THE MAN WHO REPLACED HIS HEART WITH ICE
Bangkok's underground empire bowed to one name now.
**Arthit Sakda.**
Three years had changed everything about him.
The warmth he once carried, the tiny softness Karan had coaxed out from under his armor —
gone.
The heir who once smiled with the boy he loved…
had become the king who did not smile at all.
He ruled the mafia world with precision sharper than any blade.
His voice alone could silence a hundred men.
Power dripped from him like perfume, intoxicating and terrifying.
But power wasn't the only thing that consumed him.
His nights were not quiet.
He would sit at the head of the long marble table in the Sakda manor —
face blank, jaw tense, eyes dead —
and behind him, shadows whispered.
Men.
Strangers.
People who looked just enough like Karan to trick his broken heart for a few seconds.
They came.
They left.
Nothing touched him.
Nothing reached him.
Nothing healed him.
The world thought he was addicted to lust.
But the truth was simpler and more painful:
**He was addicted to forgetting.**
And every morning, he woke up still remembering.
Tonight, he sat alone in his penthouse, city lights reflecting in the glass walls like dying stars.
A glass of whiskey rested in his hand.
His shirt hung loose, tie discarded, knuckles bruised from a meeting gone violent.
He leaned back on the leather couch, staring into nothing.
And then a whisper left him — broken, exhausted, defeated.
"…Karan… why can't I forget you?"
He closed his eyes.
And memories stabbed him again.
---
KARAN IN ITALY, IN A WORLD OF LIGHT
Three years had changed Karan too.
He stood in the most prestigious Italian restaurant kitchen —
the kind people crossed oceans just to step foot in —
wearing a white chef's coat embroidered with gold.
**Executive Chef Karan Kim.**
The best young chef in the world.
Food critics worshipped him.
The culinary world adored him.
His skills shocked even Michelin judges.
His name.
His flavors.
His creations.
Everything he touched was art.
Behind him, his second-in-command leaned close.
**Lean.**
Italian-Korean, tall, calm, charming —
and the only person who gently stayed by Karan's side for the last three years.
"Chef Karan," Lean said softly, "the board loved your new truffle reduction. They said it tastes like… comfort."
Karan smiled. A small one. Beautiful, but tired.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"You're too modest," Lean teased.
"You turn sadness into flavor. It's your gift."
Karan froze.
Sadness.
He hated how easily Lean saw through him.
Lean stepped closer. "Karan… sometimes I worry that you cook to run away from something."
Karan stirred the sauce slowly, eyes distant.
"I'm not running," he whispered.
"I'm just… moving."
Lean looked at him gently.
"Karan… you never talk about the past."
Karan smiled, soft and lonely.
"There's nothing to talk about."
But Lean didn't believe him.
He never had.
Lean reached out and lightly touched Karan's wrist.
"Karan… I care about you."
Karan paused.
Lean whispered, "You don't have to love me back. But don't suffer alone."
Karan swallowed, throat tight.
"I'm not suffering," he lied.
Lean didn't push.
He simply stepped closer, brushing a stray hair from Karan's forehead.
"You're allowed to be happy, you know."
Karan looked away.
"I am happy," he murmured.
But Lean saw the truth in Karan's eyes:
**He still loved someone he could no longer have.**
---
KARAN'S QUIET LIFE WITH HIS FAMILY
On weekends, Karan's parents visited Italy.
Mr. Kim laughed loudly with Lean.
Mrs. Kim fussed over Karan's hair.
Korn took photos of everything like a tourist.
Karan looked normal.
Happy.
Peaceful.
But late at night, when everyone slept…
Karan sat alone by the window, hugging his knees, staring at the stars.
Arthit's name never left his lips.
His heart never let go.
He whispered into the glass, like Arthit could hear him across oceans.
"…I still love you."
And he hated himself for it.
---
THE TWO WORLDS NEVER CROSS
For three years:
Karan never returned to Thailand.
Arthit never set foot in Italy.
Their paths — once so tangled, so breathlessly connected — became two parallel lines.
Never touching.
Never crossing.
Yet both of them hurt every day.
---
LEAN & KARAN'S MOMENTS**
*(Soft, emotional, growing closeness)*
One evening, Lean found Karan sitting alone in the staff balcony, staring at the sunset.
"Thinking about recipes again?" Lean asked, sitting beside him.
Karan smiled faintly. "Something like that."
Lean nudged his shoulder. "Or someone?"
Karan stiffened.
Lean softened his voice.
"Karan… it's been three years."
Karan exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.
"I know."
"Do you… still love him?" Lean asked.
There was no hesitation.
"Yes."
Lean lowered his head.
"I see."
Karan turned to him gently. "Lean… I'm sorry."
Lean shook his head.
"Never apologize for loving someone."
Karan blinked.
"You're too kind."
Lean gave a quiet laugh.
"And you're too blind."
Karan frowned.
"To what?"
Lean looked straight into his eyes.
"To how much I—"
But he stopped.
Karan waited.
Lean swallowed hard, then said instead—
"To how much you deserve to smile again."
Karan's chest tightened painfully.
"Lean…" he whispered.
Lean sighed, leaning back. "Let's just stay like this. No pressure."
So Karan rested his head lightly on Lean's shoulder.
Lean froze — shocked — then smiled softly.
Karan whispered, half-asleep,
"Thank you… for staying with me."
Lean closed his eyes.
"I'll stay… as long as you need me."
---
MEANWHILE: THE MAFIA KING'S FALL INTO DARKNESS
Arthit stood on the balcony of the Sakda estate.
Storm clouds gathered above.
Thunder growled like a beast.
Ren approached slowly.
"Boss… another shipment has arrived from Hong Kong."
Arthit didn't answer.
"Boss…?"
Silence.
Ren swallowed.
He had served Arthit for years, but this Arthit—
this cold, empty one—
always made him nervous.
Finally, Arthit spoke.
His voice was low.
Dead.
Like the storm itself.
"What else do I have to lose?"
Ren hesitated.
"Arthit… it's been three years."
Arthit's jaw tightened.
His fingers curled around the balcony rail.
"Don't say his name."
"I didn't."
"You were going to."
Ren sighed.
"You can't live like this forever."
Arthit turned, eyes sharp like a blade.
"I'm alive. That's enough."
Ren clenched his fists.
"No. You're not alive. You're just breathing."
A muscle twitched in Arthit's jaw.
Ren softened his tone.
"Let him go, Arthit."
Arthit's voice dropped to a whisper—
"I can't."
Thunder exploded across the sky.
---
THE BREAKING POINT: THE PHOTOS
One night, Mr. Sakda walked into his office.
He placed a file on the table.
A thick one.
Filled with glossy photographs.
"Arthit."
Arthit turned, irritation in his eyes.
"What?"
Mr. Sakda slid the photos forward.
Arthit picked them up lazily—
then froze.
His breath stopped.
His fingers trembled.
In the photos:
Karan.
In Italy.
Laughing with Lean.
Cooking with him.
Walking beside him.
Smiling softly at him under warm lights.
There was one picture that stabbed deepest—
Lean holding Karan's wrist gently, both smiling.
Arthit's heart cracked open.
A sound escaped him —
soft, quiet, devastating.
"…No."
Mr. Sakda watched him coldly.
"It seems he has moved on."
Arthit's grip crushed the photo.
His voice turned dark.
Dangerous.
Rabid.
"He hasn't."
Mr. Sakda raised a brow.
"You think he still loves you?"
Arthit's voice broke.
"I know he does."
"Then why is he smiling with someone else?"
Arthit felt something inside him collapse.
He stood abruptly, chest heaving, eyes burning.
"Because I wasn't there," he whispered.
"Because I let him suffer alone."
Mr. Sakda leaned back in his chair.
"And now?"
Arthit's hands shook violently.
"Now…"
His voice dropped to a cold whisper.
"I will destroy anyone who takes him from me."
---
HATE WAS EASIER THAN PAIN
Arthit locked himself in his gym.
He punched the bag until his knuckles bled.
Until the skin tore.
Until he couldn't feel anything anymore.
He shouted Karan's name.
Then cursed it.
He wanted to forget.
He wanted to hate.
He wanted to stop loving him.
But the harder he tried,
the more it hurt.
Finally, he collapsed to his knees, panting.
And whispered—
"Karan… you promised you would never let me go."
He pressed his forehead to the cold floor.
"Why… why did you break it…?"
---
KARAN HAS CHANGED TOO
That same night, in Italy—
Karan stood alone on the restaurant rooftop.
The wind blew gently.
The city lights shimmered like stars.
He closed his eyes and whispered—
"…Arthit."
He touched his chest.
"I still… can't hate you."
Lean came up quietly.
"Karan?"
Karan turned, startled.
Lean took a step closer.
"Karan… why are you crying?"
Karan wiped his tears quickly.
"I'm not."
Lean shook his head.
"You're still hurting. Even after all this time."
Karan looked away.
Lean's voice softened.
"Let me help you forget him."
Karan whispered,
"I don't want to forget."
Lean's heart sank.
But he forced a gentle smile.
"Then let me… stay with you. As long as you need."
Karan's voice broke.
"Lean… thank you."
Lean stepped closer, brushing Karan's cheek with his thumb.
"You deserve to be loved too, Karan."
Karan closed his eyes.
But he whispered only one word—
"…Arthit…"
Lean's hand dropped.
His heart broke silently.
---
TWO DESTINIES STILL PULSING
Three years.
Three countries.
Three broken hearts.
Karan loved Arthit silently.
Arthit loved Karan violently.
Lean loved Karan gently.
Their worlds moved on without each other.
But fate?
Fate was only waiting.
Waiting for the moment when love, pain, anger, and destiny would finally collide again.
And bring them face-to-face.
---
END OF CHAPTER 27