บททั้งหมดของ HEIR OF PAIN: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

~~~~~TWO DAYS LATER ~~~ Ryder leaned back in the leather seat of his car, the cigarette pressed between his fingers glowing faintly in the dark. Smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, filling the air with a bitter haze. His eyes were sharp as he looked through the tinted window. “Has the kid spoken?” Ryder asked, his voice flat and cold. Corner, who sat behind the wheel, didn’t take his eyes off the road. “No, sir. He keeps saying the same thing.” Silence followed. Ryder drew another long drag from the cigarette and let the smoke sit in his chest before releasing it slowly. The sound of the engine hummed through the car, the only noise that dared to exist while Ryder was thinking. Minutes passed in quiet tension before the car rolled through the high black gates of the Black Mansion. As the vehicle stopped, two guards in black suits rushed forward and opened the doors. Ryder stepped out, tossing the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement. He crushed it beneath his shoe

As soon as they stopped in the mansion, Ryder immediately headed towards the torture room. His pace was impatient as the bodyguards trailed behind but kept their distance. Ryder pushed the door open and stepped inside. The first thing that hit him was the air. It was freezing. The temperature control had been left on the lowest setting. His breath came out in a faint cloud. His eyes landed on Arden. The boy was still on the floor where he left him, his skin pale, lips faintly trembling. Ryder frowned, his jaw tightening. He walked over quickly and touched Arden’s forehead. It was cold—too cold. “Damn it,” Ryder muttered under his breath. He didn’t waste another second. Without hesitation, he slipped his arms under Arden’s body and lifted him in a bridal style. Arden’s head fell limply against his chest. “Call the doctor to me here, quickly,” Ryder barked at the guards as he strode out of the room. His tone carried no space for argument. “Yes, boss!” one of them ran off immediate

“When you knew it wasn’t me, why did you tell him to step out to help you?” Kyle yelled at his sister as his chest rose and fell quickly, his anger spilling out in words sharper than he intended. His sister flinched at his tone but didn’t back down. “I didn’t know,” she said firmly. “You didn’t even tell me that he was in that kind of predicament. If you had, I would have told him to stay back. Don’t make it seem like I wanted this to happen.” Kyle dropped heavily onto the couch, his elbows on his knees as he dragged both hands through his hair. He tugged at the strands in frustration, his jaw tight. A week had passed, yet it felt like months since he had last seen Arden. The silence between them stretched for a moment, only broken by Kyle’s shaky sigh. “It’s been seven days,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Seven days and still nothing.” His sister walked closer, her expression softening. She placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “Kyle, I know you’re worried, but we can’t gi

The orders spread quickly. Within minutes, the underground base shifted from its usual rhythm of work to a tense, unified silence. Everyone left what they were doing and moved to the open yard inside the factory. In the middle of the yard, a single wooden chair had been placed. Matthew was dragged out and tied to it again, this time more tightly. His head lolled to one side, his body weak from the beatings, but his eyes darted nervously around as he realized he was now the center of attention. A long table was set a few feet away, and on it lay weapons—guns, knives, chains, a machete, and other tools designed for punishment. The sight alone made even some of the hardened men shift uneasily. Ryan walked forward calmly, his hands still in his pockets. His guards moved behind him like shadows. The crowd parted without being told, creating a clear path for him. Every pair of eyes followed him, not one daring to look away. He stopped in front of Matthew, then slowly turned to face

~~~~~~~~~~ONE WEEK LATER~~~~~ It has been a week since Arden had been in the Black mansion. Through that one week, he had seen and learned a lot about the house and the people in it. The Black mansion was big, quiet, and full of people who hardly spoke unless it was necessary. Even the maids behaved as though they were being watched every second. Arden noticed how everyone seemed to follow a pattern. Breakfast at a set time. Lunch at a set time. Even how the curtains were folded had its own order. It was strange to him, but he tried not to question it. He got to know something more surprising — Ryder was a perfectionist. He wanted everything to be perfect, especially his food. It wasn’t just about eating; it was about how it looked, how it was served, and who served it. He even had a written timetable and instructions for the kitchen. If Ryder was to have omelette, it had to be shaped into a perfect circle and placed on a customized plate with a golden edge. The bread must be