Mark was already lying in bed when he heard it—the roar of the engine, louder than usual, tearing through the silence of the night.
That's David's car.
He knew that sound by heart. It was never quiet, but this time… it was different. Rushed. Alarming. Tires screeched against the driveway, followed by the slamming of doors and hurried footsteps. Then came voices—shouting. Urgency. Panic.
Something was wrong.
Normally, whenever David returned from one of his "business operations," the car would pull in with controlled confidence. Mark always noticed. Even locked away upstairs, he recognized the pattern. But tonight, the whole house seemed to tremble with the chaos of his arrival.
Then he remembered—David had told him earlier that day he was free to roam the house. He just couldn't step outside the gate.
His heart raced as he sat up, listening. The chaos downstairs wasn't normal. It wasn't just David coming home—it was something else. he heard someone calling the doctor. Not just any doctor, but the one who always came when something went terribly wrong. The one who didn't ask questions.
Mark stood up, barefoot on the cold floor, his chest tight with dread.
What happened? He couldn't take it anymore. The noise, the panic, the tension—it was too much. He slipped out of his room and hurried downstairs, heart pounding. The air felt thick with something dark, something wrong.
He spotted one of the guards near the hallway. "What happened? What's going on? Where's David? What happened to him?"
His questions came fast, breathless. Too many. Too loud.
Before the guard could respond, Tony appeared. "Nothing's wrong," he cut in sharply. "Go back upstairs and rest."
Mark narrowed his eyes. That was a lie; he could feel it.
Normally, no matter what time David came home from one of his operations, he would come to see Mark first. Even if it was late. Even if he was exhausted. But tonight… there wasn't even a trace of David near his room.
"Where is he?" Mark asked again, more firmly this time.
Tony didn't bother hiding his irritation. He never liked Mark. "David is fine. Go upstairs. Now."
But just as Mark hesitated, he caught sight of the doctor stepping out of David's room. Tony immediately rushed over. "How is he?
"He's stable," the doctor replied calmly. "But he needs to rest."
That was all it took for panic to tighten in Mark's chest.
He turned to one of the guards again, his voice cracking. "Can someone please just tell me what's happening?"
The guard hesitated, then said under his breath, "The mission went wrong… "Boss got shot."
Mark froze. "What?"
His shout echoed through the hallway. "David got shot?!"
He moved toward David's room, but Tony stepped in front of him again, blocking his path. "I told you to go upstairs!"
But before Mark could argue, the front door flew open.
Dnie burst inside, eyes wide, face pale. "What did I just hear? What happened to David? What happened to my brother?!"
Without waiting for an answer, Dnie stormed toward David's room—and Mark followed right behind her, slipping past Tony in the chaos. Tony started to raise a hand to stop him, but Dnie turned, eyes sharp with fury.
"What exactly are you trying to do?" she snapped.
Tony backed off.
And just like that, both Dnie and Mark entered David's room to see him for themselves.
The room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitor. David lay still on the bed, pale and unconscious, the bandage around his arm a harsh reminder of what had happened. A lamp cast a gentle glow over his face, highlighting the tired lines beneath his eyes.
Dnie and Mark entered slowly, both holding their breath like one wrong move might wake him—or break them.
"Oh, my poor baby," Dnie whispered, rushing over to the side of the bed. She always called David her baby, no matter how old or strong he looked. There was nothing but love in her voice, even now, as her hand gently brushed his forehead. "Why do you always have to scare me like this?"
David didn't move. The injection had already taken effect. He was out cold—deep in sleep, unaware of everything happening around him.
Mark stood at the foot of the bed, tense and quiet. He watched David, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling slowly. Relief mixed with fear in his chest.
"You should go upstairs and rest," Dnie said without looking at him.
Mark shook his head. "No. I'm staying right here. I'll wait until he wakes up."
Dnie turned to look at him, arms crossed. "So now you care? You suddenly want to play the good guy?"
Mark glanced at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She raised a brow. "You act like you don't like him. Like you don't care. But now, look at you—worried, pacing, refusing to leave his side."
Mark sighed. "Even now, you're still trying to pick a fight?"
"Not a fight," she said with a shrug. "Just saying the truth."
Mark took a step closer to the bed. "Excuse me, stop… just stop, Dnie. I don't like you." Dnie said to him I don't like you too….
A small smile played on her lips. "Still rude, even when your crush is almost dying."
Despite everything, the tension between them eased just a little. It was their strange way of coping, snapping, and teasing because neither of them wanted to cry.
After a while, Dnie stretched and stood up. "I'm heading to my room for a bit. I'll come back to check on him."
She walked to the door, and just before leaving, she turned to the guard outside. "No one goes in unless David asks for you or I say so. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Just as she walked out, Tony approached, trying to head into the room.
"I just want to check on him—" he started.
But Dnie stood firmly in the doorway. "No, Tony. Not even you."
He frowned. "Even me, Dnie?"
She closed the door behind her, leaving Mark alone inside, sitting quietly beside David—waiting for him to wake up.
After Dnie left, the room fell quiet again.
Mark dragged the chair closer and sat down beside David's bed. He looked at him, still, unconscious, bandaged, and shook his head.
"Look at you," he murmured. "Lying here like this."
He leaned forward, voice tight.
"Out of every job in the world, David. You're still young. And this is the life you chose? One that could get you killed any day?"
Mark's jaw clenched.
"How could you do this to yourself? Why can't you just stop all this bloody mess? Huh?"
He scoffed bitterly.
"You think being the heir means you have to die for it?"
No answer. Just the soft beep of the monitor.
Mark looked at him for a long moment, then whispered, "You scare me, David. You scare me because you don't know how to stop."
He sat back, eyes locked on David.
"And one day… You might not come back at all."
Mark stood there for a moment, staring down at David, still unconscious. His chest rose and fell so faintly that Mark had to focus just to see it.
He ran a hand through his hair and finally broke the silence.
"It's even difficult for me to get this straight," he said quietly. "What is going on? Why can't I have my freedom? Who are the people after me? What do they want?"
He stepped closer, voice growing more frustrated.
"Why are you still doing this job, David? You have money. You have power. You have everything. This isn't about survival anymore."
His voice cracked, eyes burning. "So why? Why do you keep risking your life like this?"
He swallowed hard, lips trembling.
"Sometimes I just want the answer right away. I want to understand. But nothing makes sense. You're killing yourself for what?"
Silence. Only the beeping monitor replied.
Mark's voice dropped. "People care about you, David."
He paused.
"I care about you."
He blinked rapidly, shaking his head. "Yeah. I hate you. I hate you for everything you've done. But I'd never want you to die."
He stood there, breathing unevenly—until suddenly, he felt a movement.
David's hand… moved. Slowly, gently, it reached out and closed around Mark's.
Mark froze.
David was still unconscious—but that small touch, that quiet grip…
Mark lowered his head, pressing their hands together. His voice softened to a whisper.
"Recover quickly, David. Please…"