The atmosphere in the executive boardroom on the eighteenth floor of the skyscraper was freezing. Despite the bright morning sunlight of Velas City flooding through the massive glass windows, the boardroom remained dark and heavy with tension.
A tall, elegant figure in a bespoke dark suit sat perfectly still at the head of the table. His broad back leaned against the leather chair in a relaxed posture, sharply contrasting with the suffocating anxiety radiating from everyone else in the room.
Ren's midnight-black eyes stared at the middle-aged man—the man who held the title of his father—with absolute, hollow apathy. The terrified little boy was dead. The illegitimate son who kept his head bowed, swallowing gross injustices just to beg for a pathetic crumb of familial love, was completely gone.
