Within the boardroom, where the tension still clung to the air like heavy smog, a small side door creaked open. Ohm and Tum stepped through, their presence striking a chord of recognition that momentarily froze Adisorn in his tracks.
Flashbacks flickered through Adisorn's mind—brief, vivid memories of a high-end culinary event at his own orange grove. Back then, he had hired these two as the elite behind-the-scenes team for the legendary Chef Lom. Those were the days when he was a tycoon at the height of his glory, a man who possessed the luxury of choosing his own destiny.
Ohm, sporting his signature white-rimmed glasses and a rugged, effortless look, raised a hand in a casual greeting. His relaxed demeanor stood in jarring contrast to the suffocating gravity of the room.
"Hello there, Mr. Adisorn! Didn't expect to run into you in a place like this," Ohm chirped, his grin as bright and unbothered as ever.
Beside him, Tum offered a respectful, humble bow. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Adisorn," he said with a soft smile. Yet, behind those kind eyes, Tum was already performing a thermal scan of the invisible energy radiating from the former businessman.
Through Tum's unique vision, Adisorn wasn't just a man in a suit—he was a furnace. A deep, scorching crimson aura, the color of ancient resentment, licked around his body like hungry flames. Overlapping this fire was a thin, ashen-grey mist—the unmistakable frequency of profound bitterness and the suffocating frustration of a man kept in a cage against his will.
Adisorn studied Ohm, his mind racing to verify a mounting suspicion. "And what about you two?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. "I assume you weren't coerced into this job like I was?"
Ohm gave a nonchalant shrug, seemingly immune to the pressure. "Not at all. We've been good friends with Godfather Chatchawin for quite some time."
At the mention of the word 'friends,' a bitter smirk twisted the corner of Adisorn's mouth. Friends? He thought darkly. That madman Chatchawin has never looked at a single soul on this earth and seen a 'friend.'
Chatchawin's gaze swept across the members of the special task force standing face-to-face in the center of the secret boardroom. He could feel the violent collision of invisible currents—egos and agendas clashing in the heavy silence.
"To ensure our operation proceeds without friction, let us perform the formal introductions once more," Chatchawin said smoothly. He gestured toward the man standing with his arms crossed, radiating a glacial chill.
"This is Mr. Adisorn... the premier expert in Mergers and Acquisitions." Chatchawin announced his credentials with a finality that no one in the room dared dispute. "He will be our spearhead, assuming the role of the lead for ZX Capital as we infiltrate the CK Group."
Adisorn offered only a curt, perfunctory nod. His eyes remained hardened and profoundly unfriendly. He hadn't come here to build bridges or find a family; he maintained a cold distance, a silent declaration that he was here for one purpose only: to trade his brilliance for his freedom.
At that exact moment, the door on the opposite side of the room swung open. Gawin stepped inside, his tall frame moving with a grace that was almost cinematic. He wore a high-quality cream-colored suit over a light brown turtleneck—a look that exuded an air of sophisticated authority.
The second Gawin spotted Ohm, his face lit up with a broad, genuine grin. He moved in for a high-five, greeting Ohm with the easy familiarity of a lifelong friend. He then turned to Tum, offering a more composed, respectful bow, though his signature charm and those iconic dimples never faded from his face.
Adisorn remained in the shadows, arms still crossed, watching the display in silence. His eyes were like a scanner, meticulously evaluating thisCEO. He searched for the slightest fracture, the smallest inconsistency beneath that mask of friendliness. In the business world Adisorn had clawed his way through, the most beautiful smiles always concealed the sharpest blades.
He locked eyes with Gawin—a silent, heavy measurement between the cunning devil and the strategic architect. They were two masters of deception who, like it or not, were about to become brothers-in-arms in the impending slaughterhouse of Shanghai.