CHAPTER 87: THE OLD MAN FROM GREEN CITY

In the Green City, in one of the most posh hotels in the Southville region, screams echoed through the soundproof walls of the penthouse as a man, kneeling on the ground, looked up, tears streaking his face.

His mouth was gagged, disabling him from speaking as he struggled against the ropes that tied his hands.

The soft cries from the core of his throat resonated like music to the man sitting in the center of the large couch, one hand resting on the cane set with diamonds, the other holding a gun, moving it to the rhythm of the song.

The lights were dimmed, with the chandelier the only source of illumination, and the perpetrator at the center.

"Mmm!" The man cried for mercy.

The man, in his late fifties, on the couch, signalled to his man, and the subordinate walked forward before removing the gag with a jerk, ripping the side skin of the man’s lips.

"Sir, I’ll return the money. My son got into an accident, and the money I had been collecting to pay off the debt got used up there. Please, sir. Give me three months, and I’ll return it all." The man begged.

The old man scrunched his nose.

"From what angle did it look like I gave two fucks about your son dying or staying alive?" The old man asked.

The man on the ground rubbed his hands together.

"Please, sir. If not three months, just two months," The man groveled.

However, the old man just smirked.

"Two days. Will you be able to make it?" He asked.

The man on the ground froze, then shook his head in denial. "Sir, please show some mercy. If you kill me, my son won’t have anyone to rely on. I am his only family."

The old man placed the gun’s nozzle under the man’s chin.

"Mercy? That’s not a word I am familiar with. What should we do then? We already gave you three months earlier, and now you want three more?" The old man pretended to be thinking before pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Do I really care about a mosquito like you in this big empire I have built? No. But sometimes, mosquitoes like these don’t let me sleep. Their constant buzzing is so annoying and—"

Without thinking twice, the old man pulled out the knife from his cane and plunged it straight into the man’s neck.

A gurgling sound came from the throat of that man as blood splashed all around. The old man smirked.

"And squishing such mosquitoes is always a pleasure to have a good night’s sleep," he said.

He looked at his assistant.

"Throw the man’s body in some drain, and his son...since he has no family left, it’s better he learns to earn for his meal. Send him to our trafficking unit. Let them decide if he is of any use; if not, we can always use their organs." The old man said.

The assistant, a tall man dressed in all black with shades covering his eyes and a muscular build that anyone wouldn’t want to trifle with, nodded in understanding.

He was about to open his mouth to ask his boss what they were supposed to do about a project when someone barged into the room with hushed steps.

The old man’s gaze turned furious, and he pointed his gun straight at the perpetrator’s forehead.

"Don’t you know to knock and ask for permission before entering my personal space? Do I need to teach you?" The old man asked.

The subordinate got to his feet immediately.

"I seek forgiveness, sir. But you shall look into this. The reason our young master lost control of his senses and the muse of our young master, who made him mad for her, is that she is streaming live on social media," the subordinate said.

The old man’s hand froze, nearly trembling when he heard what the subordinate said.

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting? Don’t you know the consequences of even mentioning her name around me?" The man roared and raised his cane to hit the subordinate.

The man closed his eyes before extending his hand to show the clip he had brought as proof.

He was having his meal when his sister messaged him, asking him to vote for her favorite contestant in a reality show.

He loved his sister a lot, so her wish felt like a command to him. Without thinking twice, he voted for the person and was about to leave when he saw her face... and she was the same person who had driven their young master mad four years ago.

The old man looked at the screen and swallowed hard.

The same eyes, the same smile, the same height and complexion, the way she moved around, catching everyone’s attention, the unmatched beauty that lured his son and made him fall for her... How come everything was the same?

Didn’t she die? The old man wondered.

"Is this some kind of doppelganger? That girl died four years ago from drowning in the sea. Our entire team affirmed it. I personally looked into the investigation. The Frist family had even held a funeral for her. I attended it. How come—" The old man’s eyes turned sharp as he looked at the girl with a smirk.

"Singer or not, since this girl has the same face as hers, look into it and arrange for her to be brought here. My son has been living like a dead person for four years, and if this girl can bring him back to life, to love and live his life, I won’t think twice before shedding some blood to bring her here," the old man said before he laughed out loud.

And if this girl turns out to be related to the Frost family in any way, a hidden twin, or that singer herself, the Frost family will pay for their sins of hiding her from them with their lives.

The old man clenched his fingers around his cane before looking at the first floor of his penthouse, where his son was probably lying on his bed, intoxicated with drugs, because he didn’t wish to live after the death of his muse.

Everyone who made his son go haywire shall pay.