Inside the room, the father continued, indifferent: "The psychiatrist called me. He said you suddenly stopped attending your appointments."
He looked him up and down.
"Have you decided that this delusion is enough?"
Aiden opened his eyes.
His gaze was hollow, with no edges.
"Still better than the silence I have with you."
The father's voice grew heavier, as if carrying something ancient: "Aiden… you must remember. There is a part of your past… that you can never escape."
He didn't answer.
He sat there, leaning slightly forward, as if an invisible weight was pressing against his chest.
His bluish-black hair fell over his forehead, covering his eyes like a thick shadow.
And from behind it—
A smoldering look, hidden beneath the ashes.
His voice finally emerged.
Quiet… more than it should be. "And you didn't care? You came from across the city just… to tell me something I already know? Strange… how dedicated you are to destroying me."
The father approached.
Every step—
Click—
As if he were nailing a memory into Aiden's head.
Aiden didn't raise his head.
His eyes followed only the shoes.
A gaze pulled tight, like a loaded gun.
The father's smile was heatless: "Because you are my son… and that is why I am here."
Aiden finally lifted his head.
A twisted smile appeared on one side of his mouth—
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Do not use that word. It no longer suits you. You don't want me… You want the empire of cafes I built with my own hands."
A soft laugh escaped the father, a mix of malice and contempt: "Oh, darling… I love you. You just don't know how to use your influence."
He paced around the room.
Every click of his shoe fed something dark within Aiden.
Suddenly—
Aiden raised a finger.
His body didn't move.
"Stop. Now."
The footsteps slowed. "What did you say?"
Aiden raised his face.
Only one eye appeared from behind the strands of hair—
A lethal flash,
Winter blue and midnight black.
His hand covered his face, as if preventing an internal explosion.
His voice came out fractured, polished with rage: "I said… I don't want to hear the sound of your shoes. Nor your voice. You create a ringing in my head… as if you are hammering against the fragile wall of my soul."
The father laughed out loud: "That's why I said… you need a psychiatrist. Fast."
He took out his phone.
Glanced at the time.
Outside,
Sira gripped the pharmacy bag.
Her fingers stiffened.
Her eyes widened.
Aiden laughed.
A short, cracked laugh, as if it had come from a well deep inside him: "Maybe… but if I am mad, then you are the one who planted the madness in my veins."
He rose slowly.
No sound—
But danger had moved.
One step forward. He whispered: "I know. I know what you hide behind your tidy facade… Your dirty work. Your secret deals. Everything."
The father turned intentionally, making extra noise: "You won't do a thing. Everything you have… I am the one who made it."
Aiden lowered his hand.
His eyes ignited.
His black earrings shimmered in the darkness—
A declaration of war.
His voice exploded: "Get out. Now."
At the threshold, the father whispered: "I will destroy you. You and your madness."
SLAM.
The door closed violently.
Silence fell.
Aiden returned to the sofa.
He leaned forward slightly.
A pale laugh began to form in his throat—
Then it stopped,
As if his body could no longer endure it.
Sira tightened her grip on the pharmacy bag.
The paper crumpled between her fingers.
She exhaled slowly…
Then she entered.
The dim light revealed Aiden sitting on the sofa,
Back hunched,
His fingers interlaced tightly as if he were preventing something from slipping away.
She spoke in a soft, cautious voice: "Aiden…? Are you awake?"
He didn't answer immediately.
She approached and sat beside him.
She slowly raised her hand, brushing the hair away from his forehead.
She felt his temperature with her fingertips.
Her features darkened. "Your fever is still high… why did you get up?"
She drew closer without realizing it.
The distance diminished.
Their breaths mingled—warm, and trembling.