both of them. Phasakorn retreated completely, throwing himself back into the rigid structure of his academic life. He studied with a desperate, all-consuming intensity, using the grueling hours and the demands of medical school to numb the ache in his chest. His friends noticed the change: the bright light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a weary exhaustion. He was a ghost in the hospital halls, a shell of the person he had been. Every passing black car, every mention of the Teerawong Group on the news, was a fresh wound. He had made a choice, a rational one, a necessary one. But his heart, in its devastating grief, refused to acknowledge the logic of his mind.
He missed Akin with an intensity that was almost physical. He missed the low rumble of his voice, the quiet moments in the car, the way Akin's eyes would crinkle at the corners when he genuinely smiled. He missed the strange, thrilling feeling of being seen and understood by a man who was a mystery to the rest of the world. He had convinced himself that Akin was a lie, but the memories of their time together felt too real, too profound to be dismissed as a mere performance.
Akin, meanwhile, was a man in a silent fury. The void left by Phasakorn was a gaping, unfamiliar wound. His empire, once his sole focus, now felt like a hollow, meaningless accomplishment. His private jet, his exclusive properties, the endless stream of wealth—none of it held the slightest appeal. He had everything the world could offer, except the one person who saw him for who he truly was. His usual icy control began to fray at the edges. His associates found him more ruthless than ever, his decisions sharper, his temper shorter. Kanya, his chief of staff, watched him with a growing concern, recognizing the signs of a man unmoored. She had never seen him so vulnerable.
Akin's pride and the deep-seated belief that his world would only corrupt Phasakorn had prevented him from going after the younger man immediately. He had told himself that pushing Phasakorn away was the only way to protect him. He was shielding him from the very real dangers that came with the Teerawong name, from the rival factions and the old-world loyalties that demanded violence. But in the agonizing silence of his penthouse, Akin began to question his own logic. What was the point of building an empire if he had nobody to share it with? What was the use of all his power if it couldn't even protect the man he loved without driving him away?
He tried to distract himself, diving into a massive new deal, but Phasakorn's face was always there, a persistent ghost in his thoughts. He found himself driving past the university late at night, just to catch a glimpse of the building where Phasakorn spent his days. He ached to hear his voice, to see him smile, to feel the warmth of his presence. He had lost the one thing that had brought light into his dark and solitary life.
It was in this state of profound despair that Akin finally realized the truth: true love wasn't about shielding someone through distance, but about a choice. It was about facing the storm together, not hiding from it. He had been a coward, believing that his love was a cage. He had to show Phasakorn that it was, in fact, a sanctuary, a strength that could withstand anything. He had to prove to the man he loved that he was willing to fight for their connection, no matter the cost, and that he was willing to change his world to make a place for Phasakorn within it. The path to redemption would be long and difficult, but Akin was a man who had built his empire on overcoming insurmountable odds. He would not give up on the one person who truly mattered.