Kirito’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.
That voice—sultry, heavy, drenched with intimacy—cut through him like a blade.
It was a voice he had once cherished, one that had whispered promises and cried out his na in the most vulnerable monts.
"Occupied?!" he growled, the word catching in his throat. "Reina, who’s there with you? Tell !"
His mind was racing, careening through a storm of emotions—shock, rage, disbelief, betrayal.
mories of their years together flashed before his eyes: her laughter, the way she would softly hum when she cooked, the way she’d cling to him on cold nights. Was it all a lie?
"I… I can’t…" she breathed out, and then another moan escaped her lips, one that shattered whatever thread of composure he had left.
Kirito slamd his hand down on the desk, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
"You can’t what, Reina? You owe an explanation!"
But deep down, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.
Hearing her like this, knowing what was happening, was already tearing him apart.
Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to end the call.
He needed answers, needed to know why the woman he had loved, the woman he had trusted with his life, was doing this to him.
"Reina…" His voice cracked, anger and despair battling for dominance.
"Do you even realize what you’re doing to right now?"
Another silence, broken only by the faint sounds on her end, each one twisting the knife deeper.
Pak!
Pak!
Pak!
"I… I’m sorry, Kirito," she whispered, her voice trembling but laced with sothing he couldn’t quite place—regret? Guilt? Or was it sothing far worse?
The call wasn’t over, but Kirito felt as though everything between them had already ended.
"Ohhh…"
"Ahhh…"
"Ughhh…"
Reina’s moans pierced through the phone, each sound a dagger to his heart.
Accompanying them was the unmistakable rhythm of slapping flesh, an obscene lody that played on loop, tornting him.
Kirito’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Ikuuuu!" Reina’s cry of release was drawn out, trembling with pleasure. It reverberated in Kirito’s ears like a death knell.
Then ca the silence, broken only by Reina’s soft, ragged breaths.
"Bye, Kirito," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Please don’t look for —for now. I’ll fix this, I promise."
With that, the call ended, leaving him in a void of disbelief and rage.
For a long mont, Kirito stared at the screen, the words Call Disconnected blinking back at him.
"What the hell is going on?" he muttered, his voice trembling. Find more chapters on .Côm
He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. His thoughts were chaotic, a storm of anger, betrayal, and helplessness.
He had always been a man of control, soone who could bend the world to his will, yet now he felt powerless.
Kirito’s jaw tightened as mories surfaced—his daughter, his pride and joy, falling under the sway of that infamous playboy overseas.
The rumors had reached him quickly, each one more damning than the last.
And now Reina… Was she entangled with the sa man? The thought alone made his stomach churn.
"Kuso!" he spat, slamming a fist against the desk.
His fury was volcanic, but he forced himself to focus. He wouldn’t let this stand. Not for his daughter.
Not for Reina. Not for his family.
With a deep breath, Kirito straightened in his chair and began making calls.
His voice was sharp, commanding, as he barked orders to his most trusted contacts.
Nas were nad, favors called in, plans set into motion.
Within an hour, everything was arranged. Kirito strode onto his private jet, his expression as cold and unyielding as steel.
Behind him followed a legion of bodyguards, each one handpicked for their loyalty and skill.
As the plane ascended, Kirito stared out the window, his thoughts dark and resolute.
He didn’t care how powerful Ross Oakley was or how untouchable the dia made him seem. No one crossed Kirito’s family and walked away unscathed.
"I’ll make you pay," Kirito whispered, his voice low and venomous. "You’ll regret ever setting your sights on my family."
The jet soared into the clouds, carrying with it a man who wouldn’t rest until justice—or vengeance—was served.
More than ten hours later, Kirito’s private jet touched down on the runway.
The journey had been long, but for him, it wasn’t wasted ti.
He had spent every mont ticulously studying Ross Oakley, poring over reports and dossiers compiled by his network of informants.
It was the first ti Kirito truly got to know the man. Ross Oakley.
A na that commanded headlines and captivated millions, yet soone Kirito had barely noticed until now.
For years, Kirito had been consud with expanding his wealth, running his global businesses, and building an empire.
Knowing about celebrities, influencers, and their indulgent lifestyles had always been beneath him.
But not anymore. Now, Ross Oakley was at the center of Kirito’s world.
The man was as infamous as he was enigmatic.
With his towering charisma, staggering fortune, and entourage of beautiful won, Ross had carved out a reputation as the quintessential playboy.
His exploits were the stuff of legend—or tabloid gossip. Yet, beneath the charm and glamour, there was a darker side.
"Ross Oakley," Kirito muttered as he stepped off the jet, the na rolling off his tongue with a venomous edge.
His fists clenched involuntarily as a surge of hatred welled up in his chest.
This wasn’t just a man who had ensnared his daughter and Reina.
He was soone who thrived on exploiting others, leaving destruction in his wake.
Kirito’s convoy of black SUVs waited for him on the tarmac.
As he slid into the backseat of the lead vehicle, his mind raced through the details he had learned during the flight.
Ross’s wealth wasn’t just inherited—it was bolstered by investnts in shady ventures.
His influence extended far beyond re celebrity status, touching powerful circles and dangerous networks.
It was clear Ross wasn’t an ordinary man. But neither was Kirito.
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